Page 35 of Wasted On You

I wish I did.

Ivy paused. She took her time and gave him the once over, hoping for a small sliver ofsomething.Kip Lafferty was in his prime. He was a picture-perfect visual of the male form. From the defined abs to the muscled pecs and biceps, he was beautiful. He had a couple of tattoos that enhanced all that skin and gave him an edge. And then there was the face. And the hair. The smile. Not to mention the family name and athletic prowess.

But for Ivy. There was nothing. Not a damn thing. Why couldn’t her lady parts sing for this man instead of…

Nope. Not going there.

“Do you need a few more seconds?” Kip asked.

“For what?”

“I can remove the towel.” A slight grin touched his mouth.

“It won’t do any good,” she mumbled.

Kip took another bite from his apple and spoke between chews. “Chin up, Ivy. You’ve only got a few more weeks to play pretend and then you and the vet can get busy doing all the things you’re trying so hard not to think about.”

“Me and the vet are never going to be a thing.”

“The two thousand bucks you spent on him tells me otherwise.”

“I told you. That was because of Val. She just makes me so mad, and she pushed things too far, is all.”

Kip finished his apple and tossed it into the garbage, then walked over to her. Ivy kept her eyes trained on his abs because she knew more than anyone how much this guy saw. He might play the part of your typical jock, but his waters ran deep. He was intuitive. And he cared.

He’d listened to her whole sad story, so he knew things. More than Mike Paul did anyway, and she’d practically laid her heart bare tohimall those years ago.

“You’re going to have to deal with him sooner than later. You know that, right?” His hand on her chin forced her eyes upward, and a knot formed in her throat at the look on his face. There was pain there. He got it. Which was something she wondered about from time to time, but so far, he hadn’t offered up anything personal.

Also…he wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t mean she wanted to hear it or think about it.

“You need to get dressed,” she said lightly, stepping away.

“You need a glass of wine.”

She thought of her mother. “I need the whole damn bottle.”

Ivy poured herself a glass of red and grabbed a beer for Kip. She laid out a charcuterie board and topped up the water in the vase of red roses, then put on some background music. She’d just taken a sip of wine when there was a knock at the door.

Here we go, she thought. Ivy set down her glass and checked herself in the mirror. She’d pulled her hair back into a high pony and wore minimal makeup. Her clothes were casual, a simple black turtleneck and worn jeans, and on her feet were her favorite pair of fuzzy leopard print slippers. She pushed up her large, tortoise shell glasses and gave her shoulders a roll.

“You look like you’re preparing for war.”

“That would be an apt description.” Ivy took a breath, then pasted a smile on her face before she reached for the door handle. She yanked it open, and her mother swept into the bungalow like she was walking onto a stage. She dramatically swept off her gloves and then stomped snow from her boots.

“Why is your door locked, I could have let myself in instead of freezing on your doorstep for at least a full minute.”

“Hello, Mother,” Ivy said, her plastic, practiced smile in place.

Diedre Wilkens shrugged out of her winter coat and handed it to Ivy. After slipping off her boots, she grabbed a small bag and put on a pair of slippers, then straightened, her eyes like lasers as they ran over Ivy.

Always done to the nines, her mother’s trim frame was dressed in classic clothes—navy slacks and a cream sweater. Her hair, still the same shade of dark auburn as Ivy’s, was pulled into a bun, and her makeup looked as if she’d just spent an hour in a glam room. She was attractive, a beauty,ifyou overlooked the perpetual frown, the judgment that colored her eyes a shade darker than they should be, and the ramrod way she held her body. Seriously. The woman had more than a stick shoved up her?—

“Ivy, I get the no makeup thing, but a woman should at least wear gloss on her lips. A light shade of pink would suffice.”

“I think it’s good to let the skin breathe.”

“You’re in your thirties now, my dear, and it gets harder to keep things fresh.”

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