Page 14 of Wasted On You

“We need you.” There were some more muffled sounds. “Look, I know things aren’t the best between us, and I wouldn’t ask unless?—”

“Are we talking the Rovers?”

“We are.”

“Is Bryce Caulfield still on the team?”

“He’s stuffing his face with a slice right now.”

She moved toward the bedroom. “Who do we have?” Shit, was she really going to do this? Ivy yanked off her sweats and rooted through the closet for a clean pair of jeans.

“Me, Benton, and Angel.”

“Simms?”

“That’s the one.”

“She’s good from what I remember. Always had great aim.”

“So, you’re in?”

Ivy stopped cold for a moment and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her long hair was all over the place, and the color of her cheeks was high. Her heart was beating faster than it should be, but whatever. She should stay here, away from Mike Paul and all that history. And yet…

“I’m in. But if you do anything inappropriate, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“You and I both know you’re about as far away from being a gentleman as I am from the damn moon.” She pulled on a simple black T-shirt and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “I mean it, Mike Paul. Swear you’ll behave.”

“I swear it.”

She ended the call and tossed her cell onto the bed. She didn’t believe him, of course. And if she were being totally honest with herself, she’d admit that a part of her wanted him to misbehave because then she could react. Maybe even cause a scene that would make the previous Saturday look tame.

Maybe then she’d feel alive again.

She was crazy. Had to be. “Don’t overthink,” she muttered.

Ivy needed to brush her teeth and do something about her hair. Maybe throw on some gloss and mascara. As she pressed the tube of paste onto her toothbrush, she spied a small blue container on the top shelf, then looked at herself in the mirror. She’d been wearing contacts for years, but for some reason they didn’t fit with what was going down tonight.

Tonight was old school.

She spit out her paste, applied some makeup, and left her hair to fall in natural waves. With her large frame glasses perched on the end of her nose, she grabbed her coat, cell, and keys, then locked up.

Half an hour later, Ivy pulled into The Bowl’s parking lot. It was hopping. Around these parts, sports and teams and rodeos and Sunday church made the world go round. Ivy had never been much of a church-going girl, but starting in November, the first Thursday of every month was set aside to bowl. She parked the truck and jogged to the entrance, shoulders hunched against the cold.

Once inside, she was hit with a wave of heat, the smell of beer and grease, and the sight of so many familiar faces it was like she’d been transported back in time.

There was Big Dave, the owner. He’d been a transplant, a city slicker who’d come to Big Bend back in the 80s, fell in love with a local Dee Price, and the two of them had taken over her daddy’s business—The Bowl. They’d added a slick bar and an arcade room in the back and had kept the lanes in pristine working order.

“Ivy!”

Before she could react, Ivy was enveloped in a bear hug.

“It’s sure good to see you back.” Big Dave winked and set her back onto her feet. “I heard you up and got yourself engaged to a Yankee. A literal Yankee.” His hair was long gone, his face about as soft as his midsection, and though he’d always been tall, his girth was trying real hard to catch up.

“I did,” she replied with a big smile. “You look great.”

“That’s mighty kind of you.” He ran a hand over his shiny scalp and chuckled. “I’ve lost some things.” Then, he patted his belly. “And gained a few others.”

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