Hard and Fast (19 page)

Imogen watched Tabby sighing at the memory and she smiled.

“ ’Course, he didn’t notice me at all. I was still in middle school and I had zero fashion sense. I was wearing a denim skirt that damn near hit the ground since I’d just come from church. I was so fascinated by him, so upset that he wouldn’t look at me, that I didn’t even finish my ice cream cone.”

Imogen remembered that feeling herself, that longing, that moody, desperate need for a boy to notice you when you were fourteen. Not a pleasant thing. Of course, she hadn’t really enjoyed the twenty-eight-year-old version of it either as she had lusted after Ty for months.

“I wanted to hang around until Jack left so I made up an excuse about having to use the bathroom. Told my sister I was having intestinal issues and might be a while.” Tabby grinned. “Cindy was always impatient so she left me and walked home by herself. She got chewed out for leaving me there, and for walking alone. But anyway, once I was rid of her, I ordered a soda and tried to figure out how to talk to him, but in the end, after thirty minutes, I couldn’t work up the courage, so I headed across the parking lot to walk home. This creepy guy in his thirties called out and offered me a ride, and I was freaking out. I lived in a small town in Alabama and my mother had warned me all about crazies who would molest and rape a girl and ruin her life if he didn’t beat her to death or set her on fire or something sick like that.” Tabby shook her head and gave Imogen a rueful look. “Putting the fear of God into us worked, but I can’t help but think there was a better way to do it than letting us believe we’d be barbequed if we talked to strangers.”

“With my mother, it was Mace,” Imogen said. “Living in Manhattan, I usually felt safe because there were always people around, but my mother made my carry Mace at all times, and I’m sure it was the smart thing to do. Of course, if I had ever been attacked, I probably would have dropped the stupid can before I could use it.”

“No kidding.” Tabby shrugged. “So, I freaked out, of course, and was going to run back into the ice cream shop, but suddenly there was Jack, standing next to me. He tells the guy to move along, that I’m with him, and he shouldn’t be talking to teenage girls anyways.”

“The guy looked annoyed, but he did leave right away, and then Jack looked at me and asked if I was alright. I nodded, because I had no spit left in my mouth and couldn’t talk, and then he offered me a ride home. I nodded yes.” Tabby grinned. “And then he yelled at me for being stupid enough to accept his offer of a ride and how did I know he was any better than that other guy? So then I was mortified, and he marched me into the store and made me use the pay phone to call my mother to come and pick me up. He even got on the phone and told her in a very respectful voice that a rather unsavory man had been talking to me and he felt that, for my safety, she should come on up and fetch me. And the whole time I’m thinking not only is my mother going to be furious with me, this cute, cute boy thinks I’m a foolish little girl.”

“That does sound rather mortifying,” Imogen said sympathetically, adding some sugar to her tea. “So what happened?”

“I politely thanked him, then sat down at a picnic table outside, assuming he was done with me and pretty much just wanting to die. But he sat down on top of the table, feet on the bench, and started talking, telling me how he’s going to be a famous stock car driver and telling me all about his car. I didn’t know squat about racing, which seemed to please him as much as if I had been a fan, because this gave him the chance to tell me everything from the ground up. He told me his name was Jack and he told me that he’d seen me in church, that I always sat in the eighth row next to old Mr. Hodgkins. Now I was shocked that he could know that, when I’d never seen him before. I mean, I would have noticed him, right?” Tabby held her teacup in front of her mouth and smiled. “But he told me he knew where I sat because he was always looking down on me. He sang in the choir and he was up in the loft every Sunday. And my heart just about exploded in my chest with excitement. I mean, a choirboy? Even my mama couldn’t object to that, right?”

Imogen pondered that. “Mothers can always find something to object to, but that was a definite notch in his favor, I’m sure.”

“Exactly. So then, proving he hadn’t been listening all that hard in church about lust and lying, he led me around the side of the shop on the pretext of picking me some scraggly wild-flowers. He asked me for my phone number and he asked me to the movies. Then he kissed me.” Tabby put her hands on her cheeks. “I was so shocked, both at him, and at me for letting him. But have mercy, it felt fine. I’d shared a kiss or two with a boy before, but this was something else entirely, and I still had the taste of him on my lips when my mama pulled into the parking lot. And we’ve been together ever since.”

“You stayed together all through high school?”

“Yep. We never broke up, not even once, not even for a day. Jack started racing on the local track and worked his way up to earning a little bit of money at it while I was finishing school. We started out dirt poor with nothing but our faith in the future and our love. We’ve been together twenty-one years and had all manner of ups and downs, and yet marriage and loving Jack have never been hard. Life has been hard at times, but marriage never has been. Now we have four beautiful, occasionally bratty kids, a gorgeous house, and Jack’s career, and I feel very blessed.”

Imogen had a lump in her throat staring across the table at the pure contentment on Tabby’s face. She loved her husband, and he loved her, and they had built a life together.

She had never expected to pine for hearth and home and a man to call her own, but at that moment, watching the joy of one woman’s love for her husband, Imogen truly felt the ache of wanting that for herself.

Tabby’s cell phone chimed in her purse and she gave Imogen a shrug of apology. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually the rudest woman in the world, but do you mind if I see who this is? I want to make sure it’s not the kids or Jack. We have a deal that he always calls me when he arrives at the next racetrack so I know he made it safely.”

“Sure, of course. I don’t mind.” Imogen was pondering anyway, thinking that Tabby’s story of meeting and falling in love with Jack didn’t follow the
Six Steps
at all.

Tabby checked the screen on her phone, then said, “It’s Jack. Let me take this. I swear I’ll only be two minutes.”

“No problem. Take your time.” Imogen pulled out her own phone, aware of exactly who she was hoping to have a voice mail or text message from. Not that she was really expecting Ty to contact her until he had the camping details, but she couldn’t help but think it might be nice to hear from him since she had just spent the night with him.

Pulling out her own phone, she got excited for half a second when she realized she did have a text, until she opened the message and realized it was from Evan Monroe. He was asking if he could call to make plans to go out to dinner.

Oy. This was what she got for flirting with a man she wasn’t really attracted to. Now she had to find some way to turn him down without being rude or hurting his feelings.

Regardless of whether she and Ty ever shared more than a few steamy nights together, this was definitely a lesson worth learning. Tabby had spent twenty-plus years happy with her husband because from day one there had be an indisputable attraction between them, and it was starting to occur to Imogen that, dating guide or not, that was not a feeling you could force, either in yourself or in the other person.

Tabby said into her phone, “I love you, too, you handsome man.” Then she tucked her phone back into her purse and said, “Where were we?”

Good question. If Imogen only knew where she was and what she was doing, she would feel much better, but for the first time in her life, logic seemed to be failing her.

 

 

 

TY was keyed up with excitement and a fair amount of nerves when he pulled into Imogen’s apartment complex to pick her up Monday morning. He’d had a lousy race the day before, finishing eighth, which earlier in the year would have pleased him, but with only four races left in the season, left him dissatisfied. He was still in contention for the overall championship, and every point counted. To that purpose, he really shouldn’t be taking today and tomorrow off. He should be sitting down with the team and assessing what had happened on Sunday and going over the car for Atlanta.

But he had already made plans with Imogen and he didn’t want to cancel them. One, because it would look rude. Two, because he wanted to spend time with her. Lots of quality time naked. That was good for his physical and mental health and surely that was good for racing performance. He would just have to haul his butt back on Tuesday and head straight to the garage. In the meantime, he needed to make sure Imogen was having a great time camping and he needed to display a working knowledge of
Much Ado About Nothing
.

He’d struggled with the play all weekend, listening to it on his iPod whenever he had a spare few minutes. He’d gone jogging and listened to it, eaten breakfast at the Waffle House solo and listened to it, and sat in his lawn chair outside his coach, trying desperately to make sense of what the voice actors were saying. He tried really damn hard but, in the end, had only had a basic outline of the story. Calling that good enough, he’d called Toni and had her confirm he was at least in the right ballpark. Then he’d asked her for the most romantic quote of the play. Toni had indicated that
Much Ado About Nothing
wasn’t exactly Shakespeare’s most swoon-worthy play, but she managed to find a passage that Ty thought sounded pretty darn hot. He had made her repeat it to him four times so he could commit it to memory. That was one thing Ty could say about his brain—he had a good memory, probably because he couldn’t really write anything down.

Going over the quote in his head, he was confident he had it right, so Ty turned off the car and got out, sniffing the air. It was warm already, and they were looking at temperatures in the eighties, the last gasp of summer before fall really kicked in. Perfect weather for camping.

Imogen looked sleepy and grumpy and damn adorable when she answered the door. She had her hair in a sleek ponytail, her face free of any makeup, her glasses sliding down her nose, a frazzled and unfocused expression on her face. Dressed in what Ty would deem dressy jeans, an expensive-looking black-and-white-striped short-sleeve sweater, and little black shoes, he realized she had a different understanding of camping than he did.

He also realized she hadn’t had her coffee yet when she said, “Why does anyone get up this early on purpose?” by way of greeting.

Ty reached out and pushed her glasses up her nose. He gave her a soft kiss. “Me. And if you show me your bag, I’ll toss it in the car and we’ll run you through the drive-thru at McDonald’s and get you a coffee.”

For a second, she just stared at him, clearly flummoxed. “Okay. Good. Coffee is good.” Then she looked around her apartment, which was far more cluttered than Ty would have ever guessed. “My bag is still in my bedroom. Sorry for the mess.” She moved a pile of books from the couch to the coffee table on her way by.

“This is a great apartment. I can really see your personality.” It was true. While there was an amazing amount of clutter, books and papers scattered on every available surface and even stacked on the floor, the furniture was eclectic and comfortable, a hodgepodge of antique lamps and chandeliers, modern glass tables, and a soft white slip-covered couch. Everything looked sort of worn and soft and touchable, the early-morning light from the big picture window bouncing off the glass tables and heavy crystal chandeliers. She had a theme to her artwork; every oil painting hung on the walls was a portrait of a woman, from one wearing a huge ball gown to one in a canary yellow suit. She also had a vintage eyeglass collection, displayed on a chest of drawers painted a soft, chipped yellow.

Ty was so busy checking out her place, he didn’t notice the tiny backpack she was reaching for in the doorway of her room.

“That’s it. I can carry it.” She lifted it up one-handed and slung it over her shoulder, which indicated to him it wasn’t all that heavy.

Eyeing it dubiously, he said, “Okay, then. Guess we’re all set.” In his entire life he had never met a woman who could pack everything she needed for an overnight camping trip in a backpack. But then again, he was familiar with Southern women, who wanted to be prepared for anything at all times. Imogen was from New York. They lived in tiny apartments, they walked all over the place. Chances were she had learned to streamline, to take only what she needed.

Ty’s mother had been known to pull pedicure kits out of her camping gear in case anyone had tired feet or a blister after a day of hiking. And the food supplies had nearly flattened the tires on the family station wagon when he’d been a kid and they’d headed out on road trips. His father had never discouraged her and, in fact, had been grateful a time or two when his mother had whipped something totally improbable out of her purse, like a sugar packet or a whole bottle of antacids.

Imogen’s backpack was mildly unnerving, but he didn’t want to call her out on it and make her feel like she had done something wrong.

But he did feel compelled to ask, “Do you have boots in there?” She’d slip and break her neck if she tried to hike in those little shoes.

“Yep.” She patted the bag with her free hand.

“Okay, good. Let’s pump you full of caffeine and hit the road.”

It was only thirty miles to Lake Norman, but it took almost every one of them and a large black coffee before Imogen appeared to wake up. For most of the drive, she rested her head on the window with her eyes closed and Ty listened to the radio and stole glances at her, feeling a little foolish. She was so damn pretty and he was experiencing the weirdest sensation every time he looked at her, a sort of bizarre tenderness that he didn’t really understand. He’d never dated a woman like her, and he felt almost unsure of himself, like he’d fallen back about a decade and was an eager twenty-year-old desperate to impress a girl.