Spare Me (Summersweet Island Book 6) Read online

  Spare Me

  Copyright © 2022 Tara Sivec

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notice

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of adult fiction. The author does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within. The subject matter may not be appropriate for minors. All trademarks and copyrighted items mentioned are the property of their respective owners.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Books in the Summersweet Island Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books in the Summersweet Island Series:

  Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island #1)

  Swing and a Mishap (Summersweet Island #2)

  Dashing Through the No (Summersweet Island #3)

  First and Tension (Summersweet Island #4)

  With This Fling (Summersweet Island #5)

  Chapter 1

  Ryan

  “You’re a nut job.”

  “Nice ringtone.”

  The comment from the woman standing in line in front of me is followed by a snort, as I pull my ringing phone out of the back pocket of my khakis.

  “It’s from Grease 2. You haven’t seen it?”

  She keeps her back to me and doesn’t answer, which is probably for the best.

  I noticed her as soon as I walked through the door of Giovanni’s Pizza when the end of the long line was punctuated with her butt. A very, very nice butt in a pair of curve-hugging skinny jeans. Which was put on display as she bent over to grab a twenty-dollar bill she’d dropped. With an armful of colorful tattoos peeking out from under the T-shirt she’s wearing, a nose ring, bright-red streaks coloring the ends of her long black hair, and an apparent general disdain for cheerful ringtone music, I noticed her in the way someone at the zoo would notice a polar bear. It sure looks cute and cuddly from behind, but you know if you get close and it turns around, it will rip your face right off.

  As soon as she stood back up when I got in line, she spent the next fifteen minutes—while the line didn’t move—muttering under her breath about murdering people if she didn’t eat soon, proving my point. Engaging in any more conversation with her would probably kill me.

  Realizing I’m still staring at the woman’s… assets, I quickly cut off “Score Tonight” in the middle of the “let’s bowl and rock-’n-roll” chorus and bring my phone up to my ear.

  “What’s up, loser? Long time no talk!”

  I try not to groan when I hear my old friend from college on the other end of the line, wishing I wouldn’t have been distracted by a cute butt and looked at my caller ID before I answered. I’m not usually the type of man who does something unkind, like send a call right to voicemail just because I don’t feel like talking to someone, but Tristan Brewster sometimes brings out the worst in me. Remembering that I’m a nice guy, and he is one of my oldest friends, I put a smile on my face and love in my heart.

  “Hey, buddy, how’s it going?”

  “Never better, man, never better. Hey, sorry about that cheerleader you were dating forever who dumped you for Quinn Bagley.” Tristan chuckles, making me close my eyes and sigh. “Saw it all over the tabloids a while back. I should have called, but you know how it is. God, that must have sucked.”

  “She didn’t actually—”

  “She sure was a hot piece of ass,” Tristan interrupts. “Tough break. It’s too bad you couldn’t handle her.”

  “That’s not how—”

  “Anyway, you’re probably wondering about me and why I’m calling.”

  I should be used to Tristan’s rudeness and general carelessness about anything that doesn’t directly relate to him. He’s been like this since I met him in college. I was his RA, and he never loved talking about anything more than himself. I don’t even know why I’m still friends with him. Although I use the term “friends” loosely. He only calls me when he needs something. But he can be nice at times, and I’m not going to stop talking to him just because he can be a little self-centered. I know we’re thirty-two years old, but I’m still hoping some of my kindness will rub off on him some day and he’ll change.

  “I need a favor.”

  I laugh under my breath, knowing today is definitely not the day that anything will be changing with Tristan, as he goes right into the explanation for his call.

  “Remember my kid sister, Tinsley? She’s off the fucking rails, and my parents are about ready to lose their minds. She quit her job at our dad’s company, skipped out on her wedding, and left town. I talked to her about twenty minutes ago and finally got her to admit where the hell she is. When she said she was on this little island in the middle of nowhere, I was like, ding-ding-ding, I know someone who lives in that shithole who can talk some sense into her!”

  I ignore his comment, just like I ignore it every time Tristan insults where I live. I actually don’t remember his sister that well, and I don’t really know how a stranger could talk sense into anyone. I think I met her once toward the end of junior year when we had a family weekend at school. I only remember it, because out of everyone on my floor, Tristan was the only one whose family never came to visit the three years we’d been there. They never moved him in on the first day, never came and got him on the last, and they never attended any other family weekend before.

  I don’t remember how much younger Tinsley was than us, but she was definitely underage and too young for me to even look at twice back then. The only thing I remember is that she was a carbon-copy of her and Tristan’s mom—from the long, straight blonde hair to the fancy designer clothes that looked like they came right off the set of one of my favorite shows, Gossip Girl. They both looked completely out of place in a dorm filled with people wearing basketball shorts, hoodies, and slides with socks.

  “I don’t really know how much help I’ll be, but I guess I can try,” I tell him, my eyes going right down to the butt in front of me when the woman puts her hands on her hips, jutting one hip out as she shifts to her other foot in the line that never moves.

  “She’s staying at the hotel over there right now, but she’s running out of money fast, since she’s suddenly too good to use her trust fund.” Tristan scoffs, and I’m reminded again just how different our lives are. He grew up with a silver
spoon in his mouth, and I grew up with a plastic one from the Dip and Twist. “You can let her crash with you until she gets this out of her system and comes back to Chicago, right? Hopefully just a few weeks, tops.”

  “Sure, sure.” I nod distractedly when the woman in front of me reaches back and gathers up all that hair hanging down around her shoulders. She pulls it up above her head and holds it there with one hand, while she fans herself with the other.

  This place is packed, and hot as heck with all the pizza ovens running. My own polo shirt is stuck to me like a second skin, but everything gets even warmer in here when I see she has a tattoo on the back of her neck right under her hairline. Small, cursive script that reads Even angels fall.

  “You’re the best, man! I told her the only way I’ll keep my mouth shut and not tell our dad where the hell she’s hiding out is if she stays with you so I’ll know she’s safe,” Tristan continues, while I blink out of the daze I was in and realize I think I just agreed to let his little sister stay at my house. “I know you’re still a boy scout who’s so trustworthy and full of virtue I’m surprised you’re not still a virgin, so I don’t have to worry about you trying to hook up with her. Especially after a professional quarterback stole your girl from you. You’ll probably be feeling like shit over that for a few years, huh?”

  I don’t even know what I’m offended by the most in his comments. I’d have to say the laughter coming through the line is at the top of my list right now. But of course I don’t say anything or correct his misinterpretation of what happened between me and Emily. It’s not like he’d listen anyway. I’m a nice guy who treats people respectfully. That doesn’t mean I always have to follow the rules or that I’m always a perfect man. I have my faults.

  Like suddenly getting turned on and distracted by tattoos, when they’ve always turned me off before.

  “Anyway, just work your nice-guy magic, get her to see how immature she’s being, and get her back to Chicago as soon as possible. Her little vacation is over, and we need her back here immediately.”

  Tristan tells me he’ll message his sister my address and phone number before I can even think about all the reasons why this is a bad idea, and then he’s ending the call before I can change my mind and tell him no.

  “If this line doesn’t start moving, I’m gonna start throwing hands,” the woman in front of me mutters as I pull the phone down from my ear.

  “I wouldn’t do that. That will just make them kick you out, and then you’ll never get pizza. It’s best to just be patient. The line will start moving soon, I’m sure,” I reply, wishing I could take the words back as soon as I say them.

  She slowly turns around to look at me with a little bit of annoyance, and I realize she was talking to herself and did not expect me to answer her comment. Going by the black T-shirt she’s wearing that has one of those red-and-white Hello, my name is stickers printed largely across the front, with the words Not interested written in the name section, she’s definitely not a people-person who wants to chitchat with a stranger in line. Now that she’s fully facing me, I notice all the black eye makeup she has on makes her blue eyes stand out even more, and with her lips pursed in annoyance, she’s got an adorable dimple in one cheek. She’s really pretty underneath all that rage and impatience.

  My stomach chooses that moment to growl very loudly, and she raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me.

  “Hungry, Diane?” she asks in a deep, manly voice that makes me bark out a laugh.

  “Police Academy 2.” I nod in approval, knowing that quote very well, since the entire Police Academy franchise is another one of my favorites.

  “So he doesn’t just listen to musicals. Good to know you’re not completely a nerd.”

  Her blue eyes trail down the front of me, taking in my blue polyester bowling shirt with a bowling alley design on it, tucked into the khakis I paired it with, and ending with my bowling ball bag sitting on the floor by my feet.

  “I take that back.” She smiles.

  I’ve been made fun of for bowling almost my entire life, so I’m pretty used to it at this point. Even as the varsity bowling coach, algebra teacher, and a fully grown adult, I still get teased at school. Teenagers are jerks, but adults can be even worse. There’s something about the way she smiles at me that doesn’t immediately put me on the defensive though. Like she’s not trying to be mean, she’s just stating the obvious.

  I am kind of a nerd. I love bowling, I like watching musicals, and I never throw away any of the Sudoku puzzle books I complete, because I like flipping through them and studying the combinations I used. I like to stump my students with punny math jokes every day. I play Dungeons and Dragons once a month with friends online, and I still put together Legos in my spare time. I like all of that about myself, but sometimes, I just wish I had the guts to do something a little wild. Like maybe get a tattoo or—

  “Are you fucking kidding me? How did that person get their pizza already?”

  Her smile falls, and it’s replaced with rage again—that quite honestly scares me a little—as she points to a guy who came in after us. His name was just called, and he’s currently walking away from the counter and past the long line of people in front of us… with his box of pizza.

  I understand her frustration. Giovanni’s has the best pizza anywhere. It’s on the mainland at the ferry dock, and the small pizzeria is inside the building where you can purchase your tickets for the ferry. You have to walk through here when you’re going to ride the ferry, or if you’re just getting off of it. The smell alone makes it hard for anyone to resist, which is why it’s always packed. I feel like I’m cheating on Island Slice, the pizza place over on Summersweet Island, but you just can’t beat Giovanni’s homemade sauce and fresh toppings.

  “I read an article that the owner of this place spends two months in Italy every year to hone his skills and bring back new recipes,” I inform her, trying to get the look off her face stating clearly she’s about to tackle the man and steal his pizza.

  You can definitely tell the article wasn’t exaggerating. I get a slice or two every single time I come over to the mainland. I usually grab it before I get on the ferry so I can scarf it down on the ride back to the island, like I’m doing today.

  “I would kill my entire family for just one bite right now.”

  I laugh, even though a part of me wants to find out who her family is, give them a call, and tell them to run.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this pizza all day, and now my stomach feels like it’s eating itself,” I commiserate with her as we lean toward the guy who just got his pizza as he walks by, both of us inhaling deeply and then groaning in misery before he disappears out the door. “It’s always busy like this right before the next ferry leaves.”

  Bending down on one knee to stow my cell phone in my bowling bag, I notice a text from Tristan that says, Anytime you need a favor, just ask, bro! You’re the best! Knowing Tristan wouldn’t lift a finger to help me if I called and told him my head was on fire, I just sigh, shoving my phone in the side pocket of my bag and zipping it closed.

  “Oh my God! Yes, I will marry you!”

  I look up from my bag when my hangry partner in line suddenly shouts at the top of her lungs… to find her looking down at me with a big smile on her face and her hands crossed over her heart.

  “What the heck?” is all I have time to mutter before the forty or so people packed in this place all turn around.

  They see me kneeling in front of a woman who has clearly lost her mind, and they lose it right along with her. They start screaming, clapping, and cheering, while a few of them quickly pull up their cell phones and aim them in our direction. Since I seem to have lost all ability to move or speak, she leans over and grabs my hands, tugging me up from my knee amid the chorus of well-wishers who all crowd around us. Before I can ask her What the freaking heck? this time, her hands are grabbing my face, she’s tugging it down, and then my mouth is suddenly on hers.
>
  The cheering and clapping disappears in an instant, and all I hear is the blood rushing through my ears and my heart thumping in my chest.

  Her lips are softer and warmer than I imagined, and the smell of her perfume that reminds me of spicy cinnamon and sweet honey overwhelms me, making me hungrier than the scent of garlic and cheese.

  I feel someone pat me on the back in the crowd when her tongue pushes past my lips. And then I forget where I am and what my own name is, as her tongue swipes against mine, and I realize she tastes like honey too. My stupid knees get weak, and my arms quickly wrap around her waist before I find myself down on the ground in front of her again.

  The kiss starts off slow, but as soon as I’m holding onto her and she’s pulled up against me, I hear her moan into my mouth, and the sound goes right to my nether regions. With a boldness I absolutely expected just by looking at her, she holds my face in place so she can kiss me harder, deeper, until I’m kissing her right back.

  Making out with a stranger in the middle of a busy pizza shop, tightening my arms around her because the feel of her soft, curvy body pressed against mine makes my head spin, and I like it.

  Wondering if I’ve been a bad kisser all my life, because nothing has ever felt this amazing.

  Or maybe I’ve just been kissing the wrong people. The taste of her, the smell of her, the way her lips move against mine… it makes my heart beat faster and a beast inside me roar, and I seriously contemplate bending her over the closest table. Which is definitely not the way a gentleman should behave, especially in public.

  The kiss ends just as quickly and shockingly as it began. She jerks her mouth away from mine, panting hard and looking up at me with the same what just happened here? expression that’s probably on my own face. My eyes drop right down to her lips, and when her tongue darts out to wet them, some sort of sound comes out of me that resembles a growl. I don’t even know what is happening to me right now. I feel like I was just hit by a truck. My brain is definitely not firing on all cylinders while neither one of us moves, her hands still pressed against my cheeks and my arms still wrapped around her.