Ridge Read online

  Amy smiled and locked her hand in mine.

  “Poached black bass and a sunchoke salad.”

  “Sounds perfect. You good?” I looked down at Amy.

  “Can’t wait. It was great to meet you, TJ.”

  “You too.” TJ nodded and went back to whisking sauce in a small bowl at the speed of light.

  “It’s really great what you did for him.” Amy sipped at her sparkling water a few minutes later.

  We were seated at my favorite table in the place. A small table for two tucked in the corner with windows on both sides, overlooking the various islands that dotted Casco Bay.

  “I think we saved each other. TJ was released just a few weeks after I was. It took me a while to get shit together, nearly a year before we could open for business, but TJ was involved from day one. I think that helped keep him straight. When he wasn’t talking food or the restaurant he got this vacant look in his eyes.”

  “Do you think he would have relapsed without the restaurant?”

  “Who knows, not really something you can ever say. Would I have relapsed without it? Maybe. TJ has made this place a success. I bet he’s the highest paid chef in all of Maine.” I huffed and sat back in my chair.

  “Sounds like he deserves it.”

  “That he does.”

  “So what about siblings, got those?”

  “Uh, yeah. A brother.” I fiddled with my napkin as I watched an ocean liner come into the bay.

  “Is he in Portland?”

  “No, he’s up the coast. Little place called Rock Island. We don’t . . . we’re not very close.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.” She grinned and leaned back in her chair.

  “I was an asshole.”

  “You? No.” She smiled and I couldn’t help but grin back at her.

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “I imagine. So what happened with your brother?”

  “I fucked his fiancée.”

  “Uh . . . well, I guess that would throw a wrench in a relationship, huh?”

  “Yeah, to say the least. We weren’t great before that though.”

  “No?”

  “In and out of rehab, juvie . . . has a way of creating distance.”

  “Why were you sent to juvie?” Her brown eyes watched me intently.

  “I'd been stealing cars and stripping the parts for profit. I was good at it. I made a fuck-load of money. And all that money I put up my nose and into my arm. All of it. Everything went to getting me high, high enough to forget. When I finally got caught, the court decided to treat me as a juvenile. At the time I thought it was a lucky break, little did I know that jail would have been the better option.”

  Her eyes rose in surprise.

  “I don't really talk about this . . .”

  “No, go on. I want to know more about you.” She reached her hand across the table and covered mine.

  “I was only in juvie for six months, but the days went by slowly. Each one was a slow descent into hell, until finally the bottom gave out. In the space of one small moment, everything changed. I learned that we can't change people, but we can change our reaction to them, so I did. And every fucking day I regret it.

  “I was stoned for a fucking year after I got out of juvie. Life spiraled out of control like it always does. The money went away. I slept on a friend’s ratty old couch for a few weeks before his parents kicked us both out. We went to Boston, tried to hustle, always watching our backs. Did some squatting, slept out under the stars when it was warm, once in a while at a shelter if it wasn’t too crowded.

  “I was homeless but I was so fucking high, I didn’t think about it. It was my life. I stole to eat, to feed my habit. To feel the needle sliding into my vein, the pinch of skin, the rush of the chemical filling my bloodstream.” My eyes fluttered closed just thinking about that feeling that I’d chased for so many years.

  “I finally got my shit together when I turned twenty-one. I made some friends, sold a lot of drugs, high-quality shit, not just low-grade street fare, and the money started to flow. But this time, I knew I had to make it right. I couldn’t live on the street anymore. Couldn’t run. I was so sick of running. One night, I was held at gunpoint and my supply taken. I checked myself into rehab the next morning. Completed ninety days and never turned back. As soon as I was discharged I headed for Portland. There was no way I could stay in Boston, too many enemies.

  “This time, when I was making money hand over fist, I stowed a nice chunk away. I’d known even then that the rainy days would catch me. So, I took some business classes, learned how to invest my money, and finally decided what I wanted to do.

  “I tracked down TJ through my sponsor and offered him his own restaurant. I bought the space and made it into the best fine dining Portland has to offer. That was six years ago, we've opened a few more restaurants up and down the coast. TJ sets the menus, changes it daily, serves what's local and fresh, and we charge a truckload of money for it. Much more than I’d pay for a fucking meal.” I grinned as I looked out to the bay. “But the guy has a gift and, thankfully, there are hungry people willing to pay. Mostly tourists and business people. So, I'm officially a restaurateur.”

  “That's amazing. What a great story. You really made the decision to change your life and you did it.”

  “Yeah, things have been great since then. Well, everything but my brother and me . . .”

  “How long ago did you . . .?”

  “Sleep with her?”

  Amy nodded.

  “It started almost a year ago.”

  “Started?” Her eyes widened.

  “We only slept together once . . . but I think that started an emotional affair. We kept in touch; it wasn't long before he found out. And once they broke up . . . we sort of just never stopped seeing each other.”

  “When did it end?”

  “Not soon enough.” I frowned.

  “What was her name?”

  “Mia.” I nearly choked on the three simple letters. “Things with Mia ended a few months ago.”

  “So, it's still fresh, then?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But we never stood a chance, so it’s not like I’m dwelling.” Lie.

  She arched an eyebrow at me as the waiter placed our appetizer on the table.

  I popped a calamari in my mouth, chewing the rubbery delicacy with a smile on my face.

  Amy's face scrunched up adorably.

  “Come on, you've had calamari before?”

  “Yes. But it’s always breaded, you can’t see the tentacles.”

  I burst out laughing as I dipped in a side of butter and plopped another in my mouth.

  “Try it, come on, don’t know if you’ll like something unless you try it at least once.” I plucked one off the plate, dipped, and held it to her lips.

  She grinned as her eyes darted from mine to the seafood. Finally she sucked in a breath, opened her mouth, and slid the food past her lips.

  She frowned as she chewed before her eyes popped open and her lips turned up into a smile. She covered her mouth and mumbled, “Oh my God this, is so good!”

  “Don’t look so surprised. It’s TJ, man.” I shrugged and brought a slice of bruschetta to my mouth.

  “It's sort of rubbery, but so good.” She chewed and swallowed and I instantly wanted my arms around her. To curl up with her in bed and spend the night laughing and talking. I'd never really had the urge to just talk to someone before.

  That's a good thing, right? Relationships are built on friendships.

  We finished off the rest of the appetizers before lunch came.

  “We should go sailing this summer.” Amy picked at her black bass.

  “Um I don’t really do the water thing.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s just not my thing.”

  “You live in Maine and water isn’t your thing?”

  “Not really.” I frowned and pushed lunch aro
und on my plate.

  “Sea kayaking then, I love sea kayaking, have you done that?”

  “Nah.”

  She frowned before looking out to the water.

  “Everything okay, Ridge?”

  “Yeah, of course.” My eyes shot up to catch hers.

  “You just seemed, quiet for a while there.”

  “Yeah, I’m a quiet guy sometimes. I get up in my head I guess.” I leaned back and ran a hand through my hair. “I’m done, you?”

  “Yeah, I’m stuffed. TJ is a master.” She patted her flat tummy.

  I grinned. “Told ya.”

  I tossed some bills on the table for a tip before pulling out her chair.

  “Maybe we should go see a movie.” She smiled and pecked me on the lips.

  “I’m pretty beat, been a long week. Can we just go back to my place?”

  “Yeah, sure.” A soft frown turned down her mouth.

  “I’ll take you out next time, promise. A proper date and everything.”

  “Okay.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed another kiss to my lips before we stepped out into the chilly winter air and headed for my car.

  “Your tattoos are beautiful.” We lay curled up together in my bed later that night.

  I made a grunting noise in the back of my throat. “That’s the last thing they are.”

  “Why do you say that? They’re your story.” She traced lines along the numbers on my bicep.

  “My story is tragic, painful. The last thing it is, is beautiful.” I pulled her hand away and brought the fingertips to my lips. After lunch we'd spent the evening in, drinking wine and watching an old movie before hitting bed early.

  “Every story is beautiful. Will you tell me about this one?” She fingered the Roman numerals that decorated my forearm. All my tattoos were personal, but that one . . . that one hurt the most.

  I wanted to confide in her. Wanted to share, we'd had such a great day. I trusted her, but I wasn't sure if I trusted her enough not to judge me. But one-night stands had left me empty, and I missed the companionship that I'd only ever had with Mia. Maybe I could have it with Amy. Maybe she could be the one.

  I sucked in a deep breath and opened my mouth.

  “There are some things you don’t know, things that happened when I was younger. I wasn’t a good kid.”

  “Okay,” she murmured as she traced the ink around my pec.

  “Juvie was a bad place. Lots of bullying, overcrowded, bad kids. Really bad, that had nowhere else to go. And the staff, guards were more like it, often carried pepper spray to control everyone. A few even had batons. It was a rough place.”

  “Sounds more like a prison.”

  “It was, for all intents and purposes.” I watched sympathy flood her eyes and I fucking hated it. I wanted to slap it off her face. I flicked my eyes away and clenched my fists at my side. “A lot happened there that I'm not proud of.”

  “We all have things in our past we wish we'd done differently.”

  I huffed, “It's so much more than that.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Mmm...maybe another time.” I grinned and rolled over her, capturing her lips with mine in a sensual kiss.

  I'd told her as much as I could stand to admit out loud, and truth be told, I was too afraid to tell her the rest. Confessing my past sins may have her running, just when I was thinking Amy and I could actually be something.

  Six weeks later and we were walking hand in hand down the street. Spring had come to Maine, the snow melting off roofs, warm wind blowing, and a light splattering of rain hitting our cheeks.

  We’d just been out to dinner on Saturday night. Exactly six Saturdays since the night we’d met. She’d stayed at my place a lot, not because we'd made the conscious decision to do so, but because we fell into it. I fell into a lot with her.

  She wrangled me into being exclusive exactly two weeks after our first fuck. I didn’t mind it. I shrugged, kissed her hard in my kitchen, and then fucked her on the counter. That was as good as a yes from me.

  I liked her, I enjoyed being around her, but I couldn't deny there was something missing.

  I’d been pushing everything else out of my mind. Running, remember?

  So this was working. Six weeks and it was the best I’d felt since she’d left. Or since I’d kicked her out.

  Which wasn’t saying much, because I’d felt like shit most of the time, but Amy was chasing her out, and keeping me afloat. I was drinking less, exercising just an hour a night instead of two or three, and feeling less cagey, more relaxed.

  “Mind if I stop and grab some things at my place?” Amy looked up at me, a soft smile lighting her lips.

  “Sure.” I nodded as we headed to her apartment.

  She shoved her hand in the back pocket of my jeans as we walked. It was kinda hot. A possessive gesture on her part. I didn’t mind it. I wasn’t in the market for anyone else. I was trying monogamy, with someone other than Mia, although I could hardly get the word out of my mouth. The thought of monogamy with anyone other than her still made my chest ache, but this thing with Amy was a fuck of a lot better than random chicks every night. Safer too.

  “Ya know, I’m at your place so much, I don’t even know if it makes sense to keep my place.” She said the words so softly I had to strain to hear them. I was watching a boat off shore. It reminded me of the dark green trawler my dad had when I was a kid.

  “What?” When the words registered, I flicked my eyes down to her as we rounded the corner of her building and she nodded at the doorman.

  “Just a thought.”

  I knew what she was asking. I knew she wanted to take this step, but six fucking weeks. Was this normal? Was this the normal pace people moved at? I’d been so out of it, so anti-relationship, outside of the few months that Mia and I'd had, I wasn’t even sure.

  Amy let us into her apartment and slipped off to the bedroom to throw a few things into a bag. I looked around her place: small, simple, modern design. Fine enough. Normal enough. If not lacking personality.

  “Did your place come furnished?” I called down the hall.

  “Uh, no, why?”

  “No reason,” I mumbled as I took in the crisp lines of the furniture. Could I live with someone like this? Make a life next to someone who had this ultra-modern aesthetic? It all seemed so . . . empty.

  Maybe it was me in this place that was empty. Fuck knows. I needed to stop overthinking. I pulled a bottle of whiskey off the fridge and poured a glass.

  “Drinking?” She wrapped one arm around my waist and fingered the belt loop on my jeans.

  “Problem?” I threw the shot back before rinsing the glass. “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered and stretched up on her tiptoes. I knew what she wanted. A kiss. She was too short to reach my lips, though. I always had to bend down to her. Sometimes it was hot, having her so small and pocket-sized, but right now, irritation flared. Always wanting, always needing. I wasn’t a good man to lay your wants on. I didn’t like being wanted.

  “Come on.” I turned in her arms, denying her the kiss she’d been stretching for. Irritation flashed across her eyes. “Let’s go.” I smacked her on the ass, my best form of an apology for denying the kiss. Her eyes fell hooded and I knew her pussy was wet by the way her cheeks pinked up and she wriggled her thighs together. I took long strides out the door of her apartment, her short steps trailing after me.

  “Can we play tonight?” she murmured as she crawled into my lap and dragged her pussy across my crotch.

  “Play?” I looked up at her, flicking off the TV. My life felt so fucking bland. We’d been back at my place for an hour. I’d switched on the TV to catch sports highlights, and she’d played on her iPad beside me.

  “You know.” She wrapped her fingers in my hair and ground her hips into me again. “Tie me up. Take me.”

  “Bondage? Little cliché, don’t you think?”

  “No.” She pouted and I had to refrain from rolling my eyes
.

  “Should I use a silk tie too?” I slid my palms down the curve of her waist and into her panties to cup the flesh of her ass cheeks.

  “If you want.” She pressed a kiss to my mouth. My lips parted and her tongue lunged, seeking softly, moving against mine. Nice and slow and fucking boring, but still my dick stirred to life. Maybe this was what I needed. Maybe I’d been holding back.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized I had been holding back, afraid she’d hit the road when she realized what I really liked.

  “You wanna play?”

  “Mhmm,” she moaned.

  “So let’s play. But I play dirty, baby.” I slapped her ass as hard as my palm would allow, harder than I’d ever done before with her.

  “Ow! Fuck!” She pulled her lips away and rubbed her ass where there was no doubt a fierce sting left in the shape of my hand.

  “Take your fucking clothes off and kneel,” I bit out the words. My dick growing, stretching the denim of my jeans. I adjusted it, palmed it to relieve some of the pain.

  “Okay,” the word escaped on a soft breath. Her eyes danced with excitement, lust sparkling from their brown depths. I pulled her off me, none too gently, and shoved her aside as I stood. “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t fucking worry about it.” I stalked to my bedroom and paced for a few minutes. I clenched my eyes tightly, pulled a hand through my hair, and tugged, trying to get in the headspace. I had to be in the right frame of mind to show her what I liked without taking it a step too far. I could scare her, but wasn’t that what I wanted? What I fucking craved?

  I stepped over to the mirror above the dresser and planted my hands on the polished wood. I leaned in, my eyes searching my reflection in the darkness. I clutched at the wood as I thought about taking Amy, fucking her without regard for what she needed or wanted.

  A grunt released from my throat as I tore my shirt over my head, grabbed a length of rope from the bottom drawer, and stalked out of the room.

  I found Amy just as I’d instructed. Just where I’d left her, between the couch and the coffee table, naked, resting on her knees. I stood behind her, watched her body pant with every breath once she realized I was in the room.

  I knelt behind her, pulled her arms behind her back and began looping the rough hemp round her flesh. Starting just beneath her shoulders, I coiled and twisted, tying an intricate knot, before trailing the rope further down. I weaved it around her forearms into a delicate figure eight before finally tying the rope in a tight knot at her wrists.