Page 30 of Someone to Tempt
“Where’s your car? You shouldn’t be driving.”
“I don’t need you to drive me home.”
“Come on, Iris. The town’s mayor can’t have a scandal like a DUI before the election, even if you are running unopposed.”
For a split second, wide-eyed disbelief seems to swirl in her dark gaze, like she’s a deer caught in headlights. It’s gone just as quickly, and maybe it was a trick of the dim evening light because she laughs and rolls those big eyes toward the starry sky.
“Are you joking? If I’d known what a few hours at Tony’s could do for my reputation, I might have become a karaoke-night regular before now. It’s embarrassing the number of people who were happy to admit they misjudged me.” She frowns and tilts her head like she’s revisiting those conversations. “I should have paid more attention to how I’m perceived before now.”
“You’re fine just the way you are, and you gave the fun nay-sayers a quick uppercut tonight. The belle of the karaoke bar.” I hold out my hand, palm facing up. “But hand over the keys because you still shouldn’t drive.”
“I’m supposed to believe you’re sober?”
“Scout’s honor.”
She gives a throaty laugh. “You were never a Boy Scout, Jake.”
“Maybe not, but I am sober. I had half a beer at the beginning of the night, which is my limit these days.”
She opens her mouth, and I know she’s curious and doubtful. I was the king of beer pong the summer we spent together. Instead, she shakes her head, almost like she’s trying to rid herself of any desire to know the man I am now.
It’s a shame, because this version of Iris consumes me, and I don’t have time for that right now.
“I walked to the bar,” she says. “I live a few blocks from downtown.”
I glance up at the street signs under the streetlight’s glow, realizing the direction she’s headed. “Did you buy the Maple Avenue house?” I ask, and she stumbles back a step.
“How do you remember the Maple Avenue house?” Even though we’re alone on the street, her voice is just above a whisper.
“I remember everything about that summer,” I tell her.
“Me too.” Her delicate brows furrow. “Mostly I remember how it ended, especially for my brother.”
She holds up a hand to prevent me from answering the implied accusation and begins walking again. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done. Water under the bridge.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. How many clichés can she throw at me, and which one of us is she trying to convince?
“I didn’t buy the Maple Avenue house,” she says. “I rent a duplex a block from that house, and I’m walking home, so you don’t have to worry about me getting behind the wheel. Thanks for singing the duet with me, Jake. It was…” She almost grudgingly continues, “Fun.”
“I’ll walk you home.” I fall into step with her. If Iris can’t see how obvious it is that I’ll use any excuse to spend time with her, I won’t reveal myself. Not yet.
“You’ll have the money for that house someday,” I offer. She loved that Denver Square—the epitome of charm and practicality, perfect for a first-time homebuyer looking for character and comfort. Its classic brick façade and a welcoming front porch, framed by sturdy columns, invited teenage Iris to picture long afternoons reading on the outdoor swing. “You’ll be able to scoop it up when it comes on the market.”
She shakes her head. “It went up for sale right when I moved back. But I used my savings on something more important than the dream of home ownership. And renting means I’m not so tied down.”
The words make it sound like a good thing, but Iris wanted roots the way kids who feel the hard tug of them crave freedom. I can’t imagine anything that would be more important to her except…
“It was Nick, wasn’t it? He needed to be bailed out of something.”
Her step falters, and I instinctively place a steadying hand on her lower back. We were close and flirty while singing the duet, but this moment feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared, even that long-ago kiss.
“He owed some people money,” she admits, like it’s not a big deal.
Maybe it’s the darkness, or the fact that she doesn’t have to pretend with me, but I’m still surprised she shares the truth. Surprised and satisfied. It isn’t only my grandfather’s trust I’d like to regain.
“You used your house fund to bail him out?”
“And to send him to rehab. That was part of the agreement. He claims he went once before, but I don’t believe it. Where would he get the money?”
