Page 5 of Wasted On You

He nodded at the apples before adding three huge bags of potato chips to their cart. “Those are granny smith and they’re too tart.” He winked, then nodded at a lady who giggled as she inched by them. “Ma’am.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. She was used to the circus Kip created when he was out in public. Hell, he was Kip freaking Lafferty. Son of Senator Brock Lafferty and his wife, Hollywood legend Ava Evans. His brother Duke was a mover and shaker on Wall Street, while his sister Collins, a nepo baby for sure, stormed the runways in Milan and Paris like she was meant for it. Which, with a mother like Ava, was a no-brainer.

Kip had been born into a dynasty that went back generations, with the proverbial golden spoon in his mouth; he was everything he should be and more.

As the starting shortstop with the Yankees, he’d gained more fame than most athletes dreamed of. His jersey sold out continually, and he’d been named to the all-star team for the past five seasons. Along with that fame came money (which he didn’t need) women (who he thoroughly enjoyed), and the kind of notoriety that fed the gossip rags and fueled a rabid fan base.

Tall, with shoulders a girl could hang from and the kind of abs you could bounce a quarter off of, he turned heads wherever he went. His smile was perfect. His gorgeous eyes were a shade past hazel, his chin strong, and his jawline rugged. His nose had been broken more than once, but damned if it didn’t make him even better looking. He had more charm in his little pinky than anyone on the planet.

Well, except for maybe Mike Paul, but she wasn’t wasting brain cells thinking abouthim. She hoped he’d broken his hand, is all.

Did that make her a bad person?

“Have you ever had an ugly day in your life?” she asked Kip with a scowl as she grabbed a bag and handed it to him.

His smile widened, and he reached past her to grab a few of the shiny red apples next to the offending green ones.

“I think I had an acne outbreak in the tenth grade.”

“You suck.”

“You love me anyway.”

His tone was cheeky, and she couldn’t help but chuckle, aware that a crowd was gathering and among them, none other than Mary Margaret Christchurch. The woman spewed more gossip during lunch at the Peach Cobbler than most teenage girls could wrangle up over twenty-four hours.

“We’d better wrap this up.” Ivy motioned to the group of women pretending to check out the display of apple cider jugs, while covertly taking photos of Kip with their phones. “You’ll be all over social media if we don’t.”

Kip tossed the bag of apples into her cart, and she pushed it forward, her goal the self-serve checkout line at the front of the store. She made it past produce and then the snack aisle, but as she headed toward international foods, Mary Margaret stepped in the way, a predatory smile on her face.

“There you are,” the woman said sweetly, turning her gaze to Kip. “I don’t think we’ve met Mr. Lafferty.” Mary Margaret held out her hand, her French manicure pristine. “I’m Mary Margaret. My boys are such fans.”

“Nice to hear.” Kip touched the brim of his ballcap.

“And to think someone like you has fallen for our very own Ivy Wilkens.” She laughed. “It’s like a fairytale, isn’t it?”

“Something like that,” he replied good-naturedly before slipping his arm around Ivy and pulling her close so he could drop a kiss on her cheek. “But then she’s so damn adorable, don’t you think?”

Ivy wiggled out of his embrace. “I don’t know if adorable is a word anyone has ever used when describing me.”

Mary Margaret nodded in agreement. “You’ve always been such a firecracker. Why, I remember a time when half the boys in your class were afraid of you.”

“Tell me more,” Kip said with a laugh.

“I think we’re good.” Ivy was done.

Ignoring her, Mary Margaret cranked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. “And what was all that fuss about on Saturday night? I hear that poor Mike Paul nearly broke his hand he was so riled up.”

“You’d have to ask Mike Paul about that.” Ivy’s words were frosty.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s possible right now, hon.”

Hon? Irritated, Ivy should have shut up, but something inside her wouldn’t rest. “No? What’s going on with Mike Paul?”

Mary Margaret shook her head back and forth, slowly, that gleam in her eye now a full-on sparkle.

“Last I heard he was in the hospital. He’s had to call in another vet from the next county over to cover some of his calls. Mike Dingle’s prize quarter horse gave birth, and he wasn’t too happy about it.”

Hospital? Ivy’s heart skipped a beat and then ramped up so damn high she was sure every single person in Buck’s Grocery could hear it.

---