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Ivy’s hand shot out to grab Pepper’s wrist. She’d gone for her purse and Ivy wasn’t sure what was in it, but she knew no matter what, it wouldn’t be good. They needed to just walk away, as much as it pained her.
“Well, don’t you waste any of your precious few brain cells coming up with new nicknames. We’re good with the ones our mamas gave us. Seeing you again has been . . . yeah. Let’s go play darts, Pepper.” She grabbed her drink in her free hand and kept her grip tightly on her friend’s wrist.
“See y’all ’round,” Lydia said cheerfully.
“She’s damn lucky she drives to Birmingham to get her roots done,” Pepper growled under her breath. “I’d love to get my scissors near her head for just two seconds . . .”
Ivy laughed and put her drink down on the empty table beside the dartboard. “Maybe I shouldn’t give you a sharp metal projectile,” she noted.
“Nah, I’m good,” Pepper said. “Emmett just refinished these floors and I’d hate to get blood on them. But if you hadn’t stopped me, I’d have gladly hit her with my pepper spray for calling me Trailer Park again. It’s the same strength they give police officers for riot patrol.”
“Shoot. I thought you had a gun, or I would’ve let you.”
Ivy plucked the darts from the case and tried to envision Lydia screaming and writhing on the floor. Admittedly, she would enjoy the spectacle, especially knowing it wouldn’t cause permanent damage. Lydia deserved it for making fun of Pepper. Her family did the best they could. There shouldn’t be any more shame in living in a trailer than there was in shopping at thrift stores, like her parents did. Sometimes every penny mattered.
Ivy threw her darts, doing terribly. After a moment passed without Pepper taking her turn, she realized her friend wasn’t paying attention. “Pepper?”
The redhead snapped her gaze back to Ivy. “Sorry. Is it my turn?” She looked back in the other direction and sighed. “I noticed Grant watching me again.”
“Grant Chamberlain?”
Pepper nodded and tossed her darts. “None other.”
“Are you guys . . . ?”
“No!” she said, her eyes widening. “Absolutely not. That’s the problem. He won’t take no for an answer. I think he’s just a spoiled rich boy who wants what he can’t have. He’s been trying since high school when he was a freshman and I was a junior. I have to admit he’s got balls.”
“Why not go out with him once to ease his curiosity? He’s cute. Firefighters are sexy.”
Pepper sipped her drink and laughed. “Yeah, and he knows it. But I’ve always had a strict rule: never date a Chamberlain.”
Ivy brought up her hand to throw again. “Wise words,” she said. As she was about to let go of her first dart, the familiar notes of her first hit song began to play from the jukebox.
Really? The tension level wasn’t high enough in here already? She spun on her heels to look for the offender who’d chosen the song. Lydia Whittaker was smiling conspiratorially as she leaned on the jukebox. Of course. Always starting something. Then the front door opened and Ivy’s gaze traveled to the hulking figure lurking in the entrance of the bar.
Her eyes met his as her voice drifted out of the speakers. There was an instant snap of electricity as they looked at one another. A recognition . . . a connection . . . an unspoken attraction that brought a heat to her cheeks. She thought she had felt something at the cabin earlier today, but she’d dismissed it. Now, there was no ignoring the warmth in her belly and the tightness in her chest.
The connection was severed as he turned to look at the jukebox. As he realized what was playing, there was a dance of emotion across his face. Pain, embarrassment, anger, sadness . . . Maybe all of it rolled together; she couldn’t tell. When he looked back at her it was gone, and his cool, detached expression had returned. His jaw flexed tight as he swallowed hard and turned away from her.
Never date a Chamberlain. Wise words indeed.
“Emmett, I will pay you a thousand dollars right now to take that damn song out of the jukebox,” Blake said as he approached the bar.
The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, man. Your brother paid me two thousand to keep it in.”
“Which one?” Blake demanded. There would be hell to pay. The joke was old. It was bad enough that he’d had to listen to that stupid song on the radio for the past five years. He shouldn’t have to listen to it in his local bar.
“Which do you think?” Emmett said, cocking his head to the side.
Blake followed that direction until he saw his brother Grant sitting in a booth with some woman he didn’t recognize. Flavor of the week. “Nice,” he said between gritted teeth.
But Grant hadn’t played the song. He was firmly embedded in a seduction plot and didn’t even realize Blake had come in. No, that dubious honor went to Lydia Whittaker. The evil smile curling her thin, bitter lips spoke volumes. Namely that she was ready for him and Ivy to have a knock-down, drag-out fight while she watched. No doubt Lydia intended to console him when it was over.
He never should’ve gone out with her. He had been hoping she’d realize there was no chemistry and she’d finally leave him alone. Too late he realized Lydia didn’t care about chemistry. Since seventh grade, she’d wanted his name and the social status that went with it.
Blake had tried to let her down gently a few weeks ago. She hadn’t taken the hint. And now adding Ivy back into the mix, even temporarily, would stir things up. The two girls had always been fiercely competitive, and at times downright catty. Lydia had done her best to make Ivy’s life hell when he and Ivy were dating, and tonight she seemed to be back to her old tricks.
Why did she have to show her ass tonight? Blake had deliberately loitered outside talking to a friend to avoid going into Woody’s right behind her. He’d known the bar would be a powder keg the moment he saw Ivy slip in. The last thing he needed was Lydia throwing sparks.
