Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

I never thought I’d have to rely on the running board to climb out of my Grammy’s F-150, but there wasn’t another way to get out of the truck wearing the scandalous dress my high school friend, Dylan, had poured me into and maintain my dignity. Grammy was going to be rolling in her grave laughing…well, I guess, once we bury her.

I got the call yesterday from my inconsolable, dramatic mother that my grandmother passed in her sleep. As an engineer with Merlo Racing, I was at the stock car race in Arizona and dropped everything to run back here. Grammy’s passing was the only thing pulling me off the circuit, especially now that we are so close to the championship.

“I don’t think my grandmother had this in mind all the times when she begged me to come home and show off to everyone,” I said. Guilt over not coming home more often hounded me the entire flight home.

Most people would find it scandalous for me to go out to a bar the first night I was home. But after just an hour with my mother discussing funeral homes, the outfit Grammy would be buried in, and, of course, my mother’s outfit, I needed a beer—or a six-pack.

The airline also lost my luggage, which was why I was wearing Dylan’s clothes now.

In my haste to get home before my mother made a spectacle of the situation, I failed to carefully consider which airport to fly into and chose Raleigh, closer to our town.

If I had taken a moment to clear my head, I would’ve gone to my place in Charlotte and grabbed some funeral-appropriate clothing, not just the clothes I wore working that weekend in Arizona.

I called Dylan and told her the situation when I got to town. She said she was going to The Bar that evening. There was only one in town, referred to as “The Bar.” My mother wouldn’t be caught dead in The Bar. She considered it classless and beneath her.

So, I was off to The Bar—to hide from my mom and maybe avoid treating Grammy’s funeral as a kind of high school reunion.

Of course, being a good friend, Dylan offered to lend me some clothes. I knew our taste in clothes differed, her being more girly and me being more practical. The bigger problem was our different body shapes. Dylan had always been more of a willowy figure versus my tree trunk form, consisting of ample chest endowment and birthing hips. The years just accentuated the difference in both of us. Since my bags were in the ether of the airline’s tracking system, it was that or the same outfit I flew in and had been wearing for the last two days.

I would probably regret that decision all week, especially now that I couldn’t even get out of the truck without flashing my assets.

As Dylan appeared on the other side of the truck, I reached for the bedazzled purse Dylan had made herself, covered with enough rhinestones to make Dolly Parton jealous.

“I don’t know why we had to take your truck. Seriously, Andy, my car would’ve been more comfortable,” Dylan said.

“Yes, but then I couldn’t have escaped,” I mumbled.

While I could disassemble and reassemble any carburetor in this parking lot blindfolded, walking through the gravel in stilettos was a gift I didn’t have. My wardrobe consisted of T-shirts, jeans, and either hi-tops or boots, maybe with occasional flip-flops if the weather was good and I wanted to dip my toe into my girly side.

She ignored me and led the way to the bar, her hips swaying in a way that screamed “woman.”

I dared to check my chest. “How did you manage to make my boobs look bigger?” I said, poking the top of the unfamiliar globes created by lingerie with NASA engineering. “This bra is pushing my boobs up so high I can almost kiss them myself.”

“Hell, when the guys catch ahold of you in that outfit, they’re going to?—”

I held up a hand, already nervous about running into some of the friends from high school. “Do not finish that sentence,” I said.

Dylan turned me in a circle, checking me out one last time as if I were her latest artwork.

“You’re stunning as a girl.” Dylan threw out a chef’s kiss. “Perfection.”

“I am a girl,” I gritted through the layers of lip gloss and lip liner.

“This was not going to go well,” I said as we weaved between cars and trucks in the parking lot. “I swear if the guys laugh, I will castrate each of them with a set of wire cutters and then burn this high-tech bra with a blow torch.”

When Dylan strutted into a room, every male head turned. I was the tomboy who was a total nightmare if they pissed me off. Maybe I was a bit jealous—but I’d rather run up and down naked on a pit row than admit it to anyone.

A set of familiar faces lounged around a round table, facing the large screen TV above the bar. Some aged well over the last ten years, but most, eh…not so much. Ben was the sweetest of the crew and the first to notice me. He elbowed Vic, who kicked Chris under the table and nodded toward us.

Their ring leader and the bane of my existence, Rush Sullivan, wasn’t there.

I shot a thank you heavenward. Maybe Grammy was watching after me, after all.

When I got to my grandmother’s house that afternoon, no cars had been parked at his house next door. Maybe he’d gone out of town. Could I be that lucky?

Dylan turned with her back to the table of idiots, and her face was red from suppressed laughter. She breathed enough to say, “Oh my God, they seriously don’t recognize you.”

“Oh, come on…” I didn’t look that different. I ignored the gaping and made a path to the bar. If I was going to go through with this, I needed alcohol.

A blurry-eyed Vic sauntered over. “Hey Dylan, who do you have with you? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Vic leaned between us, leaning way too far over in my personal space.

Dylan found her voice. “You don’t recognize her?”

“I’d remember someone this beaut—” He covered his mouth with his fist, burped, and stared at my chest. “This beautiful.”

“I’m about to hurt someone,” I seethed.

“Hey, Sullivan.” Vic waved over my head. “Help me out. Surely, you’d remember this gorgeous woman.”

My stomach dropped, and I closed my eyes, wishing for a black hole or a bottle of Jack, whichever appeared first. So much for Grammy saving me from this night of terrors. The bigger question was banging around in my brain… Which Sullivan boy was it?

Was it Matthew, the love of my life, who occupied more time in my head than I would want to admit? Or was it Rush, the cousin who saw through my quiet angst and drool and knew how much I wanted Matthew’s attention?

Rush tolerated me at best. At his worst, he’d say things like, “There is Annalise, begging for scraps.”

Their grandmother was best friends and neighbors with mine. I could never fully escape them. But around Matthew, my knees got weak, and my words would become incoherent most of the time. His blue eyes and hair, which turned to flaxen gold in the summertime, were what teenage girl dreams were made of. But it was Rush who was in many of my classes and seemed to spend the most time at his grandmother’s house.

We all left for college at the same time. While away, some would say I grew out of my ugly duckling stage. I discovered padded bras, contacts, and skinny jeans. I wouldn’t qualify as a beauty, but I learned to style my hair so it wasn’t in a perpetual ponytail.

I even dated a few times. However, I spent most of my time with others in the mechanical engineering program. Since it was heavily male, the competition wasn’t that great.

Nonetheless, it was enough attention to empower me when I ran into Matthew that Christmas break. I’d run through countless ways show him how grown up I’d become.

Except Matthew came home with a woman who could rival Dylan in the looks department.

I will never forget the weight of my heart when he walked into the party with her on his arm. They were the quintessential couple—the type you didn’t think really existed.

Muscular forearms covered by a black Henley slid two martini glasses across the bar.

Damn, I was always a sucker for nice forearms—the most underrated sexy part of a man.

They were tanner than I remembered, with a bit more definition, and the hair scattered over was a bit more than a dusting. But the scar on his left hand was more than familiar and identified the proper Sullivan boy. The slightly raised scar on his hand was from when I “accidentally” poked him with a screwdriver after he criticized my work on the 1997 Acura Integra I was restoring in high school.

It wasn’t Matthew. It was Rush. Matthew never got his hands dirty. Rush was the exact opposite, always diving under the hood of whatever car I was working on, pointing out where I wasn’t doing things right.

My fingers gingerly reached for the stem.

“Here you go.” His voice had me straightening. For the life of me, I couldn’t take my eyes off his arms. He leaned forward over those surprisingly beautifully defined forearms with a broader chest and a voice deeper than I remembered. God help me, he was close enough to try to whisper in my ear, his minty breath doing funny things to my insides. I braced for a comment about my appearance that would take the wind out of my sails. “Hey. They’re harmless, but if they bother you, just let me know.”

I shook my head.

He touched my hand lightly, “Hey?—”

The contact involuntarily jerked my gaze to brilliant hazel eyes, more vibrant green than I remember.

Those eyes grew wide as his mouth fell open. He went silent as he pulled away. It felt like a rejection. How weird was that?

Now able to study him closer, Rush must have grown another few inches since I’d last seen him. He also filled out his lanky frame very well. And, of course, there were those sexy forearms if I had been any other woman, all that combined would’ve had me won over.

But this was Rush Sullivan. In our sophomore year, he yanked on my ponytail so hard that I fell into a mud puddle right in front of Matthew. And Rush was the only boy I ever tackled and full-out mud-wrestled.

We’d had to hose off in the backyard before we could step foot in Grammy’s house while Matthew got the first shot at the cookies she’d made. That led to a water fight, with him laughing at me the entire time. The angrier I became, the more he laughed.

Infuriating boy.

“So, are you going to give us a hint at who you are, sweetheart?” he said, causing me to look up at him. Had he gotten taller, too?

Staring at Rush, I had trouble associating him with the boy I remembered.

Then suddenly… “Andy?” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around and back at me. “What are you doing? I mean, when did you get in?” He raked his eyes over me—studying the hair, the make-up, the clothes…the NASA-created boobs.

Vic said, “Hey man, don’t do that voodoo shit you do on all the pretty ones.” He leaned over me, his arm around my shoulder and his breath coated in stale beer. “I saw this one first,” he drawled and attempted to wink.

A hand shot out over the bar and shoved Vic’s shoulder. “Jackass, it’s Annalise.”

Vic stumbled back, and Ben and Chris caught him.

Dylan reappeared, scooped up a martini, and surveyed things. “Oh, damn. I missed the unmasking.”

Vic regained his footing. “That ain’t Andy.” He pointed vehemently at the back of me. “Andy doesn’t have an ass like that.”

“Vic, unless you want Annalise to castrate you, I strongly suggest you shut up now,” Dylan said deadpan, then took a sip of her drink without a care as to whether or not I would go through with it. “I brought her here to cheer her up, not be manhandled and then insulted by you idiots.”

Rush wiped his hand over his mouth, staring at me while the Three Stooges took a healthy step back.

“You’re still an asshole,” I said and took a sip of Dylan’s proffered martini. “Screw this, Rush. Give me whatever you have on draft,” I said, pushing the martini toward Dylan.

Everyone froze for a heartbeat.

Ben and Chris stepped forward. “Holy shit…” Chris said.

“Yep, you three were giving sexy eyes to Andy,” Dylan said.

“I need to wash my eyes with bleach,” Chris said, covering his eyes and pointing at my chest. “Can’t you cover those up?”

Vic ran for the nearest trash can and puked.

Dylan laughed so hard she spit out her drink, spraying all of them.

But the weight and intensity of Rush’s gaze annoyed me the most as he placed a full Pilsner in front of me.

Holding up the glass, I said, “It’s been fun catching up.” I downed half the beer and turned to leave.

Rush’s hand shot forward from the bar, grabbed my beer, and said to the man behind him, “I’m taking a break.” Grabbing my beer, he turned me to a table toward the back. “You aren’t getting away that easy.”

Setting the beer down, he turned and took me in his arms, “Jesus, Andy, you sure do know how to make an entrance.” He stepped back, and his smile was intoxicating. “God, I missed you.” Then he hugged me, rocking me back and forth. His chest was higher than the last time he hugged me…or had that been a headlock? His chin didn’t even touch the top of my head now. And oh my God, he smelled good. Really good. “I’m so sorry about Dorothy. I offered to call you, but your mom insisted on breaking the news to you.”

“Mom loves to deliver bad news,” I said. “I think she pretends a camera follows her for some pretend reality series.”

His smile grew as he coaxed me into a seat. “You know your Gram talked about you all the time. We’d get weekly updates about how your team did or what city you were traveling to next.”

“The life isn’t as glamorous as it seems. It’s a lot of travel, and we only get legit time off during a month or two in the off-season to rest.”

“Well, it would’ve been nice to see you for a day or two in one or two of those months over the years.” His tone was teasing, but the point struck home.

My eyes burned. I hadn’t cried since receiving the news of Gram’s passing, and I wasn’t going to turn on the waterworks now. My sniff gave me away, though, and Rush touched my arm. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for—” He swore to himself. “Here I am being an asshole again.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. I can’t stay very long.” I grabbed a napkin and blotted the corner of my eyes. “Mia, my boss, needs me back next week. Our team is in the playoffs, so it’s every hand on deck.”

He continued. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now.

“You are?”

He nudged my arm. “Of course I am.”

“So…I need to get back…” He gestured with his thumb to the bar. “I told your mom your Gram left me in charge of most of the arrangements. I told your mother she didn’t want to burden her with it and figured you’d be too busy to sort things out.”

“Oh.” I tried to hide my hurt at the unintentional insult.

“But I wanted to check with you and see if there was anything you needed?—”

“No, no. That’s fine.” I shook my head. “She knew I was crap at organizing, and she, um, loved you boys like family.”

He began to stand, leading me to do the same. “Anyway, why don’t we get together tomorrow? We can get some things together for her memorial.”

I nodded. What else was there to say? He was just a boy I used to know and didn’t like very much. “I have a key to her house and will be staying there tonight.”

“Thought maybe you’d be at Dylan’s.” He gestured to the clothes.

“I lost my luggage,” I said, straightening my clothing again so all essentials were covered and didn’t invite further comment.

He held up a hand. “Say no more.” He pivoted back to the guys at the bar. “Even with scaring the guys…you look amazing. Different.”

My eyes bugged out, and I stared down at myself. “Seriously?”

“Well, clothing choices aside.” He gestured to my chest, and even in the dimmed corner of the bar, I thought I had caught a bit of pink on his cheeks. “I…um, I mean… You do look amazing, Annalise.”

I reached for my bedazzled purse because I didn’t know how to react. There weren’t quippy comebacks or one-liner insults floating around in my head. It was completely blank. “Um, thanks.”

He chuckled, his eyes warming again.

“Well, I’m glad I caught up with you tonight. It’s good to have you home.”

I nodded once and diverted my attention to Dylan, who was hovering. “Hey, Barbie, it’s time to go.”

She ignored me, and I raised my voice over the music. “It’s now, or you’re walking, " I said, pointing to the entrance.

I nodded and moved to the door. “See you tomorrow.” I gathered all my hutzpah and took long strides to the door. I tried to put some swing in my step, but with the Stilettos and my general lack of grace, I knocked over a guy and sent him into a table.

Rush’s laugh had me double-timing it out the door.