Page 28 of Worth the Rush
“I need something…to drink. Something with sugar,” I say weakly. Drinking something fixes the issue quicker. Staying on top of my glucose level is best, but here we are. I hear him leave. His soft footfalls against the wooden floor. I tip my head back against the chair. This feeling is like a punch to the gut. Being helpless is a fear I still fight to master. I have variations ofit in the form of nightmares from time to time. Sometimes I’m screaming, but no one can hear me. Other times, I’m in a room, and there’s a door but no handle. I shiver, pushing the memories back down. I’m contemplating how I can be better at keeping track of my sugars when I feel his presence.
“Here,” he says. He moves to reach behind my neck, presumably to tilt my head up, but absolutely not.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him, sitting up and seeing what he’s brought me. It’s a can of cherry cola. He can’t possibly know this, but cherry cola is my favorite. I will never tell him. He cracks the tab and hands it to me to take a sip. I take two big gulps and set the can on my desk. He stands there, arms crossed, but not in aLucy, you got some ’splainin’ to doway. It’s more intense. Watchful. He’s studying me. My body and movements.
After a long moment, he speaks. “Does this happen to you often?” he asks.
“Not really,” I tell him. It has happened. What definition ofoftenare we working with here?
“Take another drink,” he advises. I glare. It’s weak, but I manage. He chuckles.
“Come on, Stormcloud. You need to take another drink.” This time, he sounds more suggestive. I’m open to suggestions. I pick up the can and take another long drink.
I swallow audibly. “I’m fine. Or I will be,” I tell him, hoping I sound more grounded. He shakes his head.
“I didn’t doubt it,” he quips, and I think he means it. There’s no sarcasm there that I can detect. “Hypoglycemia?” he asks.
I nod with my answer. “Yes. I’ve been handling it for a few years now. I’m typically better about checking my levels, butsomeone,”—I look at him pointedly—“I don’t want to name names or anything, made a surprise trip to my office, nearly scaring me to death before I could,” I tell him as sweetly as I can. He grins.
“Was that before or after the surprise ex-husband showed up?” he inquires, thoughtfully.Oh. Yes…that.I take another drink of the soda and set it down, running my finger up and down the side of the sweating can.
“Noah, my ex-husband that I haven’t felt the need to discuss or bring up because you barely know me—” I’m cut off by Alder’s deep voice.
“Ivy,” he says my name in a way that makes me want to be her. Whoever the Ivy is he’s speaking to, he holds in reverence. I think I would like to be her. “You do not have to explain anything about your past to me. Nothing that you don't want to anyway,” he tells me, eyes boring into my own.
“I appreciate that, Alder. Really. You have been, so much kinder to me than I had any right to expect, and I know you mean what you’re saying. So, that makes what I’m about to ask you to do a little more complicated.” As I’m speaking, his head tilts in confusion. Something I’ve noticed he does when he’s trying to understand something. It’s endearing. “Noah and Margot,” I choke her name out, “will be here for three weeks, and that is extremely distressing to me on a few levels. Not only was I married to him way too young, but also…” I shut my eyes against the vulnerable feelings this stirs up. “I was pregnant when we got married, and Margot was the nanny he and I decided on hiring before I…” I clear my throat and reinforce the wall I built a long time ago. “I lost the baby,” I finish. He places his hand over mine and squeezes it.
“That motherfucker. Say the word, Ivy. Say it, and he’s gone,” he assures me. I snort.
“Are you going to tell me that you know a guy?” I ask. When an expression I can’t quite pin down crosses his face, I continue my little confession. ”So, when he came here today with her. I think I kind of lost my mind for a minute. I completely understand if you’re not up for it, but I need you to do me a favor over the next few weeks.” I swallow. I don’t ask people for things.
Asking Alder for anything under better circumstances would have been enough to make me want to scream into the void, but now? After I’ve been so cold. It makes my skin itch. “If you’re willing,” I tack on, trying to sound like I don’t need him. I hateneeding. I get along fine on my own and have for as long as I can remember.
“What do you need, Ivy?” The way he asks it. I feel the armor I wear go transparent. He’s seeing into me. Asking on a deeper level. It scares me that, on an introspective level—I haven’t a clue. I don’t know what I need anymore. What I should want. I shake myself, and my defenses settle back into place. Instead of thinking too long about the depths of depravity that is my wants and needs.
“I need you to keep up the charade I’ve placed you in for the next few weeks. I’ll try to keep my interactions to a minimum, but just in case,” I say.
“So…” he says, leaning down as he places his hands on either side of my chair's armrests. His sudden closeness has my breath coming a little faster. Then he looks up at me through the dirty-blond hair that's fallen over his brows. Hair I want to slide both my hands into and pull at the roots until his mouth falls open, and oh, that mouth… “You want me to what? Be yourboyfriend? Is that what you’re telling me, princess?” he asks me this, and internally, the sultry little vixen in me nods so furiously she’s making herself dizzy. I flick her nose before I respond.
“Fakeboyfriend. Yes,” I answer as calmly as I can. I know my cheeks are flushed, but I’m praying he chalks that up to my low blood sugar spell. “Can you do that?” I ask him. Why did I do this? I’m not a teenager trying to make a boy jealous. I shake my head. “You know what, never mind. This was a horrendous idea. One of my worst, and that’s saying something,” I backpedal.
“I’ll do it.” I meet those icy blues. God how does he manage that earnest look of his? “Under one condition,” he states. There’s the catch. Men. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. They all want something. What does Alder want?
“So there are conditions?” I ask. “What is it you require from me then, Lover Boy? It better not be anything too nasty. I may not be into it.” He doesn’t need to know any of the things I am into.
He chuckles and drops his head, removing his cage on me as he stands to his full height. Which has to be at least six foot three. He was still a head taller than me in my heels today. “I think we both know I have a little bit of an idea of what you’re into,” he teases. I’m a tomato. “Let me teach you to snowboard,” he says. Huh?
“You want to teach me how to snowboard? In return for helping me with my dilemma?” I question, standing from my seat. “What’s in it for you?” I ask. Surely there’s more to it than this.
“I get to spend more time with you.” He smirks. “One on one.” He steps into my space and lifts his hand to my hair,pulling my purple pen from it, letting it spill over my shoulders. The weight of it hitting my back sends shivers down my arms. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you today,” he whispers, and I’m not sure whether he’s aware he said it out loud or not. Then he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Deal?” His breath hits my face. It smells faintly of my candied oranges.
“Deal,” I confirm. Fate sealed.
Noah showing up with Margot to spend the holidays in the exact town I’ve been banished to wasn’t on my bingo card this year. Honestly, neither was he proposing to her. Or crashing that boat. It was only in the harbor, and it’s not like I sunk it or anything. And then there was the man in Spain who thought I said I knew how to work on his fishing boat. To be fair to Arnesto, I had said that, but only because I wanted to go out on a boat. That was a wild excursion.
After today, we can also add asking a man I barely know to be my fake boyfriend and then unloading my past trauma onto him. Come to think of it, a lot of shit that’s happened this year wasn’t on there, but here we are. Fucking bingo!
My saving grace is Alder. The way he stepped in to help. He’s more observant than I’d given him credit for. I guess you would have to be when you’re in his line of work. I chuckle, sinking deeper into my claw foot tub, thinking about his jab at Noah’s appearance.“Was he your nephew or son?”Alderwould have no way of knowing how insecure Noah is about his looks. He isn’tnothandsome, but I guess knowing him on a level deeper than…surface has changed how I see him over the years.
