Page 4 of Training the Heart

Ivy is thrilled they’re all ‘so nice’, as she’s told me on many occasions, which leads me to believe for how experienced she presents herself to be, she is a bit naive about the opposite sex.

This has me both keeping an eye out for her constantly and sobering myself up from getting caught staring at her too. I’m holding it together, but it’s only been a few weeks and I’m pretty sure the balance of it has aged me ten years already.

I salute my younger brother Cole goodbye out my window as I pull out of our town pub’s parking lot. He’s standing in the doorway of the Horse and Barrel watching me go, grinning like a fool at me driving Ivy’s truck off the lot.

I’m only her chauffeur because my sister CeCe and her girl crew adopted Ivy as one of their own tonight. Inviting her to celebrate CeCe’s new engagement ‘Not Angels’–style. Which basically means, drink way too much, and dance all night long on the Horse and Barrel dance floor. So here I am, leaving anyone behind us with a bumper sticker that says “cowgirls just wanna have fun.”

I look over at her smug grin, and I gather she thinks her book smut has embarrassed me.

“I’m sorry I made you blush at my romance novel,” she hums as she pulls her hair down, not sounding sorry in the slightest. I watch in my periphery as it tumbles in waves around her shoulders.

“It takes more than a littlesmutto make me blush,” I retort.

Ivy makes a wounded face at my words.

“It’s a steamy romance book, notsmut, and it was just getting to the good part when I got to the bar. I was looking forward to it for on the way home. I didn’t expect you’d be driving me.” She snickers, still not a hint of embarrassment in her tone.

It’s not lost on me that not only does she read it any chance she gets, she also just drives around town listening to full-out porn on any given day and owns it. I’m all about a woman being confident in her own skin and enjoying sex and everything it has to offer, but because I’m my own worst enemy, I scoff at the term she used—romance—loud enough for her to swat at me.

She laughs, the cocky laugh of too many “Nash and CeCe are engaged so let’s party” shots. “Well, we can’t all be grumpy prudes, so excuse me for enjoying a good love story.”

I’m just going to keep my mouth shut here. I’m the furthest thing from a prude she’ll ever meet. In fact, I’m a firm believer that there should be no limits when it comes to sex. To hold back would be a waste in the one area of life you can let go—an escape.

So … grumpy? Sure. Prude? Not a fucking chance.

“Oh no you don’t, don’t even think you’re staying quiet. Inquiring minds want to know, what’s making you huff out all those judgy noises at me? Have you got something to say about my choice in literature?” Ivy challenges, then adds, “Cat got your tongue?”

I scrub my face with my free hand. I’m still not completely used to this smug little firecracker and the way she manages to get under my skin.

“Come on now, spill it,” she says, cocking one eyebrow at me. I turn to her for a split second while I drive.

“The plot of this book has fucking nothing to do with love or romance,” I deadpan, pointing to the dash.

“Yes, it does,” Ivy argues defensively, feigning shock before she adds, “I mean, they both seem to love her in their own way.”

They?Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Let’s start with this. What’s itcalled?” I ask as we pass the Laurel Creek town sign and start cruising through the dark countryside.

“What’s it called?” She repeats my question, taking her plush bottom lip between her teeth.

“That’s right. This steamy romance you’re hell-bent on defending, what’s the title?” I look over at her, counting the seconds she sits in silence. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Smutty book name got your tongue?”

Ivy grimaces. “No … it’s just, that’s not a fair question because the title doesn’t sound romantic.”

Now I’m invested.

She looks down to check her nails, in the dark no less, as if they need her attention desperately.

“What’s the name, Trouble?” I repeat.

Ivy sighs and stares out the window. “Filthy Lords of Sin,” she whispers, barely audible.

I nod. “My mistake. Sounds mighty romantic.”

Ivy huffs out a breath but doesn’t say one more word on the subject and keeps her eyes out the window.

I rest my fucking case.

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