Slow Ride (22 page)
That was crazy, but really not at all surprising. “Do you think she’ll be able to do it? Gain weight, I mean?”
“I guess if she wants a child badly enough. Maybe at the very least she’ll lay off her husband and let Jonas eat a chip now and again.”
“You’re right, there is a ton of drama going on.” Suddenly he wasn’t feeling so bad about having to go off to work.
“I think we should have a dinner party.”
Leave it to Suz. “You just had a baby! You’re not throwing a party.”
“I just think that everyone could use a social night together.”
“So you can pull people aside and try and interfere in their private lives.”
“Of course not.” Then she gave in. “Okay, maybe. But what can I say? I care about my friends, and if we hadn’t interfered, Elec and Tammy would have never gotten together.”
That was subject to debate, but he’d just let her have that one. “No one needs to be fixed up.”
“Diesel and Tuesday need to be observed to determine if they’re right for each other or not.”
Oh, Lord. “No.” Ryder brushed her hair off her face. “Now give me a big old good-bye kiss.”
“You can’t just tell me no, you know.”
“We can talk about it when I get home.” And he would tell her no all over again.
“Alright.”
She puckered up and he gave her a nice, long kiss, wanting to pour all of his heart and soul into it, so she would know what she meant to him. What she had given back to him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now kick some ass out there.”
With one last kiss for both his wife and newborn son, Ryder went to do just that.
EVAN
Monroe laid on the couch in his RV, Kendall tucked up next to him. They were in Atlanta for the week’s race, and they were having a rare quiet moment together. He rubbed her arm, loving the feel of her so close to him. She was his wife, his lover, his best friend.
Monroe laid on the couch in his RV, Kendall tucked up next to him. They were in Atlanta for the week’s race, and they were having a rare quiet moment together. He rubbed her arm, loving the feel of her so close to him. She was his wife, his lover, his best friend.
“How are you doing?” she asked him. “Are you okay?”
He knew exactly what she was asking him. He had found out earlier in the day that the baby Sara Parker had given birth to wasn’t his. After four months of worry, fear, excitement, now he had the answer. He wasn’t going to be a father, and damn if he wasn’t disappointed.
“I don’t know. I guess. I know it would have been really difficult to be a quality part of that baby’s life, given my schedule and Sara’s new husband and life in Kentucky, and that it was asking a hell of a lot of you, but I liked the idea of being a father. That’s selfish, isn’t it?” He’d been struggling with that all day. He knew how much Kendall had suffered when she had found out about this baby, and he was worried that it didn’t say good things about his character if he had secretly wanted the baby to be his.
“How does that make you selfish?” She looked up at him, pulling an errant blond hair out of her mouth. Her forehead wrinkled. “You never criticized Sara, you offered her money and any help she needed, you left lawyers out it . . . and you wanted to have a little girl call you daddy. I think that’s amazing. And hell, I was having a fantasy or two about being a stepmommy.”
“You were?” Evan stared down at the woman he loved more than anything in the world and he wondered if it were possible she was thinking what he was thinking. “Do you . . . do you think . . . do you want to start our own family? Sooner than later?”
“It’s insane,” she whispered, her eyes wide and glassy. “It will set my career back. But I don’t care. I want to have a baby with you, Evan. Maybe that was what we were supposed to learn from this. That our marriage, creating a family, is more important than anything else.”
Evan thought for a second that he was actually going to cry. He managed to hold the tears at bay, but he did squeeze Kendall close against his body, leaning his forehead down onto hers. “I want a family with you more than anything. I love you, God, so much.”
“I love you, too.” She gave him a grin. “Want to try right now?”
He wasn’t stupid enough to turn that down. “First one naked gets to name our first child.”
As they scrambled out of denim and cotton, Evan was damn grateful that he really felt like he had his life all together.
THE
minute Tuesday opened the door, Diesel knew she had been drinking. There was a glassy look in her eye and a sloppy grin on her face.
minute Tuesday opened the door, Diesel knew she had been drinking. There was a glassy look in her eye and a sloppy grin on her face.
“Hey,” she drawled, tossing her hair back. “What’s up?”
Disappointed, Diesel stepped into her apartment. It wasn’t even nine yet and she was drunk. Not only did he not want to spend the night being her designated driver, he had been looking forward to spending time with the real Tuesday, not the one under the influence.
“Hey,” he replied. “Been hitting the cocktails already, have you?” It was probably the wrong tactic to take with Tuesday if he wanted her to stop drinking, but he was annoyed. Did she have to get loaded to see him?
The look she gave him could have cut glass. “So what if I have? A lot of people have a drink after work.”
“I think you’ve had more than one.”
“What are you, my mom?” Then her expression suddenly changed from belligerent to shocked, like she had remembered something. She quickly ducked her head down so he couldn’t see her expression anymore. “So, what, are you saying you don’t want to go out with me tonight because I’ve had three glasses of wine? Or four.”
She had regained her composure and had raised her head to him defiantly. Diesel didn’t understand Tuesday. She lashed out when he wasn’t expecting it, showing a vulnerability that was raw and tender, yet other times she was so tough. “I’m not saying anything, other than it’s clear you’ve been drinking.”
“Maybe you should, too. It would certainly loosen you up.”
“Oh, I’m uptight?”
“That’s the understatement of the year. It’s boring.”
Diesel felt the slow burn of anger rising up from his gut. Why was she tearing into him? He’d just shown up to take her to dinner. And that was his fear . . . that she would lose interest in him because he was boring. He didn’t want it pointed out to him so baldly. “I don’t think drinking a bottle of wine is the smartest way to relax. Nor do I think I’m that uptight. I many not be the most exciting guy on the planet, but I’m not wound tight either.”
“No, you’re just loosened up from Vicodin.”
Now that was a low blow. Diesel pulled his keys back out of his pocket. She was clearly itching for a fight and he wasn’t about to oblige her. “Maybe we should go to dinner another night. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re canceling on me?”
“Deferring. I think it’s probably for the best, don’t you?”
“If you walk out that door and leave me hungry when I was counting on dinner and sex, don’t bother to call me again.”
Despite her swaying a little, Tuesday looked beautiful and fierce. She was wearing dark jeans, sandals with heels, and a bright blue stretchy shirt that made the most of her smaller cleavage. She had on very little makeup except for her lips, which were an enticing coral color.
Did he want to have sex with her?
Hell, yeah. He’d been looking forward to it all day. All week.
But he also wanted to have a decent conversation with her. And he had no desire to be fending off barbs all night.
Leaving was the only thing that made sense.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told her. “Though you’ll probably have a hangover.”
“At least I’m an honest drunk. You’re hiding your problems behind a prescription bottle.”
That was it. Diesel took a deep breath before he said something he would truly regret. “Good night, Tuesday.”
Her response was a very vehement, “Fuck you.”
Yep. It was time to leave.
Diesel walked out, catching a draft as she slammed the door shut behind him, nearly clipping his heels.
He did not have a prescription drug problem. He only took his pain pills one or two days a week when it was too much to handle with working. He wasn’t hiding behind anything and he didn’t have any problems. Tuesday, on the other hand, was clearly having some issues.
Feeling frustrated and furious and disappointed, Diesel got into his car and started home. Only with each mile he ate up, his anger turned to worry. What if Tuesday decided to get in her own car and drive somewhere? She probably was hungry and she was the type who would go for chicken tenders at the drive-thru when she’d been drinking. He knew that sober she would be appalled at the idea of anyone driving under the influence of alcohol, but that was the whole problem with it. Most people didn’t get behind the wheel knowing they were trashed—their judgment was so impaired they thought they were fine.
Diesel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about how her
s
’s had slurred and just how glassy her eyes had been. She was also wearing shoes and was ready to go out. He would never be able to live with himself if something happened to her of if she injured someone else on the road.
s
’s had slurred and just how glassy her eyes had been. She was also wearing shoes and was ready to go out. He would never be able to live with himself if something happened to her of if she injured someone else on the road.
“Shit.” Pulling into the next driveway, he turned around and headed back to Tuesday’s apartment, realizing he didn’t even know what kind of car she drove so he couldn’t scan the road for her.
Maybe he should call her. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed her number, keeping one eye on the road. She didn’t pick up.
Fortunately, he hadn’t gone far, so two minutes later he was in her parking lot and moving to her door as fast as possible.
Diesel pounded on it, impatiently shifting back and forth from foot to foot. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again and dialed her phone simultaneously.
After five rings, she answered the phone. “What?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m standing in my living room trying to ignore you calling me and knocking on my door.”
He let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Where did you think I was?”
“Never mind. Can I come in?”
“Why? So you can insult me some more?” The anger seemed to have gone out of her voice and she sounded petulant, but tired.
“No. No, I have no intention of insulting you.” His anger had disappeared too, buried under the worry he had felt when he’d thought of her crashing into a ditch. “Please. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
He was sorry. It wasn’t his right to criticize her. He could express concern but there were better ways to do it than the way he had, thirty seconds after walking in her door.
She hung up on him.
Diesel stared at his phone for a second, dumbfounded. Seriously? He had just apologized, not an easy thing to do he had to say.
But then she opened the door, her phone in her hand. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have told you to fuck off.”
He smiled, relieved all over again. “I actually think you told me ‘fuck you.’ But who’s keeping track?”
“Not me.”
She sniffled, and Diesel realized that her eyes were red, her cheeks damp.
Holy shit, had he made her cry? “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Diesel moved into the apartment without an invitation and wrapped his arms around her.
For half a second, he thought she was going to shove him away, but she just took a deep breath and shuddered.
“I’m sorry, Tuesday. That wasn’t fair of me.”
“It’s fine. I overreacted. Bringing up your medication was a low blow, too. I really didn’t mean to suggest you have an addiction to pain pills.” She wasn’t hugging him in return, but she was letting him hold her. “And just for the record, I’m totally drunk.”
He loved that she was so honest. Drunk or sober, she usually told it just like it was. “Maybe you’re just tipsy.”
“I hate it when you use that word. You sound like my grandmother. And I don’t want to get it on with my grandmother.”
“I don’t really want you to get it on with your grandmother either. Okay, so you’re shit-faced. How did that happen?”
“One glass at a time.” Tuesday peeled back from him and moved to the left. She tripped over two big bags of dog food and stumbled before dropping down onto her couch.
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