Are you freaking out? I am! You’re probably freaking out because it’s still morning and I’ve already committed a felony and attempted vehicular homicide, if that’s an actual crime.
While it takes me a minute to calm my nerves, it takes me longer to focus on the fact that I know the dickbag I nearly killed. You remember earlier when I mentioned I may or may not have only loved one man? And I told you that was probably a lie?
It was. There was this boy, not a man, he was fifteen when he ripped my heart out, and I told myself I’d be careful with it from then on out. I’d never give it willingly, it’d be earned.
Well, look where that fucking got me.
To fully understand my situation, the complicated part, I’m going to take you back in time to a night that changed my life. Maybe not for the better either. It was the summer before I turned sixteen and I only knew the touch of a sinner.
My eyes moved over the expensive black leather as I shifted around in the seat. “Whose car is this?”
Ridge doesn’t have a driver’s license yet. How would he get this car? A Mercedes on top of that?
Twisted toward me, he ran his hands over his face, shaking it back and forth. “It’s not mine,” he mumbled. “I’d never own a Benz.”
My mouth gaped open. “You stole it?” I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was the kind of thing Ridge did for fun.
“No, it’s Madalyn’s. She just bought it.”
He stole his mom’s car? Holy crap.
I hated the feeling that drew me to him. It was like an addiction to get lost in his harshness and his smile that demanded my attention even when he didn’t deserve it.
I breathed out, long and slow, wishing I could hide my emotions around him better. I knew the type of guy he was. Everyone did. But then there he was in moments like this, vulnerable and confused.
“Are you okay?”
“Maybe you should go,” Ridge said in a low voice, sitting back in his seat, looking straight ahead with his hands on the steering wheel again.
I looked over at him. He was crying, slowly, quietly.
“Ridge?” I reached out for him and clutched his shirt. I’d never seen him cry before. I wasn’t sure he could. Surely someone as bad as him didn’t have tears.
He took control of my wrists, holding them in his hands and looking at me with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering chin. “You should go,” he whispered, again, closing his eyes.
“Why?” I moved closer but said nothing. “What’s wrong?”
Keeping his grip on me, he turned his face away, his voice shaking. “Nothing.”
Taking in his appearance, his eyes were swollen, his left one worse than the right, bruised and bleeding from a small gash above his eyebrow. He’d definitely been in a fight.
Biting his lip nervously, the tears mixed with the blood.
Wanting to comfort him, I forced myself on his lap, making him to look at me.
Kissing the side of his face, he kept his grip on my wrists, trying not to let me too close. Then I kissed him, despite the blood.
When he gave in, his shoulders sank, and his breathing sped up. Part of me understood I shouldn’t have led him on because just being this close to him scared me.
His kisses were messy and out of control, moving from one spot on my body to the next.
It was then I sensed where this was going. “Ridge, I’m worried about you.”
And though he was hurting, wrestling with thoughts he wouldn’t share, he couldn’t stop himself, his breathing uneven against mine.
He pulled me forward until our chests were touching. Closing his eyes, I closed mine, too, and reassured myself this was what I wanted.
The hardness between my legs scared me and I gasped, pulling away. I wasn’t ready for this.
Ridge, eager for me, moved his mouth down my throat, his arms around me keeping me securely on his lap. They clung to me tighter, straining me on his erection as he shifted his hips to meet mine again.
His hands slipped under my dress, an indication he didn’t want to stop, his palms slipping farther until they reached my underwear and yanked hard as they ripped from my body.
Ridge didn’t stop touching me. “Please let me.” His voice was just as rough as his breathing and movements. “Make me forget everything else.”
I didn’t breathe or say a word. I wasn’t sure I could. I didn’t want to say no. Scared, if I did, he would push me away.
Pulling my hair to the side, he used his teeth on my neck, barely brushing but enough to make me moan, his lips hovering over my ear. “Please?” It was then I noticed he was crying again silently, begging, loving, but it didn’t matter.
I could feel him against me, hard, straining against his jeans. My hands moved from his shoulders to grasp my dress. “We shouldn’t.”
Carefully he grabbed my hips and turned us, laying me across the seat. His knees spread my legs. All the while, his eyes were on mine, dark, pleading, and hurting.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t. I had no real answer for him. Did I want him? Yes, I did. But I was scared the way I wanted him would be different than the way he wanted me.
He planted his right hand firmly on the back of the seat, his other rested by my head as he tried to maneuver himself closer. The muscles in his chest flexed and contracted with each movement. His legs moved, trying to gain room we didn’t have in the front seat of his car. “I don’t know isn’t an answer, Aly.” Meeting my stare, his eyes were regretful, on edge.
When I didn’t answer, he sighed, shaking his head, hands trembling, but said nothing more. Pressing his weight forward, his hips connected with mine again, his eyes dropped between my legs, watching.
I thought a lot of things in that moment: innocence, childhood, love, kisses under the grandstands, dancing in the red clay caked to our feet, sunrises, sunsets, rain, summer, tortured, pleading dark eyes, the roar of a sprint car, the taste of first love and this tormented boy who was crazy enough to burn down the town to prove a point.
With the window down, the rain pelted my face as I looked for something in Ridge. Something that would indicate he felt as much for me as I did for him.
I was scared of the control he had over me and of the desire I couldn’t let go of. Scared of where this was going and scared to love someone like Ridge.
Steadying his weight, his hips shifted again, shaking. Leaning down a little closer, flushed cheeks, I could taste the blood from his lips on mine as he kissed me hard but slow, deep, speaking for his desire he hadn’t let go of. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down, my hands slipping from his shoulders from the rain soaking us.
When he gave me all his weight, I panicked. “Ridge.” Pushing against his shoulders, I hesitated again. “I can’t do this.”
While his body hovered over me, he didn’t pull away. “Why not? Give me one good reason why you don’t want me.”
“What is this?” I hated how young I sounded, how pathetic the words felt leaving my lips. As if Ridge could love me. I hated how desperately I wanted him in that way, though I had no understanding of what it actually meant to have sex or the connection. I was fifteen. I didn’t know much of anything, other than the fact that I was madly in love with the town delinquent.
He showed me something, an emotion deep inside of him. Ugly as it was, it changed everything. “I only want to fuck you.”
I flinched at his words. “You don’t want to be with me?”
His words didn’t match his expression when he said, “No. I don’t.”
That was ugly, wasn’t it? Imagine being me!
Inhaling deeply, I force my shaking hands to remain steady on the wheel, though inside the rejection still weighs heavy on my heart. I take another deep breath, thinking about my fifteen-year-old self, alone that night, doubled over in my bed, erratic heartbeats with no one to look after my heart but me.
And yet he still. . . after ten goddamn years, Ridge still evokes emotions I’ve never been able to control in his presence. His voice, that bone-dry tone that lingers long after I speed away from the near slaying, much like it always had.
I haven’t seen Ridge since he left that same night. Henry, his cousin who’s married to my cousin, said he was working construction down in Santa Barbara and teaching natural history tours to camp kids. Other than that, nothing but silence, and especially no contact with me, the girl he left behind. I wasn’t sure if it was Ridge’s intention to leave that night he stole the car, but it sure was surprising, for me at least.
When Ridge left, I never got an answer as to why he said those things to me that night. A question a girl like me needs an answer to. And I’ll admit, part of me thought maybe after all this time I would finally get my answer.
The thing is, I wanted to see him again as much as I never wanted to. You heard what he said. But then again, I didn’t believe him. I knew the boy I fell in love with, and he didn’t mean what he said.
I tried to find him once. I drove down to Santa Barbara with Brie when I got my license, but I never did find him. I didn’t know what I’d find or how he would react to me, so I went back home and tried to forget. Eventually I started dating Austin, his stepbrother, telling myself I’d never fall for the bad boy again, but I never forgot about Ridge. I couldn’t. His memory haunted me. Part of me, the part that was still holding on to those eyes and that smart-mouth, couldn’t let go completely.
I know what you’re thinking now. Don’t worry, I didn’t think you’d miss that little breadcrumb of detail, but yes, Austin and Ridge are stepbrothers.
Though I met Ridge first, I became friends with both of them growing up and believe me, they’re nothing alike. Ridge was the trouble-maker, always into something, provoking and determined to piss off everyone, but always able to talk his way out of it.
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 was that guy, 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. Ridge fucking Lucas.
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, everything about 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.