End With A Bang (Slap/Bang Duet #2)

29. First Date

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

First Date

While Sever tackled his checklist, Ivy cleaned off her plate.

First things first, she quit her job, rented a furnished sublet in Los Feliz, and, in a mutual accord with Jason, set an annulment in motion. She told him to keep the loft, the car, and Huey P. Newton—he was a sweet boy, but Jason was undoubtedly his best friend. Ivy had only one major item to claim, and that was Sunflower X , which she promptly leased to a local museum.

It was a necessary step in the plate-cleaning process: until she’d rebuilt her life and had a home she could truly call her own; until she felt equal to the man who gave it to her, that painting would have to travel the world, for all to see.

She, on the other hand, had to stay put for a while. The gossip rags were casting her as a scheming, gold-digging temptress—it didn’t matter that Sever was technically the homewrecker in the equation. She was hounded day and night for two weeks straight.

In the meantime, she had layers of trauma to address. At night, she’d see Sever’s chest spurting blood, see Kara’s lifeless body in the corner. Every now and then a firework would go off in her neighborhood, and she’d have a panic attack. She was lucky to find a good therapist who could start remotely.

She had to sneak out of her apartment at the crack of dawn to do anything: buy groceries, go hiking with friends at Runyon Canyon, or drive up to Ojai to spend a day with Mala and her wife. At home, she painted. Small canvases.

When it became clear that no one involved was willing to fuel the fire—though she suspected Tiffany Khalil of an info leak ( Revealed: Tawdry Tryst in Hollywood Hot Spot! ‘She had him wrapped around her wedding-ring finger,’ says a source )—the media attention faded and turned to a new celebrity scandal.

The minute she could step outside without being hassled, Ivy went back to work. She signed with a temp agency, joined a gym, explored the local art scene, and rented a painting studio in Chinatown. She also found a therapist.

No one at any of her new haunts bothered her—the plus side to living and working in L.A., where the famous co-existed with the unimpressed.

As per her terms and conditions, she didn’t see Sever. In person, that is: they video chatted at least once a day. She liked to watch him get ready in the morning, no matter where he was. Nothing sexual—she didn’t allow that.

Initially, he was fairly well-behaved, unless she baited him by mistake.

“Go back to the bit about you trying to revive me with your love.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “It didn't work. The end.”

“Go on, tell me all about your startling epiphany, which comes as no surprise to everyone but you.”

“Personally, I think your staff is much more interesting.”

“I’m glad we finally agree. I'll be right over for closer inspection.”

“Oh, my god. The people who work for you!”

She loved his flirtations, but she had to keep him in line. He had a lot of healing to do—in his body, his career, and with Jason.

She was proud of him. He knew Jason would never completely forgive him, but he opened up to him anyway. All Jason had ever wanted was honesty, and the knowledge that Sever truly cared. He got both, and Sever didn’t ask for anything in return.

The day after his hospital release, he brought Jason to Roxie, who remained a secret to everyone but them. To Sever’s astonishment, she recognized her son immediately. Jason wasn’t frightened or repelled, he knew what to expect; he just wanted to help her. On the phone that night, Sever broke down, sobbing, lamenting what a fool he’d been. It was Ivy’s one and only breach: she jumped in her car and drove to his house. But, the hugs quickly led to kisses, and she had to leave.

Not surprisingly, with each passing week, he got friskier. Bolder. He’d ask her what she was wearing, or fantasize about their date, or all-out beg to see her, insisting that he was back in tip-top shape, even the doctor said he was fine now, he’d surpassed all expectations, blah blah blah. Every time he did this she would gather up all of her conviction and say, “Learn to wait.”

Incoming call from: Sever

Speak of the impatient devil.

Smiling, she closed her lip gloss wand and picked up the phone. “You’re early.”

“Don’t make me come up there.”

“Ah ah ah, you’re not allowed.” Because Ivy knew that if she saw him anywhere near a bed, she would bring him to it. “This is only our first date.”

“A man can knock on a door on the first date, you know. In fact, it’s quite common?—”

“Sit. Wait. I’ll be right down.”

He purred, low and sexy, “Whatever you say , ma petite tigresse.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and that was just at the sound of his voice .

Keep it together, Ivy.

Sever idled outside of her apartment complex in a classic black and white Austin-Healey convertible, top down, blaring a Clash song. Subtle, she thought to herself, while scanning the street for paparazzi, and closing her door.

Upon noticing her, he turned off the stereo and got out of the car to wait by the passenger side.

Her knees nearly buckled. He looked better than ever. Healthy, strong, handsome... Radiant, come to think of it. His outfit was simple, a black t-shirt and jeans in accordance with her terms— Nothing fancy, the opposite of fancy —but Sever rocked that look So. Hard.

Sparky blue eyes eating her up, he leaned back to reach into the car, and when she approached him, he held out a single long-stemmed sunflower.

Taking it with a sly grin, she said, “Very nice touch.”

“Very naughty dress,” he said, brow arched.

“What? It’s not pink.” That was his only term: Whatever you do, don’t wear pink. It wasn’t a va-va-voom dress either, it was a totally appropriate first-date halter dress. That showed off a lot of leg.

An area that he was currently tilting his head to gaze at, longingly.

She wasn’t faring much better: she’d caught a whiff of his cologne, and needed a moment before she could speak like a normal person. “Aren’t you gonna let me in?”

He reached out to touch the dress, stopped himself, exhaled a growl, and cracked his neck. “Right.” He opened the passenger door. “Get in, you little... Get in.”

Suppressing a giggle, she got in.

Talk about electricity. The night had just begun, and already their sexual tension could power a small country. His proximity caused an immediate physical reaction: her heart thumped, her nipples tightened, her pussy swelled and opened against the fabric of her sheer underwear... This was not the plan. The plan was to take it slow.

Ivy crossed her legs and uncrossed them, smoothed her dress over her thighs, and brought the sunflower to her nose. If she didn’t want this date to end with an NC-17 rating, she had to start thinking PG thoughts. Flower soft. Smells planty.

Sitting behind the wheel, he teased her with an impish smirk, “Anything wrong, tigresse ? You look a bit ...nervous.”

“You, driving,” she covered up with a shrug. “Should I be afraid?”

“Only of my raw masculinity.” He winked at her and joggled the gear shift. “Gonna let me in on where we’re going?”

“Straight, right at the light. Do you even have a license?”

He considered the sunset-pink sky for a moment. “Probably not.”

She laughed, then yelped as he gunned the engine and pealed out.

“And, I run a multi-billion dollar corporation.”

“That’s what you do for fun?”

“Nothing’s more fun than conquest.”

A few months ago, she would have been offended by that remark. Tonight? Aroused was more like it.

Sever, who was always keenly aware of her reactions to him, went about adjusting his rearview mirror. “Also, I own an island and I’m very good in bed.”

“Subtle,” she said.

“Thanks,” he deadpanned. “I’ve been practicing my small talk.”

The smile he flashed at her was contagious. She looked down at her knees.

The traffic light turned green. He pressed forward. “Your turn.”

“Well,” she said, taming her hair as it whipped in the wind. They passed a cluster of restaurants, Thai, Ecuadorian, Vietnamese... “I like to travel.”

“What a coincidence. I have a plane.”

“Again with the subtlety.”

“Just thought you should know.”

“Mm-hm.” She pressed her lips together.

“Traveling? Is that all you like?”

“No. I also like surfing; slinky French pop, mostly pre-1970; classic films in revival theaters...”

“Surfing?”

“Yeah. I was brought up in a beach town. It was practically mandatory. You seem surprised.”

“I just... didn’t know that about you.” He looked at her thighs, and back at the road. “I like it.”

“See?” She crossed her legs. “Small talk can be informative.”

He remained skeptical. “Tell me more.”

“Okay, uhm... I’m taking kickboxing now, and that’s fun.” She smiled. “Recently, I discovered that I really like sailing...”

He gave her a sidelong glance that made her throb.

“I’m also way into modern...” She trailed off when his bicep flexed, “...art.”

“Art, you say? Well, what do you know. I happen to have an art foundation.”

“Just lying around.”

“That’s right.”

“A whole foundation,” she teased him. “You must know a lot about art.”

Another knowing glance. “Not a thing. But I’d like to. I think what I need is someone to teach me how to see it right. Know what I mean?”

He was so cute. She rested a hand on his red leather seatback. “Well, I guess I could. Teach you.”

“Could you,” he said with a smirk.

She fought an urge to fondle the nape of his neck. “I could try.”

“Stop that.”

Did he read her mind? She withdrew her hand. “Stop what?”

He pointed at her face. “Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m made of ice cream,” he said.

“Oh, like you’re not looking at me the same way?”

“This was your rule, remember? I’ve gotta get through an entire evening with you without...” he gestured at her legs and made a fist, “bunching up that filmy little gift-wrap box of a dress you’re wearing, which you had to know would drive me crazy?—”

“I’m not allowed to look nice for our date?”

“—It’s not fair, you tempting me like this. I almost died, you know. I deserve a little?—”

“Left here.”

“Hm?”

“Left turn!”

“Oh.” He made the turn. “Where the devil are you taking me? Why’s it such a secret?”

“No secret. It’s just up ahead, on the right.”

When he saw the sign, he let out a guffaw. “I should’ve guessed.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ivy said, and he pulled into the drive-thru at In-N-Out Burger.

“Dead good,” he decreed after his second bite.

“You’re lying just to appease me, aren’t you?”

“It’s our first date,” he said, shaking the burger at her and sucking ketchup off his pinky. “You can’t possibly know when I’m lying.”

“You always knew when I was.”

“Mm. I love hearing you admit you’re a filthy fibber.”

She focused on the straw in her soda, breaking up the ice. “Not... filthy. I just didn’t know how I really felt.”

“Tell me about it.” He set his dinner down in the cardboard tray, wiped his hands. “Thinkin’ you were better off leaving me to find yourself.”

“I did think I was better off,” she explained. “I thought staying with you would mean I needed a man to feel whole. You know? Someone to take care of me. And I didn’t want that, I wanted to take care of myself, and figure it out on my own. But then I realized—” Wait. Should she be telling him this?

Playfully, he prompted, “Go on...”

“It’s a little heavy for a first date.”

He ducked his head to catch her eye. “Tell me. Please?”

“I realized that together, we could be so...” Gaze locked in with his, the word came easily: “Powerful.”

Eyes glazing over, his nostrils flared, his mouth opened and he huffed out an awestruck breath.

She knew what he would say if he could: that she was perfect for him, that she understood him better than any woman ever had, that she’d made all of his dreams come true with that single, deceptively simple statement.

Or, he would say that he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into next week. It was all the same to him, when it came to her.

Ivy had hoped to avoid public displays—the rumors were painful enough for Jason, actual photographic evidence would twist the knife. But, she didn’t see any cameras in the In-N-Out lot, and Sever closed the top when they’d pulled in, so they had some privacy...

“Kiss me now,” she said, and his hand was on her spot before she breathed the last word.

God, six weeks without all of this —his hands, his mouth, his white-hot passion—How could she possibly wait another second?

Tongue touching his, she tried to climb into his lap, but there was no room. The horn beeped. It was her fault—she’d told him it had to be the smallest car he had, so they couldn’t do this.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he said, bunching up her dress. “Come home with me.”

She shook her head, pressed her lips against his ear and said, “Come home with me .”

He inhaled sharply. “You sure?”

“I stocked up on fresh fruit.” She nibbled on his earlobe. “Just in case.”

“Right. Off we go.”

They shared one more heady kiss, and she fell back into her seat.

“Strap in, kitten.” He revved the engine. “Daddy’s gonna break some rules.”