Chapter Forty-Two Ivy

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Ivy

" W ell, deck the fucking halls, who's ready to light this place up?" Ginger says as she drops her purse on our table at the Horse and Barrel the day before Christmas Eve. She's the last to arrive and is outfitted in a scandalous red dress. Her dewy skin and long dark curls dance under a Santa hat.

Wade and I are already seated with Olivia, Cole and CeCe, with Nash keeping a close eye on us from behind the bar. But the moment Ginger arrives, she commands everyone's attention, including Wade's suddenly vocal younger brother.

"Apparently you, as always," Cole mumbles under his breath as he pushes a strawberry margarita to her across the table.

"Don't be such a scrooge, Officer. Thought I saw a mistletoe over there if you want to take a stroll?"

Cole scoffs but I see it, that one second where his eyes drink her in like she's his favorite brand of liquor and he's thirsty as fuck.

"I'm sure you got lots of options in that department, Vixen."

"Tons, of course, but I'll tell you what, Cole. Just because I'm feeling festive, you can be first up." She smiles as she tweaks his chin. She's one of those girls who is so goddamn pretty, it almost hurts to look at her, and no matter what Cole Ashby says, I'm sure he notices it just like every other man in this room.

"I need another drink," Cole half grunts. "Want another?" he asks Wade.

Wade knocks back the rest of his bourbon and nods.

"Me too, baby, we're celebrating tonight," Ginger says to Cole as he saunters off. "I told you wearing my boots would bring you luck! To Angel's Wings' first milestone, may her juvenile wins come just as easily. Also, babe, you look fucking gorgeous, you're glowing. Doing what you love looks good on you." Ginger smiles.

I look down at my navy strapless dress that had Wade sliding his hands under it after he came to get me when he was done working tonight.

Ginger raises her margarita, and we all follow suit while I blush at her blunt compliment. In truth, I'm probably glowing because I've never been so sexually satisfied in my life, although that might all change when Wade finds out what his loss of our little bet will entail tonight.

Wade's hand finds my thigh under the table and he gives it a light squeeze. Those damn butterflies I've been feeling for weeks surface instantly in my stomach.

"So, what's next?" Olivia asks as she smooths her tight copper bun. These three women look like a crew of Christmas cheer: Olivia's dress is hunter green velvet and hugs every curve she has on her tall leggy frame, and CeCe is the angel in a white sweater dress with a non-existent back that keeps Nash popping over to our table anytime a man in the bar that doesn't know she's his even remotely glances her way.

"Now we start more intense training before her juvenile season starts. Her first qualifying race—a practice, essentially—is in early February. She'll be tested before it," I say.

"And if she gets her gate card, we can move to nominate her for the derby, and her first juvenile race would be in September," Wade pipes up beside me.

"You just need forty points, right?" Ginger asks

"Yep, but it's not that easy to get them, and the more we have, the better," Wade starts.

"And the more races Angel has under her belt, the better off she'll be if she makes it to derby day," I add.

Ginger grins a kind of all-knowing grin.

"Look at you two, finishing each other's sentences—seems like working together so much is working out." She winks at me, wagging her crimson-painted finger between us, and takes a sip of her margarita, and by sip I mean half the glass.

"That's good to be in sync with each other," CeCe adds, turning to me with a genuinely sweet smile that I can't help but smile back at.

"You couldn't ask for a better trainer," Ginger says formally.

Wade's brow furrows, as if he's annoyed at Ginger. Not that he tries to hide the fact that we spend all our time together, I've just realized after the last several weeks that Wade Ashby doesn't like answering to anyone and he likes his privacy. We haven't talked about any of what is happening between us; we just keep moving through the same delicious routine. Train all day, eat whatever incredible meal Wade cooks us at night, then fuck like we can't get enough of each other until we pass out.

I haven't even seen my cabin for more than laundry and a change of clothes in weeks, and although I'm fighting through some serious feelings for my boss, I'm nowhere near ready to admit them, partly because I know I'm leaving at some point, and partly because I know I could probably never really give him the future he truly deserves. Those sons Mama Jo mentioned that he dreamed about have stuck in my mind on replay. Constantly reminding me of what we wouldn't have.

As if Wade senses my worry about the state of us with Ginger's words, he reaches over and grabs my thigh under the table again. I blink as I look down at it, noticing a word etched into his skin that wasn't there before. The ink is new, glossy, like he just got it done today. It sits perfectly between his thumb and forefinger in a slanted scrawl.

Mine.

My heart accelerates as I look up at him in question … did he actually? His eyes meet mine, then glance down to his hand, then back to me. The look in his eyes is all the answer I need. They're dark, claiming. The way he looks before he ravages me.

He definitely fucking did.

My breathing speeds up as Wade's lips come down, dangerously close to mine. My eyes flit around the table, but no one is even paying attention to us in the dark, noisy bar. He leans into my ear, his deep voice crystal clear, and he whispers, "Everything we do is only for us. What happens between me and you doesn't belong to any of them, but if you ever had any doubt what I see when I look at you …" He smirks, then adds, "You're going to look so fucking pretty wearing my collar, Ivy." And he squeezes my thigh tight, sliding his fingers under my dress.

My pussy throbs in anticipation as I try to stay calm.

"That thought scare you?" he whispers. "Or make you want to beg me for it?"

"A little of both," I whisper back truthfully.

"If you want to beg, you know there's only one word I need to hear," he says.

His eyes lock with mine, mercy on the tip of my tongue and I've only been here five minutes. The bar fades away around us until Ginger's voice breaks our trance.

"I need another. Where is that man?" She smirks, draining her glass.

"Asher's bringing refills for all of you," Cole tells her as he slides in on cue and crunches on a pretzel.

"You know me so well." Ginger nudges him with her shoulder as he rolls his eyes.

"I just know how fast you drink. It's been ten whole minutes, you're off your game tonight."

"What are you insinuating? Bite your tongue, please. In the last four days I've had three Christmas luncheons, sick kids in every corner of the classroom, break-ups, teen drama, and twenty-four ‘If William Shakespeare was alive today' papers to grade. Don't shame me because I'm a woman who knows how to let loose after a long week, Cole Ashby. You're better than that."

Cole grins at her and holds out his upturned palm with a handful of pretzels.

"Aww, darlin', I'm so sorry," Cole says to her, his voice low and slow, yet somehow still taunting to her.

Ginger eyes him up and takes a pretzel from his outstretched hand.

"I'll take that apology, thank you very much, and keep them coming," she mutters as he slides the bowl over to her.

"When does Mabes come home from Gemma's for Christmas?" Wade asks Cole, turning Cole's mood instantly sour at the mention of his ex-wife.

"Tomorrow. I'm not giving up the Christmas Eve traditions Mabel is used to just because all of a sudden Gemma wants to pretend to be an adult and parent her. If she's still a parent next Christmas, we'll talk about splitting the time proper."

"I fink she's up to sumfing," Ginger says as she crunches on her pretzels. "Out of nowhere, after almost five years of being absent, she has a boyfriend and is a serious mama type? Uh-uh, mark my words, something is up," she continues.

"I agree," Wade says. "Who is this guy, anyway?"

"Brent fucking Wilson. Cop. Arrogant prick. Hit on CeCe last summer," Nash says as he slides into the booth with the bartender, Asher Reed, close behind, carrying our margaritas.

I haven't had a lot of interactions with Asher, but I watch as he approaches. He might be the only man in this town as tall and as big as Wade. I remember Ginger saying once that he was the town fire chief. Dark Irish looks with wide deep gray eyes, and I don't think an inch of his visible skin is left un-inked in charcoals and black aside from his face. He's covered from his jaw to his wrists. His scruff on his face is thick. He looks like a larger and much more dangerous version of Chris Hemsworth in Extraction . Of course my mind goes to action movies as the basis of comparison.

His voice is deep and intimidating as he sets our drinks down, the slight Irish accent noticeable.

"Four strawberry margs," he says as he slides each of us one.

I can't be sure, but for a brief moment I think he slips something under Olivia's as he passes it to her, but it's so subtle I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me. Olivia looks up at him and meets his gaze for a fleeting moment, then looks back at the table. I didn't even realize they knew each other.

"Goddamn, it's colder than a witch's titty in a brass bra out there!" Papa Dean calls as he and Mama Jo bound up to our table, snowflakes dusting his cowboy hat.

"Jesus, Pop. Way to make an entrance," Cole says as Nash gets up to slide two more chairs over to our already overstuffed table then disappears toward the front of the bar.

"Gotta make my presence known somehow. Can't let Blake Shelton here steal the show all night long."

He pats Wade on the shoulder, and I smother a grin.

"You been drinking? What the fuck are you talking about, old man?" Wade says as the table snickers collectively.

"Can I have everyone's attention please?" Nash calls through the mic on the stage. "We're going to be doing something a little different tonight, since tomorrow is Christmas Eve and we have a resident superstar in our midst," Nash says, pointing at Wade as two Horse and Barrel employees wheel out a massive flatscreen TV behind him.

"Motherfucker," Wade growls as he watches a server cart out a state-of-the-art karaoke machine next.

His eyes instantly take hold of mine in the dark bar as he shakes his head and clenches his fists. "I'm gonna fucking pummel him," he grunts, blaming Nash immediately for this.

I place my hand over Wade's forearm. "Actually, Chief … remember that bet we made the other day?" I smile up at him innocently, and I've never been more satisfied when his jaw falls slack, genuine shock lining his face as he realizes it was me behind this, right before he whispers so only I can hear.

"You're so gonna suffer for this, Trouble …"

I grin. "Death by swoony country music? I'll take my chances." I giggle as CeCe cracks up laughing beside me.