Zero to Sixty Read online

  Then the air seemed to go out of him and he relaxed. He walked over to Foley and, quick as lightning, put him into a headlock.

  Ivy watched as the two mock wrestled.

  “You break it, you bought it,” Cyn ordered in a stern voice.

  They calmed some but not enough that Ivy wouldn’t have worried if it had been her house.

  Cyn sighed and turned to her. “Want to help me in the kitchen?”

  Ivy took a sip of wine and saw the lack of tension in Sam’s frame, except for his thick biceps around Foley’s neck. She noted his pleasure in the microexpressions she’d come to recognize and knew Sam had already forgiven his interfering friends.

  “Sure. What’s for dinner? I hear you’re a good cook.” She followed Cyn into the kitchen, which was separated from the open dining/living space by a low wall. Knocked out by the gorgeous design, counter envy made it difficult for Ivy to focus on the good smells.

  She’d love to have had a kitchen like this. Not that it was huge—far from it. But the stainless steel appliances, deep ceramic sink, and dark-mahogany cabinets were drool worthy. The white quartz countertops had her wondering what they would look like in her kitchen, where there was room for maybe one small area of food preparation. And Cyn had an island in the middle, where she had chopped veggies and what looked like ciabatta bread on a stoneware plate.

  “We only use the good olive oil for company,” Cyn teased and poured some into a small dish. She added some ground pepper, basil, garlic salt, and a dash of something else she refused to share, then broke off a bit of bread and dipped it in the oil before eating. “Ah, perfect. Help yourself.”

  Feeling as if she’d stepped into a restaurant and not someone’s home, Ivy broke off some for herself and indulged. Paired with her wine, the simple appetizer tasted more like a feast. Oh man. I think I just gained four pounds.

  “I’m going to apologize right here and now.” Cyn shook her head. “When I heard how Sam was all gaga about some ‘random chick’—Foley’s words, not mine—I admit I was interested. Then Foley told me how you and Sam had had a misunderstanding, and he was really worried for the big guy. Sam’s such a sweetheart, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him. We wanted to see this woman who had our Sam in a knot.”

  Ivy arched a brow. Our Sam? She’d spoken with a firmness that told Ivy Cyn wouldn’t be easy to convince of anything.

  Cyn might be tall, gorgeous, and shapely in a way Ivy would never be, but Ivy had worked hard her entire life. She didn’t need this woman’s approval, and she wouldn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t in order to get it, had she wanted it in the first place. What you see is what you get—her personal mantra.

  Then, what Cyn had said struck her. Sam was gaga over her?

  Ivy swallowed a little cheer and tried to be as cool as Cyn. “And? What’s the verdict?”

  Cyn narrowed her eyes. “Too soon to tell. I know you’re a goddess with those hands, though. And a genuinely nice person.” Cyn’s serious expression melted into a warm smile, and her dark-brown eyes shimmered with pleasure. “Plus, any woman who can handle a first date with Sam at Ray’s and not run away screaming in terror has my vote.”

  That approval she hadn’t wanted was all hers. Ivy chuckled, relieved to have at least gained Cyn’s support. “Well, in his defense, it wasn’t really a first date.”

  Cyn glanced over the low counter and, seeing the guys now engaged in a verbal battle instead of a physical one, leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Actually, it was. He’s just that dense. Handsome as sin, dangerous, a natural brawler. But a bad first-dater.”

  Ivy laughed, a bit self-consciously, trying not to be so stuck on “gaga.” “He said we were just meeting to talk about the dog.”

  Cyn raised a brow.

  “Well, I didn’t want to assume.”

  “He wanted to take you, a beautiful blond, out for a beer to discuss a dog? That’s like asking me not to have chocolate during that time of the month. Totally ridiculous.”

  Ivy flushed. “He never acted like he was that into me. Not at first.”

  “Then again, in a place like Ray’s, you were probably more worried about getting out alive.” Cyn shuddered. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Lara, Rena, and a few of the others behind the bar. But the locals? Not so much.”

  “Well, there was an incident with one or two of the guys there. Sam kind of hit one of them. Hard.”

  Cyn glanced over at an approaching Sam, Foley in tow. “I don’t think Sam knows any other way to hit.”

  “I heard my name.” He joined them in the kitchen. “Hey. You’re eating already?” He gave Ivy a wounded look.

  “She made me.” Ivy pointed to Cyn.

  Foley shook his head. “Bread for dinner? Way to impress our guest, babe.”

  “It’s an appetizer, doofus. And I’m doing better than you are. I’m not the one that sent in an undercover agent to spy on Sam’s friend. That was all you.”

  “Me? Please. You wanted to see who had Sam all confused more than I did. It was all your idea.”

  “My idea?”

  As they continued to squabble, Sam leaned over Ivy’s shoulder, ostensibly to grab a piece of bread to dip into the olive oil. He said in a low voice, right into her ear, “True love. Scary, huh?”

  She wanted to agree, but that near him, she could do nothing more than nod. His warmth, his sheer presence, overwhelmed her. And she didn’t think he was trying to make an impact. He just did.

  He straightened and munched on the snack. Then he and Ivy moved closer and watched the entertainment as Cyn and Foley argued like an old married couple—her with a lot of hand gestures and rapid insults, him with a wounded growl thrown in every other defensive statement.

  “This is kind of fun.” Ivy sipped her wine. “Did you try some? It’s really good with the bread.”

  “I’m not much of a wine guy. I’d be drinking a beer right now if my idiot friend had any manners.”

  “Seriously?” Foley swiveled to argue with Sam. “Me and my manners? Who regularly compliments women about their tits and ass?” Foley shoved a beer at him, then turned back to Cyn. “And I told you, woman, your ass is just perfect the way it is.”

  “Oh please, you…” She continued berating him without making much sense. It was like an argument for argument’s sake, because half of her complaints had to do with Foley being too handsome, too muscular, and too fine for his own good.

  Ivy chuckled. “I like this. It’s much more entertaining than anything on TV.”

  “Yeah. You should see them when they really get going.” Sam took a sip of beer, then leaned in again to whisper, “I hate to say it, but it’s kind of verbal foreplay. When they start like this, it’s a sign not to stay late after dinner unless you want another kind of show. And if you’ve seen Foley’s ass once, you really don’t want to see it again.”

  Ivy bit her lip to keep from laughing when Foley and Cyn turned to glare at Sam. “What did you just say?” Foley asked.

  “Something about your fine ass, dear.” Behind him, Cyn rolled her eyes, but her grin said she reveled in the argument.

  Perhaps Sam had a point. There was a definite change in the energy in the kitchen. A lot…spicier than it had been.

  Sam nodded. “One hour tops and we’re outta here.”

  Ivy couldn’t help it. She laughed.

  Foley looked pained. “Oh, come on. My ass isn’t that bad. I have dimples. Want to see?”

  Before Ivy could protest, Cyn grabbed the hand poised at the fly of his jeans. “This is why we never have return company. It’s like I’m dating a four-year-old.”

  Foley snickered and said to Ivy, “You should have seen how fast Cyn’s brother took off the first time I acted like I was going to drop trou in the kitchen.”

  “But you’ll note Nina didn’t blink during the per
formance.” To Ivy, she explained, “Nina’s my sister-in-law and best friend. Well, she was until she ogled my man.” Cyn grinned, clearly not meaning it. “Not that there was anything to see, but she almost got dry eye from not blinking while he threatened to moon the room.”

  “Say no to crack, man,” Sam deadpanned, then winked at her. “’Cause none of us but your poor, crazy woman wants to see that. Right, Ivy?”

  Not willing to be caught up in their nonsense, she held up a piece of the ciabatta. “Man, this bread sure is good.”

  Cyn laughed with the others, then she tasked everyone with putting food on the table.

  Ivy forced herself to splurge a little. She normally avoided bad carbs in favor of a highly nutritional diet, the occasional cookie notwithstanding. But life was for living, and great friends merited a great meal—pasta, salad, wine, bread, a cheesecake for dessert. She’d up her workouts this week.

  A glance at her new friends told her it was more than worth it.

  * * *

  The evening passed too swiftly, and before Ivy knew it, the hour had reached nine. She and Sam had stayed for nearly three hours, and Cyn and Foley showed no signs of slowing down. The pair made her laugh, especially because they constantly harped on Sam, but in fun, loving ways. She’d learned more about him she liked.

  He had a thing for classic cars. He loved rock music and alternative “crap,” as Foley called it. Sam also seemed to be a momma’s boy with Eileen, Foley’s mom, whom he thought could do no wrong, even though he feared getting near her during her crazy marriage-planning phase. And he loved animals as much as they loved him. Foley had called him the “Pied Piper of Seattle,” which had made Sam flustered. Compliments discomfited him. He apparently wasn’t used to getting too many of them, and that was a shame.

  After one particular nugget of information, she gaped at him.

  “You’re not really a hoarder, are you?” she asked, only to see him turn bright red.

  Her favorite pastime of the evening—getting Sam to blush. Mr. Tough Guy could get shy about the simplest things.

  “No.” He gave Foley a finger he didn’t even try to hide. “I just like to collect things.”

  “Okay, so hoarding is a slight exaggeration.” Foley shook his head. “Note I said ‘slight.’”

  Cyn winced. “You are kind of messy, Sam.”

  “Yeah, but I know where everything is.”

  Ivy wanted to smile at his defense. “I do too, but my house is pretty picked up.”

  “Yeah? Well, that’s because you’re a chick. You too, Cyn.”

  “Thanks for noticing.” Cyn chuckled. “What about Foley? He’s superneat.”

  Sam snorted. “Because he’s a huge pus—” He glanced at Ivy and swallowed the insult. “I mean, he’s a clean freak. You think I have issues? He’s the one with crazy brain.”

  Sam dragged his hand over his hair, looking frazzled and mean and too sexy for his own good. His many tattoos captivated her. She’d been studying them without trying to appear obvious about it all night. He’d pushed up the sleeves of his long-sleeved T-shirt, so that the colorful artwork of a muscle car, barbed wire, vines, skulls, flames, and other manly things continued to peek at her.

  He would have made a terrific massage therapist with forearms that thick. Talk about muscle.

  “I’m getting the impression you don’t believe me,” he growled at her.

  “Hey, you say you’re not a hoarder, who am I to judge?” Yet from Foley’s and Cyn’s comments, she knew he probably wasn’t the tidiest person.

  “I’m not. Seriously. I’ll prove it.” He stood.

  “It’s okay, Sam. I was just teasing.”

  But now he seemed defensive. “No. It’s not okay. Come on, Ivy. I’ve had enough.” He shot a hurt look at Cyn, his face stoic as he looked at Foley. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Then he hustled Ivy to the front door, collected their jackets and her purse, and had them outside before she could blink.

  “Sam, it’s okay. Really…” A devious expression in those eyes told her she’d misread the situation. “You’re not upset.”

  “Did you see Foley and Cyn looking all shamefaced? Oh yeah. The next time I see him, he’s gonna feel so bad about making me look like a punk in front of you.” He guided her to the car. “It’s getting late. I thought we should head out before they started undressing and making out in front of us.”

  “Sam.” She chuckled. “Foley was kidding earlier about showing off his butt.”

  “Naive little thing. You have no idea.” He got into the car with her and drove away. “Oh yeah. I can’t wait to play this up. He’ll be groveling like a bitch and I’ll…” He paused. “I mean, he’ll be all upset, and I’m gonna rub his face in it.” He sounded positively cheerful.

  Ivy put a hand on his arm, aware he seemed to tense anytime she touched him. She hoped that was a good thing, like the way she stilled whenever he neared. Then again, she couldn’t help wondering if he was just being nice and not secretly thinking about how best to get her hands off him because she was one of those touchy-feely females. Guys might want to have sex with any available woman, but a man with deep feelings, like Sam, might also have regrets later.

  “Sam, I had a great time tonight. But could you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.” He eyed her warily before returning his attention to the road.

  “Would you stop censoring yourself? Just because I don’t cuss doesn’t mean you don’t have to. I won’t die from hearing the p-word or the f-word, you know.”

  He glanced at her and away, his lips curling into a hint of a smile. “You just can’t bring yourself to say pussy or fuck, can you?”

  She cringed. “No.”

  He gave an honest-to-goodness guffaw. “You crack me up. You’re so pretty, so pure. But you’re kind of not.” His mirth was contagious, and she found herself smiling despite her embarrassment. “I remember you saying ‘motherfucker’ right before you pounded my hand. Nice hit, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” She let go of his arm, then found her hand entwined in his. He’d reached for her, not looking at her, his attention on the road.

  She didn’t let go.

  “So what now, Mr. Messy?” she teased.

  He squeezed her fingers. “Watch it, or I’ll start calling you Miss Happy Endings.”

  She cracked up. “Oh, please don’t. It’s never fun getting those kinds of clients.”

  “Yeah? How’s that happen?”

  “Every now and then, we get a weirdo who thinks a massage means he’s free to be naked and get whatever he thinks he can pay for. I do not, and I repeat, I do not touch a guy’s stuff.”

  “Stuff? What do you mean?”

  She squeezed his hand tighter, knowing she’d cause him no pain. The giant man had giant hands. He seemed almost unbreakable. Unless he thought he might be hurting her. She warmed all over again. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Yep. I want to hear you say a four letter word.”

  “Okay. O-K-A-Y. Four letters.”

  He grimaced. “I was trying to be clever. Please, no spelling. Let’s not ruin tonight.”

  She laughed. “You’re so much funnier than you seem.”

  “How do I seem?”

  “Intimidating.” She continued to hold his hand, feeling his strength in the tight, all-compassing grip. “Angry. Quiet. Not always happy.” She studied him, seeing those tattoos creeping up his neck, like the realization creeping over her that this man had many, many layers. “But that’s all a front, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure what you mean.”

  “You’re a big faker.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You heard me.” She was having fun. “You’re a faker. You’re tough on the outside. And God knows you look totally—”

  “Ho
t? Sexy? Fuckin’ raw?”

  “Ah, I would have said menacing or threatening. And don’t even try to pretend that bothers you. I can tell you’re smiling.”

  “Am not.”

  She grinned. “Are too. You don’t actually smile sometimes, but your eyes soften and your lip turns up the slightest bit. It’s a Sam smile.”

  “You know me so well, huh?”

  “Not yet.” She paused, wondering if she should admit the truth. “But I’d like to.”

  He ran his thumb over her hand, and her body stirred, desire stoking to life the fires of the long-buried woman inside. “Well, then how about coming home with me for a quick tour? I’m not gonna do anything weird. I want a chance to prove I’m not a hoarder.”

  A chance to see Sam’s home? More of the private man’s life? “I’d like that.”

  She heard the smile in his voice. “Good. Then Foley, Cyn, and you, can kiss my lily-white ass.”

  “And there’s the Sam I’ve come to know.” And like a lot more than she should.

  Chapter 9

  Sam called himself all kinds of fool as he took Ivy back to his place. He should have driven her home and dropped her off with the dog. Foley would have laughed his ass off if he’d known Sam had taken the woman to see the house. Because Foley was what a guy would call OCD neat, while Sam lived on the messy side of life.

  He’d been in Ivy’s place. The woman had orderly tendencies. But she didn’t always dust, he recalled. That had to count for something.

  They parked. After locking up his pride and joy, he walked her into the town house.

  “Nice place, Sam.” She glanced around with approval.

  “I know, it’s beige and boring. That’s what Cyn’s always bitching about. But hey, it’s home.” Not “bitching” idiot. Saying. Complaining about. Hell. He might not be that clean when it came to stuff, but he could tidy up his language.

  She’d told him he could swear, but she still seemed uncomfortable with it. Poor Ivy. The girl couldn’t even say hell without turning red.

  And that made him want to smile. Why, he couldn’t say. Sam’s type typically ran toward stripper poles, sex for favors, and knowing the score, so surprises were few and far between. Women who knew fuck could be used in all kinds of ways. But a good girl like Ivy didn’t use language like that.