Chapter Twenty-Three Wade

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Wade

" C an I get you anything else, cowboy?" our server asks. She's young, blonde, and very flirty. She's wearing the standard Twelve Thirty Club attire, which is where we've landed for dinner. She's Cole's type to a T, not mine, and she's been doing her damnedest to get the best tip possible since we sat down.

The thing is, I wouldn't even look twice at her because Ivy is sitting across from me wearing a blue strapless dress the same color as her eyes, her hair pulled back high on her head in a ponytail, and all I can do is stare at the way her graceful neck curves to her shoulders and think about how badly I want to get my mouth on it.

I may have cleaned myself up physically after I ruined her scrunchie, but mentally, I still haven't recovered.

"Looking for dessert?" The server leans down to pick up my empty plate, and I avert my eyes from her tits that are practically in my face. I swear, I hear Ivy snort from across the table.

"We're good. Just the bill, thanks," I say as she stands back up straight and gathers Ivy's plate as well.

"Too bad." She grins at me, attempting to be as sexy as possible.

"I'm cramping your style." Ivy giggles when the server is out of earshot. The sun streams in the window behind her and lights her up like a goddamn halo.

I look down to my drink than back up to find a smug look on her face.

"You know she was flirting with you, don't you?"

"Meh," I say nonchalantly

"It's not your fault. Something happens to women in Nashville. They're all looking for a cowboy," Ivy comments.

"Good thing I'm not a cowboy."

"Rancher counts. In fact, I think it's just the hat, you could be a tax attorney for all they care, as long as you wear those jeans like that and carry that hat around, you're eye candy."

I don't miss her comment. I lean back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest.

"Are you checking out how I look in my jeans, Trouble?"

"I mean … I'm in Nashville too," she says, and my cock twitches.

Ivy's eyes flit to my phone on the table as it buzzes for the third time since we've left the hotel. For the third time straight, it's fucking Janelle.

"You got yourself a case of an ex that doesn't take no for an answer too, boss?" Ivy takes another drink, then errantly licks some of the salt off the side of the glass, which in itself threatens to brick me up under the fucking table like a teenager.

I look away and flip my phone over, ignoring Janelle again.

"A word of advice, you can be the good man you are without sacrificing your own sanity. That's the positive thing I learned from Brad. You can learn something from Janelle too. Stop looking at your time with her as a waste, and look at it as a stepping stone to what you want and what you don't. All you have to do is set that boundary with her for good."

I run a hand through my hair and blow out a raspberry.

"Fucking hell, didn't know this dinner came with free therapy."

"Gotta earn my keep somehow, Chief." She smiles then adds, "So, Mr. Rancher … back to the hotel, or you got other ideas?"

Oh, I have other ideas alright. Ones that tell me I need to keep myself out of that hotel room as long as humanly possible. I look across the street then back to those violet eyes I can't get enough of.

"You like Johnny Cash?" I ask Ivy.

She smiles wide. "Who doesn't?"

"Let's be tourists then," I say.

I've been here before and seen it all, but somehow with Ivy everything feels brand new.

When we've gone to every single touristy place we can, staying for the longest time at Studio B while Ivy tells me how much her father loved Elvis and a handful of stories about him, stories I actually find I want to hear because somehow when she tells them I'm interested, we finally get back to the Omni. Only Ivy doesn't seem quite ready to go upstairs either, and it's only nine-thirty. We decide to sit in front of the massive fireplace in the lobby, and she tells me I need to buy her a drink, which turns into three more for her to my one. We listen to live piano music and talk, and I laugh at her dancing in her seat to an ultra-slow piano rendition of "Thank God I'm a Country Boy." The way she exaggerates her moves is ridiculous and incredible all at once.

I can't shake the feeling throughout the night that every time we look at each other, it's like we're asking which one of us will cave first. It's never going to be safe to go upstairs together, but we have to at some point or we'll be waking up in the lobby.

By midnight, Ivy is fairly drunk. Funny as all hell, but drunk nonetheless. I'm learning drunk Ivy has no filter between her brain and her mouth, one more side to her I never thought I'd see, but like now that I do.

"Seventy-eight dollars! For just a few drinks?" she says as she eyes the bill when the server drops it on the table.

"You're not in Laurel Creek anymore," I tell her as I lift my glass and finish the rest of mine finally.

Ivy narrows her eyes. "You know what I think?" she asks.

"What?" I play along.

"I think I like this Wade Ashby, outside of Laurel Creek."

"Oh yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah, you're carefree, no one's placing their burdens on you … I mean, I've seen you smile at least three times." She says it so exaggeratedly that I realize I really have a fucking reputation.

I lean toward her across the table.

"I'll tell you a secret. I don't think my smiling today has anything to do with what city I'm in, Trouble."

Ivy averts her eyes and drains her glass, then looks down to the receipt on the table. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was almost nervous, and fuck, I like that I make her that way.

That little bit of fear I see in her eyes ignites me. She should be afraid—if I ever got my hands on her I'd never let her go.

"Well, that's rather expensive, even for Nashville." Her eyes light up. "Oh I know!" she says like she's just thought of the best idea. "Maybe you could just make those convincing fuck me eyes you gave me at this server, and she'll give you a break. She likes you." Ivy slings the strap of her purse over her shoulder and leans in. "They all like you, you should use that hotness to your advantage."

" Fuck me eyes?" I ask, enjoying her theatrics.

"That's right, don't act like you don't know." She guffaws and waves a hand at me. I see just how free she is right now, how open. The thought of her like this is downright fucking dangerous for me.

"Those dark, smoldering eyes you gave me right before you kissed me? You could've made me do anything you wanted in that moment," she says with the softest rasp to her voice.

My jaw falls slack for a brief moment before I get it together as she giggles at my reaction.

"Okay, time for bed," I tell her as I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the table and help her stand.

"Yes, time for bed." Ivy grins. "One bed."

"I'm sleeping on the sofa, the bed's all yours, Trouble," I tell her as we wander the hall to the elevator.

She laughs, and reminds me the sofa is half my size, which it is. I watch her curvy form in front of me as she walks, then move in beside her and hit the button for our floor. She flips from nervous to brazen in one second flat. Alcohol.

Standing right in front of me, she uses her thumb and forefinger to tweak my chin.

"You think I couldn't resist you in my bed with me? Just because your face is perfect?

She thinks it's her I'm worried about?

I just chuckle because seeing her blunt and honest like this is even fucking adorable.

"Even this stubble here," she says as she skims her finger down my jaw. A simple touch I almost have to close my eyes just to withstand. "Everything is just so … symmetrical, like you aren't real. It's extremely satisfying and kind of infuriating," she says as her hand stays resting on my face just long enough for my body to register her touch.

I place her hand back down at her side.

My cock is going to disown me soon with all the fucking torture I'm putting it through.

"You probably don't even try. You probably just wake up like that," she rambles.

"Don't give much thought to a beauty routine," I tell her.

"Exactly, and you still look like that. Infuriating ." She throws her hands in the air in drunken animation.

Upstairs, I reach into my wallet and pull out our room key, swiping it over the lock and pushing into our room.

"Well, I'm not a heathen. I do use moisturizer, and a good shampoo and conditioner," I tell her as I take my hat off and run my hand through my hair, before dropping it on a nearby chair.

She giggles and doesn't miss a beat. "Well, duh … gotta keep yourself smelling all delicious and whatnot," she says as she waves a hand over me and kicks off her sandals, pops her suitcase on the bed and reaches back to unzip her dress right in front of me.

As she does she mutters something that sounds like, " It's fine … we're all adults here. "

Jesus Christ. I look up to the ceiling and will myself to wait for her to enter the bathroom before I look back down. That was my plan, but when it comes to her, I have no willpower, so when she turns to look back over her shoulder and says, "I think it's stuck. Can you help me, Wade?" I get to her in less than one second flat.

"You're gonna get all this hair caught," I tell her as I pick the long ponytail up off her back and bring it to my nose, breathing her in, reminding me of her scrunchie that was wrapped around my dick only hours earlier, then I place it over her shoulder.

I stare down at her from my full height. She's so unspeakably close to me. It would take so little to bend her over the bed, flip her dress up and give in to whatever the fuck this is. I take a breath to steady myself but that doesn't work. She smells too fucking good and her skin has a sort of dewy shimmer I can't explain. As I fiddle with the zipper and pull the caught fabric out of it, I almost stop myself from freeing it just to get one more second of breathing her in, but the temptation of undressing her wins.

I pull the zipper down to her waist and her entire back is exposed. Inked vines dance down her skin from her shoulder blades along the column of her spine, etched with words so tiny I'd need to be a lot closer to read them. They're Ivy vines. They spread out over her tailbone and disappear into her black lace panties that I currently can't stop staring at.

Blink, Wade. Blink .

"All done?" she asks so sweetly, I instantly sober myself up.

"Yep," I reply, clearing my throat.

Ivy spins around, holding the structured top of her dress up over her full breasts, and smiles up at me. Somehow, my hands are on her shoulders, she's warm and so fucking soft under them. I let my eyes trail over her, her collarbone, the curve to her ear, the pulse that beats there, her full lips, and when I land on her eyes, they're glassy.

She smiles at me. "Wade, we agreed you wouldn't look at me like that," she says, a little slurry, reminding me how much she's had to drink. Way too much for me to touch her like this. It makes the decision slightly easier for me to slide my hands down her arms and let go.

"Thanks for your help," is all she says, way too innocently, before she spins around and heads for the bathroom, her entire silky back on display, screaming at me that she never had a bra on under that dress all night before she disappears behind the bathroom door.

When she comes out, she's dressed in another Eric Church tour t-shirt, this one cut at the neck into an off-the-shoulder version, and those little shorts she wears just to torment me. I've got her suitcase away, her bed turned down, and water on the bedside table for her, but I am already changed into my sweats and tucked in—crammed in, really—on the sofa beside the window. The only light is the one beside her bed.

"Drink some of that water before you go to sleep," I tell her as she pulls her ponytail out, her long hair tumbling down over her bare shoulders, and she yawns.

She lifts the bottle up, looks at it and then looks back at me, and suddenly I feel very much on display, with no shirt on the sofa. The way her eyes hungrily roam my body is like a shot straight to my groin.

"Have to be in control of everything at all times?"

I lie back on the sofa to break her gaze, extending an arm behind my head.

"Just drink the water."

"Yes, sir," she says, not realizing how those words from her lips affect me.

As she shuts out the light, I can almost hear her smile as she says, "Night, Chief."

I feel my jaw tense as I try so hard to keep myself on this couch, I'm afraid I may pop a tendon. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep. Because we both need it. She is probably going to be hungover tomorrow, and I'm going to be exhausted from staying up all night thinking of the way she looked holding that dress up with one hand as the outline of her perfect tits were on full view.

I focus on her breathing as she drifts off to sleep, thinking that will be less of a distraction than the images in my head, but I'm wrong. The throaty little sounds she makes while she dreams have me bricking up ten feet from her. Everything about Ivy Spencer distracts me, and I've been doing my best to fight it for way too long.

I just don't know how much fight I have left.