Paradise by the Dashboard Light Page 5

  "Anything not water? Something a little more adult? We are adults now." I envision myself walking around him, dragging my finger across his chest like a vixen would do in the movies, but I'm aware enough to know my position leaning on the wall has some distinct advantages. Like still standing up.

  "Um …" he disappears into the fridge. Damn, that backside is fine. I'm gonna ride that shit like … uh-oh.

  I have to burp. And it's not the good kind either. It's the kind that may be loaded. I breathe in and out through my nose, trying to not do what I'm almost certain I'm about to do. Suddenly it's warm in here. Or maybe it's the leather pants. They don't breathe at all and I'm sweating. Profusely. Like marinating in my own sweat down there.

  "Will this do?" Ian pops the cap on a bottle of Budweiser. Not my favorite but it's got to help my current predicament, right? I grasp the cold bottle and run it over my forehead. Then I down the beer. One, two, three big gulps—letting it all pour down my throat, hoping to cool off from the outside in. Ian watches me, spellbound. I bet he didn't know I had it in me. Not little Miss Perfect Rio. No, she would never chug a beer.

  Maybe that Rio was on to something.

  "Rio? Are you okay?"

  I purse my lips together and shake my head, my eyes growing wide with the building sensation. Ian quickly steps to me, grabs my elbow, and hauls me toward his kitchen sink.

  Where I proceed to vomit profusely.

  This is simply lovely.

  He rubs my back, his hand warm on my bare skin. What a brilliant idea to wear a shirt that's totally open in the back. I do notice he's holding my hair back. When I'm finally done, I reach up to turn the water on and wash away all evidence of how pathetic I am.

  This is so gross.

  "Well, um, I guess you probably didn't need that beer." Ian laughs uncomfortably as he steps away. I don't know how he's not running and puking himself.

  I turn and give him a smile. I wonder if he's remembering that keg party when I threw up on his shoes. His hand on my low back snakes around and pulls me into him.

  This is the second time tonight he's held me like this. He needs to stop doing this. When he takes me in his arms, I no longer see him as the conquest I'd planned on making this evening. When Ian McCallister holds me in his arms, all my resolve drifts away, and all I can think about is the only boy I've ever loved.

  

  Ian

  I've never been so relieved to see puke in my life. There's not a whole lot that's attractive about a girl tossing her cookies all over the dishes in your kitchen sink, but it's what I need right about now.

  Even so, with one hand holding her thick mane of hair back and another on her bare skin, the retching isn't doing what it needs to be doing to kill my libido. So many ideas and scenarios flood my mind, involving holding her hair and bending her over my counter. When she finishes, she washes her face and then looks over her shoulder with a sheepish smile. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and it floors me. Before I know what I'm doing, I pull her into me, needing to tuck her against my chest.

  I feel her sigh and then her body goes almost limp, and for a moment, I think she's passed out. "God, Rio, I've missed you. I didn't even know it." I say it quietly, in case she is asleep. It would be easier if she does pass out. I can put her to bed and go jerk off and maybe get an hour or two of sleep myself.

  "I need you, Ian."

  Oh fuck. I know what the right thing to do is, and I know there's no way in hell I'll be able to resist. I kiss the top of her head. "I'm here."

  "Can you help me take my pants off?"

  Hell to the yes.

  I mean, it's somewhat crossing my mind that she's drunk. I'm drunk, but she may be more drunk than me. And I've slept with her sister, so you know, it's not ideal. But holy hell. I don't care if it's ideal or not, I'm not strong enough to resist her. Rio steps back out of my arms, still holding my hand. Her hair is wild around her face and her eye makeup has started to run, giving her an appearance like she's been thoroughly sexed and good. It's not helping me to do the right thing in this very moment.

  "They're hot. Too hot." She fumbles with her free hand at the button on her pants. But then Rio stumbles and her head falls forward. I step in and support her under the arms, her legs no longer supporting her well. Ah, screw it. I scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom.

  As I place her on the bed, she begins flopping about, trying to get her pants off. This doesn't seem like part of her seduction plan. Not when she's saying things like "I'm gonna be like Ross" and "it's too swampy down there." Swampy is never a good descriptive term of one's pubic area, so I know I'll help her out of her pants.

  I am going to hell.

  Rio stops moving as she's finally passed out. I need to get her pants off. It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it. I wouldn't do it if she hadn't asked me. Plus, swamp-crotch could lead to all sorts of nasty things, like a yeast infection, and I wouldn't want that to happen. I'm a professional. I can handle it.

  After unbuttoning her pants and lowering the zipper, I ease the supple fabric over her hips and ass. I'm so careful not to touch her, even though I might want to.

  Jesus Christ, she's wearing a black lace thong. Lord give me strength.

  But that's not where things go south. Rio has indeed been sweating and the moisture has created a vacuum-like effect between the pants and her legs. So when I tug, she comes with the pants. I tug harder. She moves more, sliding right off the bed, her legs still in my hands. She hits the floor with a thud.

  Whoops.

  I am going to hell. Not because I'm undressing an unconscious woman. Oh no, it's because I'm going to give her a concussion. Finally, with Rio on the floor, I'm sweating as much as she is, but her pants are finally off. I pick her up and place her gently on the bed, trying not to notice that she's half naked, and her shirt doesn't allow for a bra. I quickly cover her up and leave the room.

  Lead me not into temptation.

  Chapter 8

  Rio

  I'm in that moment when you become awake without fully waking up. I don't want to wake up. I can already tell my head hurts something fierce. My eyes feel too heavy to open and something has most certainly died in my mouth.

  The banging at the door doesn't help. I finally pry my eyes open and realize I don't know where I am. Shit.

  I curl in closer on myself and am acutely aware that I don't have pants on. My hand reaches out, feeling the incredibly soft yet unfamiliar sheets. They're cold and I appear to be the only one here. Wherever here is. The banging continues until a voice yells to, "Shut up."

  I know that voice. I'd know that voice anywhere. Even though it hurts, I search my memory of last night for what I have the sinking feeling is not a dream.

  Ian McCallister was there, at Casa Pedro. When I got down from dancing on the bar—I danced on the bar!—he was there. And I went home with him. I vaguely recollect thinking that we'd hook up. I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. Dear God, I hope it didn't happen.

  Probably a good thing that it didn't, but I know the chance has passed and will most likely never happen again. There are too many complicating factors to make this actually ever work. I have neither the energy nor the inclination for complicated. My mother and sister are the poster children for complicated. And I'm nothing like them.

  Of course, waking up in your sister's ex-boyfriend's bed without pants on is sort of complicated.

  But that's our whole history. Complicated. I guess that's par for the course with your first love.

  I first realized I loved him the day he beat up Travis Nichols to defend my honor. To be honest, it was probably more in defense of Evan than of me, but either way, my entire world shifted that day. It was fall of freshman year and Evan was fitting in nicely, making friends in his life skills class. It'd been a long, hard decision for Mr. and Mrs. McCallister to allow Evan into the self-contained special education classroom, but I'd never seen him so happy. On Tuesdays, our lunches overlapp
ed so I made sure to say hi when our paths crossed in the cafeteria.

  Evan was with his friends, and it was so good to see him laughing and talking with the other kids. In fact, today, I noticed Evan holding a girl's hand. It made my heart squeeze a bit to realize that he'd probably found a girlfriend in his class. It's not that I minded the flirting and attention he gave me—it was sweet. But I'm glad he realized that we wouldn't have a real relationship. I gave him my biggest smile and asked for an introduction to his "friend."

  "This is Samantha," he said, a wide smile enveloping his face. "She's my girlfriend."

  "That's wonderful, Evan. I'm so pleased to meet you, Samantha."

  "So since she's my woman now, you'll have to find another date for Homecoming. I'm not going with you. I'm going with Samantha."

  I tried to suppress my grin and not let my amusement show. It was important to me, as well as to all the McCallisters that no one ever laugh at Evan. "Oh, that's too bad. But you'll make a beautiful couple. I hope you have a wonderful time."

  As I turned to walk away, I heard Travis Nichols laugh. "Look at that loser."

  My back stiffened, and I prepared to give him a piece of my mind for talking about Evan that way. Travis picked on people just because he could. The rest of the Nichols family were the nicest people you've ever met, but apparently Travis got the recessive asshole gene. Travis continued, "She's so ugly that even a retard won't take her to Homecoming."

  Before I could react, Ian was there, fists flying. He pummeled Travis so hard and fast that I thought for a minute he was going to kill him. And as Mr. Krum and the other security guard pulled Ian off of Travis, I looked at him. He looked like a wild animal, his hair splayed in every direction, blood dripping from his knuckles, and his eyes blazing. And at that moment, I fell in love.

  Even back then, I knew he wasn't defending me. He was defending his brother. But it didn't matter.

  Except of course it did, because he was in love with Rainne, not me.

  And without a doubt, it's why Travis slept with Rainne one night three years later—to get back at Ian. Too bad the joke was on Travis. Rainne wasn't good about taking her pill.

  See what I mean about complicated?

  Before I try to wrestle myself back into my leather pants—seriously, what was I thinking?—I should go to the bathroom. But I don't have pants on. And let's face it, there's not a whole lot to my shirt either. I pull open a dresser drawer and then another before I find sweat pants. I'm swimming in them, but at least they're comfortable. A smile spreads across my face when a glance in the closet reveals a worn and faded Ohio State sweatshirt. The one I bought for him senior year of high school. Right before he started constantly asking Rainne out. Ian loved it, though, wearing it so much that year to the point it became a running joke. "What are you wearing to the basketball game? Let me guess, your sweatshirt."

  He'd always smile sheepishly and respond, "It's my favorite thing from my favorite friend."

  And my heart would sink.

  No wonder I spent the night in his bed clad only in a lace thong and a flimsy shirt all by myself. My heart drops into my stomach, and I fight back the threatening tears.

  Some things never change.

  I put the sweatshirt on and pull my hair into a messy knot on the top of my head. I feel like utter crap and the sooner I can get home to my own bed, the better. I'll put this all behind me and never see Ian again. The odds of having run into him in the first place were slim. We've been in the same city for years, I'm guessing, if he's here for his residency, and it's never happened before. And despite me knowing his co-workers, there is a good chance it won't happen again. I'm never going out with them again.

  It's a bit much to process. I stop, hand on the doorknob, listening for activity in the living room, while trying to sort all this out.

  Up until two days ago, Ian was dating Beth's friend Trisha. Through the cobwebs of the remnants of rum in my brain, I try to remember what they'd said about him. I'm not going to lie, I didn't pay that much attention. I was having a hard time following much of the conversation because I didn't know any of the other parties involved. I do recall her saying he was a bum who never wanted to do anything anymore. Maybe even depressed?

  Why is he depressed? What could make the golden boy low on life? Here he is, hotter than ever. A successful doctor. His apartment looks fairly decent. He's got a great family. He dumped Trisha. I wonder why? If he’s even remotely still mooning about Rainne, I will give up right now and join a convent.

  Only one way to find out if a habit is in my future. I'd better go talk to him.

  

  Ian

  The knocking on my door rouses me from an otherwise fitful sleep. I'd been up a handful of times to check on Rio. I told myself each time I was only being a responsible human being. I needed to make sure she hadn't vomited again. That she was still breathing. It wasn't to just look at her.

  That would be creepy.

  But damn, she was beautiful. Her dark hair splayed haphazardly across my white sheets. That full, kissable mouth, slightly open. I knew that image would haunt me for a very long time. It's that vision I tried to shake out my head as I go to answer the door. I'm sure it's John. We are supposed to go for a run before heading into work tonight.

  I pull open the door, trying to silence his incessant pounding. "Ssshh. Rio's still sleeping."

  "Fuck, man, you brought her home?" His voice sounds wounded.

  "It's not like that. First of all, you have a girlfriend, so why do you care who I bring home? You have no business trying to bag someone in the first place. Secondly, not that I need to tell you, nothing happened."

  "Dude, I saw her. There's no way in hell nothing happened."

  "Well, if you consider that she puked in my sink and then passed out, there's a way."

  "Eh, that sucks. She was hot."

  "Like I said, it's not like that though."

  John plops down on the recliner and kicks back. "Yeah, that I don't understand."

  "Make yourself comfortable, why don't you? No, man, I've known her like literally from the moment I was born. We grew up together. She was one of my best friends."

  John raises his eyebrows. "Friends? Seriously? And nothing ever happened?"

  "No."

  "I don't believe you."

  "What's not to believe?"

  "Did she look like that in high school?" John nods toward the bedroom door.

  I try and picture high school Rio, but the image of her in her thong haunts my mind. "I don't know. I mean, no, not really."

  "Oh, I get it then. She was ugly and now she's hot. Are you kicking yourself for not tapping that back when you could have? She might be out of your league now."

  Did he just call Rio ugly? "No, she was not ugly. She's always been very pretty, I guess. She was just … less obvious … about it. She was beautiful in a reserved, conservative way. She left it to Rainne to be outrageous and over the top."

  "Who's Rainne?"

  "Her twin sister." I leave it at that. No need to get into the gory details.

  "Aren't you a twin too?"

  "Yeah. We were born on the same day in the same hospital. We went to school together. My mom used to babysit the girls when we were little. Rio helped me pass high school chemistry. Without her, I might not be a doctor."

  "And don't forget, you are my sister's ex-boyfriend." Rio emerges from the bedroom, obviously having heard the conversation. My mouth drops open at the sight of her in my clothes.

  Holy shit. That might be even hotter than the leather pants.

  Nope. This is too weird. I will not allow myself to think that way.

  "Ooh, this is getting good. You dated the twin?" John asks me. Then he turns on Rio. "Are you identical?"

  "No," she snaps bitterly. "We're nothing alike."

  I know what she means by that, and by and by, I agree. "No, you're the hot one." I wink at her.

  "Screw you, Ian McCallister. I feel too s
hitty to deal with you right now." And with that she flops on the other end of the couch, opposite me and pulls the pillow over her face.

  "If you're going to puke again, do you think you can make it to the bathroom this time?"

  She sits up, dropping the pillow, and what little color there was in her face drains. "I puked?"

  Laughing, I nod. "Yep. In my kitchen sink."

  She falls back, this time her hands covering her face. "Oh God."

  "At least it wasn't on my shoes this time."

  John is watching us like a tennis match. I fill him in on that ill-fated keg party."Rio found out the hard way that drinking Natty Light, Mike's Hard Lemonade, and Seagram's wine coolers all in the same night is not the best idea."

  "It was the first time I ever drank! I was only fifteen. I didn't know that would happen."

  “It's nice to know that some things never change. You still can't hold your liquor."

  "Or maybe being around you makes me sick," she flings back, her face still covered.

  John laughs. "Wow, no one dares insult the great and powerful Ian McCallister."

  "I do," Rio answers, a possessive tone to her voice. "I knew Ian McCallister when he was wetting the bed, so I'll say what I want."

  "I'm not talking about last night," John retorts. I know he's talking about the spilled drink on my crotch. We're supposedly adults and still making jokes about pee. What's next, a fart joke?

  Rio laughs. "Sadly, I apparently was the only one who didn't have control over my bodily functions last night."

  I don't want to talk about last night because I haven't processed it yet. "Come on, man. Let's go for our run."

  Rio moves to get up, letting out a groan as she moves.

  "Ri, just stay here and sleep. We'll only be gone an hour or two."

  She cracks open an eye. "You run for an hour or two? Are you nuts?"