Love in C Minor by Michele G Miller

Author:Michele G Miller [Hayes, Michele G. Miller and Mindy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michele G Miller

“So, I have a surprise for you.” Ridley’s hands grip the steering wheel at ten and two, his hands choking the black leather like his life depends on it. Is he nervous?

His truck slows and I survey our surroundings. We left dinner and drove the opposite way from Ellbury, passing the quaint downtown and continuing until all we see are pastures and corn fields. Leavenwood is like every other small Kansas town. A couple of blocks dotted with brick buildings, a small park, a historical farmhouse that now houses city hall or a post office. It’s when you leave the town that you find all the best places. The dives built on lots dotted throughout the backroads of Kansas—that’s where you find award winning barbecue joints, dives with the best live music, and clubs of all kinds.

We turn into one such place. Lost Province.

“I thought you had to be eighteen to get in here?” I’ve heard about LP, as Lincoln and others call it. A dive bar with live music so good you’d swear you were in the big city.

Ridley shifts into park and his hand finds mine. “You do, but I know a guy.”

“Was that supposed to be your Sopranos accent?” His face falls, like how could I not approve of his awful Jersey mob voice? “Ridley, that was horrible.”

He huffs, shaking his head. “Fuhgeddaboudit.”

“Oh my gosh. Stop.”

I’m still clutching my stomach when he circles the truck and opens my door, his game face firmly in place. My laughter dies. I’ve watched Ridley play hundreds of soccer games through the years, thanks to him and Lincoln always being on the same teams. His game face has never failed to flip my stomach like a merry-go-round, but it’s never been focused on me. The determination on his handsome face causes me to break out in a sweat.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” he asks curtly.

I spin in my seat, my short legs stretching for the ground as he assists me. “I was only teasing, Ridley.”

Did I mess this up already?

His hands meet my waist when my boots hit the concrete. Stare serious. Hands rough. He doesn’t give me an answer.

“I take it back. Your mobster Jersey accent is on point.”

“That doesn’t sound very sincere.” His head tilts. “You think you can do any better?”

I shrug. Lifting my right hand, I gesture in the air with my best mob boss impression. “Leave the gun—take the cannoli.”

Ridley’s armor cracks. “Well, dang, my little Reagan just quoted The Godfather.” Hearing him call me that should make me feel childish, but the way he says it—voice deep and endearing—tingles run up my spine. “I was prepared to carry my charade on for a while, but dang, that was hot.”

“Really? It was good?” I beam.

“No, your accent sucked, but it was hot, and I can’t keep a straight face when I’m with you.”

“Your charade?” My hip bumps his thigh, pushing him back. “I thought you were really mad at me, you big jerk.”

“Awww.” Ridley grabs the lapels of my jean jacket to prevent me from turning away.

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