Page 68 of Wasted On You

“Maybe we need to take a minute and think about this.” The doubt bunnies were jumping around. She yanked on the sleeve of her pajama top. “Won’t your grandfather be disappointed?”

“Probably.” Kip offered a pained smile. “He would have liked you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A new thought struck Ivy. “My mom is going to hate this.” She started to smile. “So much.”

“Go. Now. Get laid.” He winked. “At least one of us should.”

Ivy ran to her bedroom, mind moving so fast she had to stop and rethink everything she’d just thought of.

Shower. Shave. Moisturize.Everywhere. Make sure to find the bag that held the new red bra with matching undies. Perfume.Everywhere.Curl hair. Keep the waves loose because she knew Mike Paul liked it that way.

She turned on the hot water and let it run. Then, she shoveled the pile of clothes off the chair beside her bed and retrieved her cell phone. God, she hadn’t checked it since the day before and had missed a gazillion messages. She quickly scanned them, but none were urgent, not even the six or seven from her mother, all with the word URGENT as the first word.

She stopped at the last message she’d received from Mike Paul. It had been sent well over a week ago after they’d delivered the foal. She quickly typed out a new one.

The storm is over.

She waited a few seconds for a reply, but the message didn’t change from delivered to read. Shit. She read over the message and blushed. God, she sounded like an overly dramatic teen and, with fumbling fingers, tried to figure out a way to delete the message.

Ivy’s stomach, already in knots, rolled over, and she nearly fell off the bed when those three magical dots appeared.

She waited. Then waited some more. But the three magical dots remained in play without materializing into a message. Frustrated, she tossed the phone and hopped in the shower. He’d read her message, and that was enough. He was probably busy with something or got distracted midway through his response with a sick animal or his mother or the dogs.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. She was going to Mike Paul.

She was going to have all the sex and tell him how she felt. Ivy was done playing games.

Her bravado lasted exactly three hours and forty-six minutes. Which was the amount of time it took for her to get ready—do all the washing and shaving and makeup. Throw on a pair of jeans that fit her butt like a glove, shimmy into a tight, metallic blue top that made her eyes pop, and her boobs look as if she’d gone up at least one cup size, and with Kip shooing her out the door, hop into her truck and drive out to Mike Paul’s place.

She stood at his front door for another four minutes because she was suddenly so damn nervous she was second-guessing herself.

Ivy grabbed her phone, turned on the camera, and reversed the lens so she could check her appearance. The woman staring back at her looked like she was on the brink of something big. Life changing big. Her cheeks were red, probably from the cold, but still, and her eyes were luminous, her lips shiny with gloss. Her hair billowed around her face, a silky dark sheen that fell in loose waves halfway down her back.

Wait. Was that a pimple? Ivy looked closer and nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone pinged. It was another message from her mother. She saw the word URGENT and swore. Could her mother let her have one day off without annoying the crap out of Ivy? She was in the process of trying to stuff the phone back into the pocket of her jacket when the door suddenly opened, and she found herself staring up at the man who’d haunted her for days now.

“Ivy,” he said, clearly surprised. “I was just going to call the dogs in.”

Mike Paul was shirtless; faded jeans hung low on his hips. His feet were shoved into boots, and he wore a black beanie. He looked so damn adorable and hot and sexy that all the words she’d stored up disappeared like water down the drain. She licked her lips, then narrowed her gaze. Was that a…

“Do you have a black eye?” she asked, peering closer.

“Do you like it? I figure it makes me look tough.” His voice was husky.

“Are you going to tell me how that happened?”

His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Not right now, if that’s okay.”

“You didn’t answer my text.”

“It’s been a crazy day.” He looked tired, and her concern ramped up.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

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