Scrap Metal (Midwest Kisses Book 1) Read online

  Ray seemed to miss her piercings, tattoos and “loud” makeup, as others described her style. It wasn’t long after the two became inseparable and eventually, Angel moved in to the two-bedroom house on Ray’s daddy’s property. Their friendship was part of why she’d stuck around this town for so long. It was hard to leave when you had someone to stay for, and Ray was the best friend she’d found in her twenty-nine years of life.

  Chapter 3

  Ryke knocked on the door. He was disappointed when Ray answered instead of the woman he wanted to see again.

  “Oh, hi,” he greeted Ray.

  “Hey. Everything okay?” Ray leaned against the door. Ryke tried to peek through a small crack between Ray and the door in search of Angel.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, let’s see. We’ve been friends for a while now and you’ve never shown up on my doorstep uninvited. Not that I mind. But it’s a little strange.”

  “Is Angel around?”

  Ray laughed. Not since high school prom had Ryke felt so unsure. While he stood outside hoping Ray would let him in, hope began to wane. There were no sounds coming from inside and Angel had yet to come to the door.

  Maybe she was gone. He didn’t even know if she was single, Ray hadn’t mentioned anyone before, but that didn’t mean anything. Ryke began to think heading over there on a whim was an incredibly bad idea.

  “Nope. She just left for her studio. I’d tell you where it was, but I’d have to kill you. Or Angel would kill me. Either way, I won’t spill. So you want to come in and have dinner with me, or are you leaving?”

  He rocked back and on forth on his toes. If he left it would be rude, but he didn’t want to stay and give Ray the wrong impression.

  “It’s not a hard question, Ryke. Don’t worry. I won’t attack you if you decide to stay. But I just finished making some chicken and I know you need to eat.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll stay.”

  “Good. Who knows, Angel may be back before you leave. I doubt it since she forgets everything when she’s working, but it could be your lucky night.”

  Ryke knew Ray was trying to pacify him. He didn’t know many artists, but the few he knew didn’t like to be disturbed. Angel was probably no different, and like Ray said, she’d forget everything around her if she were in the zone. He was hungry, though, and Ray had hot food. Any man would be stupid to turn the offer down.

  “Thanks, Ray.”

  “Anytime. Now get in here so I can shut the door and quit cooling the air outside.”

  Ryke chuckled and walked inside.

  * * *

  The studio apartment looked cold and dark from the outside. Of course, it was dark on the inside too, seeing as she hadn’t been there in a day.

  Angelica parked her car and strode through the exterior door of the old brick building to her front door. In the past it had been an abandoned gymnasium or warehouse that had been converted into apartments and rented out by the month to anyone who would pay. It was ideal for Angelica who was always on the ready to pick up and leave, plus it had high ceilings, which made it perfect for her walls of paint, bins of wood and odd end pieces, not to mention the few small pieces of scrap metal RayAnne’s dad told her she could take for helping his little girl out for the day.

  Flicking on the bright overhead light, Angelica called out to the empty apartment, “Lucy, I’m home!” only to hear an echo bounce back at her. Alone with her art, Angelica let her guard down and allowed hope to enter. Hope that one day she’d be good enough, her idea brilliant enough, maybe she’d finally be accepted on the art scene. And paid. Being paid would help things too. That would show all the naysayers, every one of the stuck-up city snobs who turned their noses up at her with judgment as she walked by. How many times had she walked the streets, bought supplies and wondered where the diverse people of “big cities” were when she needed them. She was an outsider among the outsiders.

  Angelica pulled a blue tarp across the living room floor and surveyed her materials. The small shiny piece of metal from Ryker’s glistened at her, but she wanted something bigger and better than what she’d attempted before. Sketchbook in hand, Angelica sat with her legs crisscrossed on the tarp and started doodling. After lines and colors formed the start of a new piece, Angelica went to her paint shelves.

  Large utility shelves usually found in an abandoned garage lined two of her four kitchen walls, and the other two held a small stove and refrigerator. Needing a piece of paper to test her paint colors, Angelica grabbed a sheet from the top of the fridge and started opening cans of paint, dabbing a swatch of the color onto the paper and watching as the color changed while it dried. She’d always believed art was as alive as anything else; the pieces brought with them a new breath to rooms and lives, and they should have freedom to do as they pleased. As Angel folded up the paper to throw it away she saw the call for art show entries, a show in Illinois from months ago.

  Guidelines made Angel uncomfortable. It made sense in an art contest not to judge a canvas painting with a sculpture, but who were the judges to tell you yours was too big or too small to be entered? How could they be responsible for telling you the crack on your foundation didn’t add character, but destroyed the piece? If that were the case, her whole life was a waste. She had cracks all around her foundation, but being around Ray she’d hoped maybe it didn’t mean a junk piece, it just meant she outgrew some things. Like rules and judges and pretentious assholes who didn’t know anything about her—or thought they did, but didn’t bother to pay attention. Lost in the painful past, Angelica looked down to see the paper now crumbled into a tight ball in one hand, her other squeezed into a white-knuckled fist.

  With a mental slap, Angel threw the paper across the room. She needed this sculpture. That would change things, give her an outlet and do something for her future. To start work, she had to find the right color. There were no exceptions. It had to be perfect.

  Chapter 4

  Early the next morning, Ryker got up to work and opened up the shop. As the boys came in and went to their bays to finish their projects, he fought the urge to remind them to clean up after themselves this time. He knew he was more meticulous than anyone else. The boys didn’t mean anything by it—they just weren’t as neat as he was. And so he resisted. There was no use being an asshole boss nobody liked; all it would do was lower the quality they gave him. So he settled in and gritted his teeth, ready for the week to be over.

  Just as he was getting used to the idea of a quiet Friday, the phone rang.

  “Body.”

  “Why, yes, I do have one of those,” a husky, yet feminine voice purred through the line.

  “That’s nice. This is the body shop. What can I do for you?”

  “I need a special-order paint.”

  Ryke recognized the voice on the other end. His cock did, too, if the strain against his zipper was any indication. Her voice sent a direct shot from his ear to the bulge growing thicker between his legs. It wasn’t right that this strange woman’s voice made him hard just by answering the phone. Ryker adjusted himself, grateful he stood behind the counter in case another customer came in.

  “I can do special orders, but it’ll cost you.” He wondered if she’d catch the innuendo in his offer. Ryker had gone too long without the feel of a woman wet and ready, open for him. Too many of the small town women around were married—or crazy—and the city was too far of a drive for a one-night stand. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew picking up random girls at bars led to drama. Drama was messy. But this one, Angel, was different. A face he’d never managed to see in town and she looked like she was down for a little fun.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Well, my reputation may precede me. Depends on what you’ve heard, though, I’d imagine.” A smirk turned the corner of his lip up. Ryker loved flirting, especially with a minx like the one on the phone. His dick pulsed in anticipation.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve heard stories about you that you wo
uldn’t believe. I’ve seen your handiwork too.”

  Well, that gave him pause. Ryker tried to figure out what she meant, but had no idea who she could have talked to that would have known his past. “Which is why I’m calling for the custom paint part of what you do.”

  And there went the fun of the call. Sure, she’d called his shop’s line, but her flirting gave him hope that maybe this wasn’t a professional call.

  He immediately switched mindsets, from wondering how Angel would have heard stories about him, flipping back to work. Now he focused on what color paint she’d need and just how crazy she’d be. The guys that came to the shop knew how he worked. When they wanted something they drew it out, colored it in and Ryker confirmed the details with them before he did anything. Women were different. It was never just the shade they imagined, a line was different than they’d thought … they were a hassle to work with. Not to mention he remembered Angel was some sort of artist herself; odd that she’d want help.

  He stretched his neck, grabbing the appointment book off his desk with a huff. “Custom work requires a consultation. I can book you an appointment.”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t need you to paint. I’m just using you for your connections to the paint world.”

  Huh. “Well, doll, what can I order for you?”

  “AE290. It’s a Firemist Acrylic. When can I come get it?”

  At least she knew her stuff, which meant she wasn’t going to be a problem customer. He could work with that and he definitely didn’t mind seeing her again.

  “I’ll have it in about two weeks, stop by on Friday.”

  Angelica hung up the phone. Listening to him talk about paint shouldn’t have made her body ignite the way it had. Except that every word wrapped around her like a silk blanket. Two weeks was too long to wait. Between wanting the paint, needing a few more pieces for her sculpture and the desire she felt to see Ryker again, she’d be crazy by then.

  The piece she worked on all night stood in the middle of her studio. This place was a safe haven for her art, the only place her work would ever go. Never to a real art studio. Never in the view of actual people. Ray had seen her work, but that was it.

  A few times she’d almost built up enough nerve to do some research on local exhibitions. If only he hadn’t been such a jackass. As she examined her current project, his words spoiled the vision in front of her.

  Meaningless.

  Boring.

  A pile of junk, not a piece of art.

  She was stupid for thinking that she had talent. Oh sure, he’d demanded her work, which had given her some pride in her skills, but then he’d ripped it apart in front of everyone. The conniving asshole ruined her reputation.

  Shivers ran down her spine. To put herself back out there would open her up for torture all over again, ridicule and judgment. And still, a new flyer showed up in the mail that morning. A studio in the heart of St. Louis was having a show. Her usual counter to admitting her work, the guidelines that she deemed bullshit, were nowhere to be found. They had an open-call next month. It was a fleeting thought. One thing at a time. This may not even be done by then. Of course, it would be, but she was better off telling herself it wouldn’t. If Angel didn’t give herself a reason to prepare the paperwork and submit it, then she didn’t run the risk of hope driving her straight into heartache.

  Enough. This crap was coming back to haunt her way too often lately. There were a couple of things she needed. One of which was a distraction, one that would keep her feet on the ground in Missouri. Angelica was tired of moving every time her thoughts turned to the past. She’d always felt like moving would be a good way to start fresh, make new memories, wash the old away. But lately she wasn’t ready to go. Oh, the man who broke her will still managed to ruin her days when she had too much time to think, but at twenty-nine years old, Angelica figured it was probably time to stick around. If only she could find a way to push the past so deep it never came back to haunt her.

  Bag of necessities in hand, Angelica headed for home. Home. It came so easily to think that the little room in the old two-story house was hers, where she belonged. The fifteen-minute ride across town flew by, the sun baking on her pink car as she drove through the streets with all the windows down. It was a beautiful day. Angelica pulled into her parking spot and ran up the steps to the front door.

  “You home, lover?” She yelled out and heard a few heavy steps before Ray stood at the top of the stairs.

  “Hey, did you finish the new idea?”

  “Not yet. I need a few more pieces to make it work. Any chance you’d be willing to let me borrow your truck on Monday?”

  “Sure, you actually want to go through the weekend without working?”

  “Yeah. I do. I need to find a piece of metal big enough to cover the sculpture. Your truck is the only thing I know of that will be big enough to hold it, and none of your shops are open on the weekend. At least not for a pickup. Besides, I need time to let my muse figure out exactly what she’s looking for.”

  “Exactly how big is this project?” Ray came down the stairs and walked into the kitchen.

  “Well, that’s the thing. I’m not sure. I mean, right now it’s the size of a barstool. But there’s a missing link that I need to find. My guess is that the scrap I need will be larger than my trunk. I’m envisioning the stool as a full-size chair.”

  “If you say so. It’s not a problem, just drop me off at my dad’s before you go running around, I can catch up on the books. We both know Dad isn’t good with that part of the business.”

  Angelica plopped herself down on the couch. “I think I’ll stop by Ryker’s. He had some pretty unusual shaped pieces, not just squares and stuff, ya know?”

  From the kitchen, Angel heard Ray mutter, “Oh I’m sure he’s got a piece for you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, except that he came by last night looking for you.”

  “He did what?”

  Ray came in with two cans of soda, handing one to Angel and then sitting down in the small chair tucked into the far corner of the room. She pulled the lone throw pillow from behind her and rested it on top of her lap.

  “I didn’t stutter. Ryke showed up about ten minutes after you left. He asked about you specifically. When I told him you went to your studio he looked a little lost, so I invited him to stay for dinner. We had a nice chat.”

  “And did you talk about me?”

  “Nope. Okay, maybe a little. I didn’t tell him anything too interesting. What did you think of him yesterday?”

  Angel took a drink while she tried to come up with the right words. She didn’t want Ray making a bigger deal than she already was. Although, knowing Ryke came looking for her made her heart beat a little faster. The last man that pursued Angel … no, she wouldn’t think about him. Ryke was different. He wouldn’t hurt her the same way.

  “Ryke is nice. Hot as hell. On a doable scale he’s a very solid ten, I’d say.”

  “I’m sure he would be a lot of fun. For a night. But he’s never dated anyone here. No one’s even tried as far as I know, not seriously, you know?”

  “I’m not sure why his dating history matters.” Angel cocked an eyebrow and waited for Ray.

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Honey. I think we both know this is one arena I am a champion in. I’m like, a gladiator. And besides, since when do I want to be tied down?”

  Ray took her turn cocking an eyebrow. “Yes, Miss I-Run-Away, but I’ve kept you wrangled up here for three years now. He’d better not run you out of town is all I’m saying. If he does, then I will see to it that he loses a very important part of his anatomy.”

  “Oh, Ray, you’re adorable. I’ll admit I would love to run my fingers down that chest and right into those pants. Mmm. I bet he knows how to please a woman.”

  “Okay. Okay, enough. We’ve all had our little Ryker dreams. Just don’t go and do anything you’ll regret.”<
br />
  Angel laughed as she took another drink. “You sound like your daddy, worrying about regretting the fun things in life.”

  “What?” Ray squealed and let loose the pillow from her lap.

  In their quick fit of laughter, Angel said something to soothe Ray’s nerves, “Don’t worry, Ray, I’m not going anywhere.”

  But for the first time in as long as she could remember—she meant it.

  Chapter 5

  At thirty-one years old, Ryker had a business, his family’s home and no one to share it with. Hell, to be honest, his reputation as a ladies’ man suffered these days as well. Between Angel and Ray stopping by, then Angel’s phone call that shouldn’t have turned him on but did, he was going crazy. Every time the bell on the front door chimed or the shop phone rang, he hoped it would be Angel.

  “What’s wrong with you? You’re looking a little stressed out,” Larry asked as soon as he walked through the front door.

  Yet another disappointment that it wasn’t Angel. Not that she had a reason to come by the shop. Her paint order was in, but he’d told her two weeks and hadn’t had the time to call with the news that it came in early.

  “You know Ray, right, the woman that comes by to pick up scrap for her dad?” Larry nodded. “She brought her roommate in the other day. Damn, Larry, it’s been a long time since I got hard for a woman the moment she walked through the door.”

  “Ahh. So you need to get laid.”

  “It’s more than that. Angel is not only gorgeous, but she’s an artist. Which isn’t usually my type, but the girl knows her paint. So she called the other day and damned if placing a special order for her didn’t get me going again. Fucking A, I’m like a horny teenager going through puberty.”