Love Me Love Me Knot Read online

The highway signs offered little for directions, and the wind was mercilessly stabbing her in the face.

  Ryan must have felt the same about directions because he yelled over his shoulder, “Did the guy say to head south or west?”

  “South. No, west. No . . .”

  Ryan slowed the bike into a turnout. When he stopped she pushed off the seat and nearly collapsed; the engine’s powerful vibration had numbed her legs. She shook them out and removed her helmet. Ryan effortlessly dismounted in one swift, steady motion. Of course he did.

  Cars roared past, the thundering reverberation rattled pebbles on the ground. Sophie grabbed the bike, keeping her balance until her equilibrium cooperated. “What are you doing? We’re going to get killed.”

  “Relax, Mom,” he said, laying the city’s map over the Ducati’s seat.

  A bus roared past, making Sophie stumble. “I’m reassured, thanks.”

  Ryan directed her to the opposite side of the motorcycle. “Stay clear of the roadway.”

  Sophie peered over Ryan’s shoulder as he smoothed out the map. “It’s in Spanish. Great, we’re lost.” She slumped.

  “No, we’re not,” he said with an air of assurance.

  “Since when do you read Spanish?”

  “I understand more than I speak, but I can read a map. It’s close enough to English. Just give me a few minutes.”

  A few minutes she didn’t have. They had to be back on the boat by five tonight, which meant every second he spent playing map-reader, was one she didn’t have to search for the winning item.

  A tour bus darted past them, kicking up debris and wind, forcing them to duck. Sophie watched the bus speed past, but it didn’t take more than a second for bus’s advertisement to resonate. “There,” she hollered over the thundering rumble of passing cars. “That bus is headed for the blowhole! Let’s go.”

  They mounted the bike and Ryan peeled out, sending gravel flying.

  From that point on, the ride was smooth. Or maybe Sophie had gotten used to it. As Ryan sped up to catch the bus, Sophie relaxed against his shoulder. White, sandy beaches peppered the background. The salty air cleared Sophie’s clouded mind, and it was too easy to feel the power not only beneath her, but also in front of her. Ryan steered the bike like it was a part of him, smooth and confidently.

  His muscles flexed when he squeezed the throttle and Sophie liked how they tightened against her. She sunk deeper into the seat as the vibrating hum of the ride soothed her into a relaxed state. The combination of Ryan’s feel, his smell, and his insisting to come with her summoned the Ryan she once knew. The one who she had locked away in the furthest corner of her mind because the mere thought of him made her stomach turn.

  But leaning against him now tapped into a sensation she’d let go of a long time ago. It reached into her core where hatching butterflies reassured her that she belonged. Like she had when they were together so many years ago.

  Midway through her senior year of college, Sophie fell in love.

  That Ryan Pike would pay her any attention, let alone ask her to winter formal, had fairy tale written all over it. Sure, girls spoke of butterflies and swooning lady parts and classic first-kiss-leg-lifts, but she was not one of those girls.

  She was north of a size ten, and thus dropped into the “good personality” category. Not pretty . . . well, not the sort of pretty boys like Ryan typically went for. Not that it was all her fault. Grandmoo, who raised her from age twelve, was from the Deep South, and fed her accordingly.

  But despite her physical flaws, having the right things in common could draw in a good-looking, kindhearted boy like Ryan just the same. At least that’s what Grandmoo said.

  Sophie wiped her mouth and stuffed the guilt of having just chowed down on Crawford State University’s cafeteria’s idea of grilled cheese on Texas toast, slathered in butter and extra cheese with a side of fries. It was nothing compared to Grandmoo’s fried chicken—made with bacon grease—and canned greens smothered in butter and brown sugar, but it would do for school food. She stepped into the spring air, the sun shining on the buildings, when someone caught her arm and spun her around.

  Ryan Pike looked handsome as ever—tall, wavy dark hair, ocean blue eyes, Caribbean blue, not Pacific blue—even with the uncharacteristic flush on his cheeks. He looked . . . nervous. What did the Nice Playboy have to be nervous about, and where was his latest flavor of the month?

  Sophie clutched her books in front of her waistline, concealing what she wished wasn’t there, and hoped her breath didn’t smell like cheese. “Hey, what’s up?”

  He swallowed, then in a rush of words said, “Do you want to go to a party with me? It’s something my fraternity puts on. A themed thing,” he added.

  Sophie blinked at him. He must want something. Boys like him didn’t talk to girls like her, and they certainly didn’t ask them out. Maybe he needed access to the dean’s office, where she worked part time, to alter his grades?

  This was probably just some fraternity prank. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She moved to step past him but he met her step-for-step. God, he smelled so good.

  “Why not? I know it’s totally lame to go to these things, but I thought it would be fun.” He smiled, his perfect lips parting in that teasing grin. And she was done for, practically swooning right there on the stairs. “It’s an ‘80s theme party, which makes it even dumber. But, you know . . .”

  His words trailed. He wanted an answer. And maybe, just maybe he was being sincere. After all she nicknamed him the Nice Playboy for a reason.

  Freshman year, they shared a math class together. She had slipped out of class for a moment to use the restroom, and when she returned, her saltine crackers were smashed to bits in their plastic baggie where she had left them on her desk. The gorgeous Leggy Blonde Ryan was dating at the time snickered in front of her. A knot in her throat threatened forbidden tears, but she bit her lip hard and stared at her crushed crackers.

  Not two minutes later, Ryan tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a pack of peanut butter crackers, the ones from the vending machine. That grin made her heart flutter. “These ones are better anyway,” he said.

  After class, Sophie saw him and Leggy Blonde arguing outside. They stopped dating, and Sophie tried not to care. Though the gesture was not lost on her. She gave him the “nice” nickname, but then it wasn’t even a week later when she spotted him with his arm around another one of those girls. The ones she could never compete with in looks or dress size. Dagger. In. Heart.

  So why would he be asking her out? Maybe he needed tutoring?

  “I’m not that smart.”

  “Excuse me?” His eyes narrowed in confusion.

  Those Caribbean eyes would be the death of her. “I wouldn’t be a good tutor. These upperclassman courses are tough.”

  He laughed. Not in that condescending way, just in that’s-not-what-I-meant sort of way. “No, I just want to take you out. Get to know you.” He tentatively grabbed her hand and tugged it. “Honestly.”

  And before she could think better of it, before she could come up with an excuse, “Bon Jovi,” squeaked from her lips.

  His smile blinded her. “What?”

  “I love the eighties, I mean. Bon Jovi practically raised me. I’d love to go as a punk rocker.” Sophie internally clamped a hand over her mouth. Word vomit was not necessary.

  “Great. I’ll meet you in the quad tomorrow at seven. See ya, Sophie.”

  And before she could stop him, tell him she didn’t mean it, he was halfway across campus. The view of his backside wasn’t too shabby either.

  By seven the following evening, Sophie was ready for anything. She added an iconic eighties’ wig to accent her sequined dress that showed just enough leg—but not too much to suggest she was one of those girls, and then fixed the pair of
oversized sunglasses she’d picked up a secondhand store earlier that day over her eyes. She had also shaved everywhere, and dabbed a little of her roommate’s Brittany Spears in a bottle on all the important places. Being she was the only girl in the universe who hadn’t been with a guy yet, she didn’t want to assume anything.

  By 7:05, Sophie began to break out in hives. He wasn’t there yet. He stood her up. Why did he ask me out in the first place? What sort of sick game is he playing? What if he asked me here to murder me for my trust fund? I don’t even have a trust fund. Sophie decided to hustle back to her dorm room.

  “Ready?” his smooth-as-butter voice called from behind.

  She shivered at the sound of his baritone and her knees threatened to buckle. When she took his arm, she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or ask him where he had found a time machine because he was dressed as if he’d just stepped off an eighties’ rock band stage. “Oh, my gosh, where did you find leather pants?”

  His smile made her sequins quiver. Or was that her legs? “Same place I found this matching vest and wig.”

  “Your bandana is awesome,” Sophie said on a laugh.

  “Thanks.” He moved into her personal bubble. And she surprised herself by letting him. “Your dress is amazing, by the way.”

  All insecurities subsided as he cupped her hand in his warm, secure grip and escorted her to his awaiting carriage. Well, 1998 Ford pickup, but it may as well have been a carriage. She was no princess . . . or rock star, but no one could convince her otherwise.

  By the end of the dance, she knew everything about him. He was interested in sports journalism—something they had in common—well, the journalism anyway. When he spoke of a future, his face lit up like a Christmas tree and he came alive. He dropped names like Bear Bryant and Babe Ruth and spoke of chasing athletes like a greyhound chasing a rubber rabbit. It was all so fascinating. His goals in life were sure and steady and amazing. He wasn’t only nice, he was self-assured and gentle and sweet.

  So, when the lights went dim, and the live band started playing “Time of My Life,” Ryan’s fingers brushed Sophie’s cheek, sending goose bumps down her legs. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her closer. His other hand, warm and strong, set on the small of her back. His breath summoned her lips to his.

  When she opened to his coaxing, she fell into his spell. His mouth explored hers, reaching down and touching the depths of her soul in a way she’d never felt before. Sophie didn’t want the kiss to break, but suddenly the song had ended, and only then did she realize they’d kissed the entire four minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Why Patrick Swayze wasted all that time dancing with Jennifer Grey when he should have been kissing her was beyond Sophie’s comprehension. Because it was far better.

  He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Want to go?”

  Words stuck in Sophie’s throat. So when she nodded, what she meant to say was that she would have robbed a bank with him if he’d asked her to.

  His hand dropped into hers, holding it as gently as if he held her heart, which he did. Sophie didn’t care everyone watched as they left the party. And she certainly didn’t mind the scorn from Leggy Blonde as Ryan held the door and escorted her to her carriage.

  Sophie blinked back to the present and subconsciously stomped on the memory, refusing to get swept up in the moment. Her been there done that had the baggage from it tee shirt was currently at the cleaners. She’d chalk today up as a one-time only situation since Luis wouldn’t let her drive her own Ducati.

  A group of horseback-riding tourists waved at Sophie and she almost waved back, except Ryan must have felt her loosen her grip because he fastened his hand over hers at lightning speed, squeezing it back in place. The feeling of his hand securely holding hers did something to her insides to which she wasn’t exactly opposed.

  “Got it, don’t let go.” After that, Sophie relaxed. She closed her eyes and allowed her other senses to come alive. Unfortunately, the moment she completely relaxed, the memories of their past spurred seeds of old fears and insecurities. He was too nice and that scared her. The last time he was this easy to be around he used her for a story. There had to be a catch. Why was he here? What did she have that he wanted? Everyone in the office seemed to like him. Even Amy.

  Or maybe it was nothing. Ficus, she hated mind games. She’d promised herself no games. Today would test her theory. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt. If he planned to manipulate her again, she would know. For now, that plan was enough to settle the nausea twirling in the lowest part of her belly.

  Chapter 13

  Minutes later, they pulled off the main road onto the partially paved parking lot, following a few tour busses. Ryan whipped out a bill and paid the entrance fee. Sophie’s stomach quaked at the gesture. It wasn’t a date, no, but that didn’t negate the chivalry any less.

  “That wasn’t such a rough ride now, was it?” Ryan pulled the Ducati to a complete stop, drawing Sophie from her quiet thoughts. “I mean, it’s not an ATV, but it got the job done.”

  “You’re right, it was a beautiful ride.”

  Ryan helped Sophie off the bike, then turned her around. “You see that?” he asked, leaning alarmingly close and pointed at the ocean. The cliffside looked as though an artist carved it from the side of a mountain.

  Her heart jackhammered and she yearned to fold into his chest, because, well, she didn’t have any common sense, as evidenced by driving around in a stolen rocket. “Mmm.” Did she just moan? She pressed her lips together. Get it together, Sophie.

  “It’s home to the second largest marine geyser in the world.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Jeopardy know-it-all.” Sophie stepped away from him creating a little space. “How do you know all this random stuff?”

  He grinned and pointed to a nearby sign. “Because Geyser Facts says so.”

  “Oh, so it does.”

  Ryan mouth curved upward and Sophie thought she may need more than just a little space if his smile kept doing things to her. He secured the bike with a cable he found in the tire wheel, fastening the ends together like a glorified bike lock. “Let’s go.”

  An old, standalone gateway sign made out of dark wood with painted white letters reading Bienvenidos A La Bufadora separated the parking area from the bazaar-style flea market. Tourists and local venders haggled for merchandise, families laughed, and in the distance, an echo from the geyser spraying the sky lent its soft lullaby to the jovial atmosphere.

  Now to find the perfect, unique item. Sophie put on her game face and followed Ryan into the bazaar.

  Ryan’s hand brushed against hers, sending a lightning bolt through her core. She didn’t mean to flinch but whipped her hand behind her.

  “Sorry,” he uttered.

  “It’s okay. The ground is uneven and sometimes I have two left feet and—” Cough, cough. Shut up, Sophie.

  She eyed Ryan through lowered lashes and saw the corners of his mouth pull upward. She was happy to not be alone. Ryan may not have been her first choice in a companion, but without him, she very well could have been road kill. Then again, maybe he was just being nice.

  Sophie reached for her phone, hoping to check her email, but at the same time she patted her empty back pocket, visualizing right where she’d left it in her cabin. Ficus. What if something was wrong with her girls? How would they reach her? Sophie filled her lungs. They’re fine.

  “Nice ride, friend,” a vender with a booth flanking the parking lot called to Ryan. His T-shirt featured Gene Simmons’s foot-long tongue and a black and white painted face. His booth was packed with sun hats, scarves, backpacks, knives, knock-off Rolex watches, and in case the moment lent itself, ukuleles. Sophie felt reassured this tent would suffice if she ever got lost in deep terrain with Bear Grylls.

  “Thanks. It’s on loan.” Ryan
glanced back at the Ducati and narrowed his eyes.

  Sophie’s eyes followed.

  Ryan faced the man again. “Cuanto cuesta?” How much?

  Sophie was lost. “How much for what?”

  The vender rubbed his fist over his chin. “Cincuenta dolares.”

  Ryan hiked a brow. “Fifty? How about twenty?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Deal.” Ryan handed the man a couple bills.

  What just happened here? “Did you buy something?”

  “Just a little peace of mind. You ready?”

  Sophie raised an eyebrow at the man as he stuffed the bills in his pocket.

  He nodded back at her with a twenty-five-dollar smile.

  “Oh.” She offered a well-played smirk. “He’s going to babysit the Ducati.”

  “Yep.”

  “Did you pay him enough?”

  “He’s selling five-dollar trinkets and knock-off watches. We have an understanding. The bike will be fine.”

  Sophie shrugged. “Okay.” Now to find her scavenger hunt item. But as they strolled through the bazaar, Sophie found basically the same junk souvenirs at every booth. Nothing unique here. A twinge of unease settled in her gut. Asher was probably uncovering some Mayan artifact while she wasted time in this tourist trap. Maybe she’d find something of value near the blowhole.

  Finally, they reached the end of the flea market where a rail guarded against a steep fall straight down into the blowhole. On one side of the geyser stood a crescent-shaped rocky cliff, on the other side the wide ocean sparkled in the sunshine. Breathtaking was an understatement.

  “You hungry?” Ryan asked.

  “No,” she said, taking in the panoramic view. Frustration ate at her. She’d wasted precious hours, where could they go to find something unique? She leaned her elbows on the worn red railing and hung her head. And there, just out of sight, an old sign for a guided tour al la kayaks. Kayaks!