Page 10 of Love Complicated

Austin, he was the all-star football player. The town golden boy who never lied, never cheated, never drank, and did good by everyone.

When Ridge left, it was Austin who picked up the pieces of my broken heart, and I fell for him, the good guy. A lot of good that got me and technically, if we want to get technical about this, I could potentially blame Ridge for this mess too, couldn’t I? If he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have started dating Austin, and thus he wouldn’t have cheated on me and destroyed my life.

Wishful thinking. Back to my problem. Ridge’s in town.

But do I really see this as a problem? I’ve gone over it in my head—what I would say to him, the words, the expression, the tone—all of it.

When I met Ridge at three years old in the pits of Calistoga Speedway, I couldn’t tell you my reaction to him. At the time I didn’t know any better. He was just a kid I knew who used to pull my pigtails underneath the grandstands.

At ten, he kissed me underneath those same grandstands. My first real kiss. A little peck while he pulled my hair and called me a princess, but still, a kiss. He left me there dumbfounded, with stars in my eyes and probably tears. He did pull my hair.

At thirteen, I ignored him. Thought I was too good for him because he was the bad boy, the rebel in a town who went against the grain, and that wasn’t me at all. I didn’t go against the grain. Back then, I couldn’t. Didn’t have it in me. I followed the rules and if you didn’t, I couldn’t understand why. And I also had boobs by then and thought I was too good for someone like Ridge, who seemed to be heading toward a prison sentence rather than an education.

A cheating husband and ten years later, my thoughts on obeying laws have certainly changed despite the possibility of potentially being arrested for taking a bat to a car, and I’m beginning to think Ridge had it right all along. Back when I knew Ridge, just thinking of giving my heart to someone like him, so reckless in his ways, deterred me enough to ignore his advances completely.

Once in high school, other kids referred to him as a stoner. . . but his affiliation with any one crowd was loose. Ridge never connected with anyone, aside from me and my brother.

Until I turned fifteen and he became my world, a world he destroyed just as easily.

Ridge scared me. He wasthatguy, the one who didn’t give a shit what you thought, or did, but evoked reactions inside of me I didn’t know how to contain around him.

His face flashes in my mind and the way my body instantly responded to him when I grabbed his tie.

Did he remember me? No. . . I saw the look in his eyes. He had no idea who I was. Of all the days to run into him, today had to be the morning. A morning when I thought for sure I’d be able to start fresh.

Why can’t anything go my way? Just once. That’s all I’m asking for. Not a miracle. Just a day when I don’t nearly kill someone and spill my coffee all over my chest.

I can’t shake the uneasiness inside me. Not only did I nearly hit Ridge, let’s not forget I committed a felony. I have admittedly fantasized for the last fifteen minutes about him shoving me against the side of my minivan, yanking my skirt up (I’m not wearing one, shh, it’s a fantasy), ripping off my panties with his teeth and then eating me from behind. Yeah, I said eating me from behind. It’s been a long six months since I’ve had any sort of action down there, aside from my red stallion bullet.

And it’s Ridge Lucas. RidgefuckingLucas.

Let me tell you a little something else about this bad boy who didn’t recognize me from some crazy bitch to the rocks alongside Lake Country Road. Rumors followed Ridge everywhere he went, even at fifteen and even after he left town. Back when I knew him, despite me trying to keep my distance,everythingabout him fascinated me. This girl in my calculus class, she claimed Ridge ate her pussy for forty-five minutes and gave her a dozen orgasms on the roof of her house. I tend to think she’s exaggerating because surely his tongue would have been tired.

While I think she’s lying about the dozen orgasms, you’re probably asking yourself. . . Why on the roof? Why not in a bed?

Her dad told her there’d be no fucking boys under his roof. Ridge, being the resourceful boy he was back then, lead her to the roof where the forty-five minutes of orgasms took place.

And frankly, just the thought of him holding me against my car as he devours my pussy ignites the dormant desire sitting in the pit of my stomach.

Christ. . . control yourself, Aly. It’s not even 8:00 a.m.

So much for the new, refreshed me, and welcome to the shit show I now refer to as the chronicles of a divorce. It involves impure thoughts about men you nearly kill.

Drawing in a deep breath and pushing it out slowly, I mumble a few curse words under my breath as I pull into the school’s parking lot.

Austin’s Jeep is in the parking lot, two rows over. A Jeep I no longer ride in and one where Brie has been seen driving around town in. Pain tugs at my chest, that rubber band from earlier snapping again at the sight of the black truck.

Regardless of my naughty thoughts and destructive behavior this morning, it doesn’t change the fact that I loved Austin. I was sad when he told me he cheated on me with Brie. Actually, sad doesn’t even begin to describe the true feelings. I was devastated he would do that. And worse yet, how he so quickly moved onto living with her and replacing me in every aspect of his life even before the divorce is final. We haven’t even finished with the mediation and parent coaching, yet he has a whole new life.

Grabbing a sweatshirt from my bag behind my seat, I pull it on to cover up my coffee-soaked T-shirt. My hands shake as I reach up to the visor and pull it down, attempting to fix my hair. I bet it’s all over the place from having screamed at Ridge on the side of the road for ten minutes. Not to mention it’s frizzy from bleaching the crap out of it this weekend.

The moment I see myself in the mirror, Ridge’s face flashes in my mind, briefly. You remember Ridge’s face, don’t you? Brooding dark eyes. . . plushy lips downturned in a frown. . . don’t forget the tie. I can’t seem to forget it. Scruffy five-o’clock shadow. Wrinkled I’m-not-trying-too-hard clothes, hair tousled and haphazardly disheveled. . . Hell, I only saw him for a few minutes, but his face is now engraved in my brain forever.

You know those commercials in the nineties that said, “Milk does a body good?”

Ten years did Ridge good.

Okay, kids. Focus on the kids. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten why I’m here. My boys and their first day of school.

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