Curvy Temptation by C.L. Cruz

Chapter 6

Willow

It’sjustgettinglightwhenIwalkMaxouttothebusstopthenextmorning,butunlikeeverywhereelsewe’velivedinthepast,Idon’tfeelafraid.Someoftheguysarealreadyattheshop,andMaxgreetsthembyname.Afewevenstoptogivehimafistbumportoaskhowschoolisgoing.Itmaybesomewhatunconventional,butI’mprettysurethisisthesafestwe’veeverbeen.IthinkaboutwhatRangersaidabouthowthisishisfamily,andIwonderifitcouldbeours,too.

When we reach the road, he takes my hand. “Mom?”

“Yes, baby?” I look down at him.

“I like it here. Can we stay?”

Remembering what Ranger told me yesterday about having a surprise for me, I can’t help but feel optimistic. “I hope so.”

“So do I.”

The bus shows up a few minutes later, and he climbs on. I wave at the bus driver and start the walk back up the drive to the clubhouse, thinking I’ll stop in for a quick cup of coffee before starting the job hunt for the day.

To my surprise, though, Ranger is already there. He’s sitting at a table, a stack of papers in front of him with two mugs of steaming hot coffee and two plates of eggs and bacon. I hear sounds coming from the kitchen, and my guess is that Lux is responsible for the food.

“What’s this?” I ask, unable to hide my smile.

“Your surprise.” He pushes out the chair beside him with a boot.

I sit. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast and a job.” He slides the paperwork over to me, looking very proud of himself, but my gut twists. “I want to hire you as manager at Hughes Auto.”

“Wait, what?” I ask, definitely surprised. “You want me to work at an auto shop? But I don’t know anything about cars.”

“You can learn it. Plus, you can live at the compound, so your commute will be minimal,” he assures me.

I’m not sure exactly why I’m not delighted by his offer, just that I’m not. Ranger is obviously trying to be helpful, but something feels off.

My brows furrow as I look at the employment contract in front of me. In just a quick scan, I see that there’s consideration for room and board, which means that once again, my living situation will be tied to my job. And both of those would be dependent on the man sitting so confidently across from me.

And that’s the problem.

I’m done putting myself into situations where my livelihood rests in the hands of one man. I’ve done that before, more than once, and been burned every time. Someone eventually takes advantage of the situation, or the imbalance of power gradually ruins the relationship. And when it finally falls apart, I’m always the one left with nothing.

Whatever the reason, I can feel in my gut that no matter how good his intentions are, this isn’t going to work.

Tears spring into my eyes and I stand. “I have to go.”

“Willow, wait.” He grabs my arm and spins me around, but I jerk out of his grasp.

“Did you listen to me at all?” I ask him. “When I talked about my past and my dreams for the future?”

He stands, too, looking confused. “Of course.”

“Then you should know that this isn’t going to work,” I bite out. “I spent years being dependent on Max’s dad just for him to leave me high and dry. Then at the motel, I was dependent on a man who thought that meant I was at his beck and call.”

Now, he looks angry. “Don’t compare me to that asshole.”

“Maybe you’re nothing like him. But this isn’t about you,” I say, laughing grimly. “I need to have some control. I need to know that my life—and Max’s life—aren’t completely dependent on someone else’s goodwill. I thought you understood that.” I shake my head, disappointed, and turn to leave.

“Wait—” he says.

“I need to go,” I interrupt, not willing to cry in front of him. Not again.

Then, without a backward glance, I push out the back door and race across the yard to the little cottage. I don’t know where I’m going to go from here, but I know from experience that it won’t take me long to pack my stuff, and then I’ll be out of the Raging Angels’ hair once and for all.

It’s an hour or so later and I’m shoving the last of Max’s clothes into a big, black trash bag when there’s a knock on the door. I hesitate to open it, but I know I’ll have to face him sooner or later, and maybe it will be better to get it over with.

I expect Ranger to be angry or indignant, furious at me for turning down his offer of help. I expect him to rage at me for being so ungrateful. But the Ranger standing on my front stoop is none of those things. There’s a contrite frown on his handsome face. His shaggy brown hair, usually tucked under a cap, is wet and loose around his ears, and he’s holding a towel, an electric razor, and what look like kitchen shears. He looks pretty pitiful, and even though I’m upset with him, I can’t help the smile that wants to emerge.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says.

“About?” I ask. This seems like it might be some sort of peace offering; he’s obviously not angry. But I want to hear what he has to say.

“I think it’s time I got my hair trimmed.” His voice comes out gravelly, like he’s holding in a big emotion. “You’re the only one I trust to do it.”

I study him, but he doesn’t speak again. I was right. He’s holding out the olive branch, and now I get to choose whether I want to take it. With a tentative hope, I ask, “Can I trim your beard, too?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately and definitively.

Well, if this is him groveling, it’s a good first step. He’s earned a second chance. Hell, he gave me a chance after barely meeting me. And I’m curious to see where this will go.

Moving aside, I let him into the house. He settles into one of the kitchen chairs and places the supplies he brought onto the table.

“I’m not going to use those,” I tell him. Instead, I pull my tools out from one of the bags I’ve already packed. I unzip the case and pull out my scissors, my electric razor, shaving cream, and a straight razor. He eyes it, looking like he might bolt, but he stays put.

I help him take off his cut, draping it across another chair, and tuck the towel around his shoulders. “Ready?”

He swallows audibly but doesn’t chicken out. “Ready.”

He lets me work in silence for a long time, and it’s not until I have his face lathered and am holding the blade to his neck, his chin in my free hand, that he speaks again.

“Willow, I’m sorry about earlier.”

I pause. “You want to do this now?”

“Yes,” he answers, and I realize that maybe he waited until this moment for a reason. There’s an almost primal sense of fear that comes when you let someone hold a sharp object near your neck. It’s probably the most vulnerable he’s allowed himself to be in years. And he’s doing it for me.

I scrape the razor across his skin and then rinse it off in a bowl on the table. “Okay. Keep talking.”

“It wasn’t my intention to be overbearing or controlling. I was trying to help.”

“I know you were. But what would really help me is if you listened to me.”

“You’re right. I messed up. I want to do better if you’ll give me a chance.”

Huh. Well, that’s not something you expect to hear, especially from a man like Ranger. I take a minute to process while I continue to trim his beard. He closes his eyes, waiting patiently for my response.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask quietly.

His eyes pop open. “I want to be with you, whatever it takes.” The intensity of his gaze convinces me that he means what he says. “I had another idea, but it’s completely up to you.”

I nod at him to continue.

“Lux has a friend who owns a salon down the street from the elementary school. She has an open booth that she’ll rent out to you if you want. I would like to pay the first month’s rent to help you get set up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, shaking my head. “Besides, I don’t have any clients, and it takes more than a month to get established.”

“I know I don’t have to do it. I want to, though. For you,” he says, “and for Max. I always wished my mom had stuck around. Helping you with this is nothing compared to what you’re doing for your son.”

I keep shaking my head, overwhelmed. “But what about—”

“You will have clients.” This time he interrupts me. “You have the club. All the guys and their old ladies. We’re a family, Willow, and we support each other. Whether you live here or not. Whether you’re with me or not. You and Max are a part of this family, no strings attached.”

Finally, I can feel what he’s trying to say. It’s not about independence or control. It’s about being there for the ones you care for and not measuring the costs. The fact that he came up with an entirely new solution proves that he was listening to me. And it settles something in my heart.

“Are you sure you’re up for regular trims?” I ask, offering a soft smile.

“If that means you’ll have your hands on me, then hell yes,” he replies with a grin.

“Then I think we can work something out. All done.” I take the towel from around his shoulders and wipe his face. I’m about to give him a handheld mirror from my bag, but before I can pick it up he stands up, wraps his arms around me, and buries his face in my neck.

“You won’t be sorry,” he whispers.

“I know,” I reply.

“Besides, you’ll take care of me and I’ll take care of you.” He leans back, still holding me in his arms, and winks at me.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

“I think you know what I mean,” he growls. “Now let me see my new look.”

I hand him a mirror and he takes a look. It actually isn’t all that different from his old look. His beard is a bit shorter and much neater, while his hair is out of his eyes and shaped up around his neck and ears.

“It looks good,” he finally says, handing me back the mirror. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I take his face in my hands and kiss him.

He grabs my wrists when I try to pull away. “The perks of dating a hairdresser,” he says.

I stroke his soft cheeks. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

“For now.” And even though there’s a hint of humor in his voice, I get the sense that he’s serious. Despite how fast things have moved, what we have is more than a fling or a temporary attraction.

What we have could very well be forever.

“But I’m not in a rush,” he adds. I remember when he was teaching me how to shoot, how he held me steady in his arms. Plant your feet, take a breath, set your sights… “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” I say with a deep breath.

“Thank fuck,” he breathes and pulls me into his arm for another panty-melting kiss. After a minute or two… or five, I pull away, laughing. “You’re getting stray hairs all over me. You can use my shower to clean up if you want,” I tell him.

He stands and takes his t-shirt off in one clean movement, leaving me to marvel at the rippling wall of muscle. Then, he holds his hand out to me.

“Only if you join me.”