Brody
I jerk my thumb toward a couple of guys from the team who are behind me. “We’re just about to grab dinner.” My eyes slide over her with more care. Even though I don’t know Natalie all that well, I can tell something’s bothering her. She seems off. And pale. “Are you okay?”
Not answering, she bites her lip, and her eyes jerk back to the restaurant.
“Natalie?” I say with a bit more force. This isn’t the Natalie Davies I’ve known since freshman year. That girl is a bruiser and yeah, upon occasion, a real ballbuster. The quiet woman in front of me is nothing more than a paper-thin shadow of her.
She remains silent as a couple of guys pass us on their way inside.
There’s no way I’m leaving her out here alone like this. Making a split-second decision, I tell them, “Hey, I’m going to run Natalie home. Just grab dinner without me.”
Of course, a few of the assholes otherwise known as my friends can’t just say okay, catch ya back at the house. They’ve got to get in a crack or two about me being pussy-whipped.
I roll my eyes.
Give me a break. It’s been less than a week.
Ignoring them, I say, “Come on.” I nod my head toward the lot. “My truck is parked over there. I’ll take you back to your apartment.”
Looking a little more like herself, she waves me away. “Go have dinner with your friends. It’s not that far of a walk. I’ll be fine.”
The sun is just beginning to dip beneath the horizon. Sure, it’ll be a while before it’s dark out, but so what? I’m still not letting her walk home alone. She may not know this about me, but I can play the part of a gentleman pretty well.
“I’m sure you would be,” I say. “But there’s obviously something wrong, and I’d like to know what it is.” Before she gets it in her head that arguing with me will do any good, I add, “I’m not taking no for an answer. We can stand here all night and discuss it, sweetheart. It’s up to you.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and slowly releases it. “Don’t you think you’re taking this fake-boyfriend thing a bit too far?”
I chuckle because it sounds like she’s on the verge of relenting. Which, quite honestly, is very un-Natalie-like. My girl over here loves to get into it with me. That only reinforces my suspicions that whatever’s bothering her is a big deal. “It’s good practice for the real thing, right?” I give her a wink and the tension radiating off her in thick, heavy waves dissipates.
We fall in line together as we walk toward the truck. I open the passenger side door and make a grand sweeping gesture with my arm. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”
She snorts and slides inside without a word. I close the door and circle around to the driver’s side.
“Since when do chariots cost more than forty grand?” she asks as I turn the key and start the engine.
I shrug. “Dunno. Inflation?”
The edges of her lips pull up, and she settles onto the leather with a deep sigh as if she’s bone weary.
Once we’re both fastened in, I pull the truck out of the lot. When she remains silent, staring contemplatively out the window, I ask, “Are you going to tell me what happened or do you want to play a game of twenty questions?” When she doesn’t immediately respond, I add, “I’ll have you know that it usually only takes ten questions before I’m able to guess correctly.”
Natalie rolls her head toward me. She looks a little unsure and a lot exhausted. “You really want to know?”
Electricity zips through the air as our gazes connect. My teasing tone falls away. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
She pulls her eyes from mine and focuses straight ahead. “My parents separated nine months ago. I met with my father at the restaurant for the first time since he walked out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” No wonder she looks upset. “It didn’t go the way you thought it would?” Hearing this makes me realize just how little I know about Natalie on a personal level. It also makes me realize that I want to dig beneath the surface and get to know her better.
Her expression turns to one of sadness. “Not at all.”
“What happened?” I have no idea if she wants to talk about it. I just know that I want to make her feel better.
Natalie chuckles, but the sound is scraped raw and full of pain. It makes me ache for her. “She showed up halfway through dessert.”
My brows pull together in confusion. I feel like I missed something in the conversation. “Who?”
“His girlfriend,” she bites out. “Actually, I was informed over dessert that the happy couple is now engaged to be married. Which is interesting because the divorce hasn’t been finalized yet.”
I let out a long, low whistle. “Shit, Davies. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it really does.” Looking deflated, she says, “We’ve texted a few times since he left, but I’ve been so angry about everything. This was the first time I’d agreed to sit down and talk about the divorce with him. I was hoping we could move forward.”
I don’t say a word. I just let Natalie talk.
“We make it through dinner and everything starts to feel normal again.” She glances at me. “It was nice. And then he ambushes me. Suddenly there she is, standing at the table, smiling at me like some kind of lunatic.”
I grimace at the picture she paints. “What’d you do?”
Her eyes dart to mine, and she whispers, “I lost it.”
“Lost it like you leaped across the table and tackled her to the ground?”
The edges of her lips lift. “No. But I would have loved to do that.”
I nod my head. “Yeah, I could see it happening. Chaos breaks out and the waitstaff has to pry you off her.”
“Oh, come on.” She chuckles and swats at my arm. “You could seriously see me doing that?”
“Hell, yeah.” I glance at her again as we continue toward her apartment. “Don’t forget that I saw you deck Nick Jacobs last year at a party.”
She covers her face with her hands. “Oh God, I forgot about that.”
“I think about it every time I see you.” I refrain from adding what a turn-on it is to see a girl who can take care of business when it’s called for. “So, if you didn’t tackle her to the ground, what’d you do?”
She huffs out a breath and shakes her head. “I don’t even remember. Honestly, it’s all a blur. I think I might have called her a homewrecker. Or something to that effect, anyway.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah…” She sighs. “My dad wasn’t too happy.”
“I can’t imagine that he was.”
“Did I mention that Bridgette—that’s her name by the way—is only twenty-seven?”
Wanting to offer comfort, I reach out with my free hand and lay it on top of hers before giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. I’m not sure what else to do. Her eyes lock on mine as if she’s surprised by the gesture. When she doesn’t slip them free, it feels like we might just be making progress.
“I’m sorry, Davies. The situation sucks all the way around.”
“Yeah, it does.” She’s silent for a beat. “These last nine months have been difficult. Even though I’ve been angry with him, I’ve still missed having him around…if that makes sense.”
I get it. “He’s your dad. Of course, it makes sense.”
“I guess I was hoping we could,” she shrugs, “I don’t know…get back to where we were before he walked out.”
“You could still do that,” I say quietly.
Her expression hardens and her body tenses. “No, I can’t.” Looking resolute, she shakes her head. “I’m more pissed now than I was before, if you can believe that. Coming face-to-face with that woman, knowing she’s the one who broke up their marriage...I honestly don’t know what he was thinking when he invited her to join us.”
“I don’t know, Davies. Maybe he just wanted you guys to be okay with each other,” I suggest. I’m grasping at straws.
“Well, that’s definitely not going to happen in this lifetime. He made his choice.” Natalie’s voice breaks. “And it wasn’t me.”
I clench her fingers, wishing there was more I could do. “Maybe you just need to give it time.”
Not saying a word, she stares out the window.
Just as we’re pulling into the parking lot of her building, I realize that I don’t want to let her go. Impulsively, I ask, “You want to go somewhere?”
Her expression immediately turns suspicious.
I can’t resist the chuckle that escapes. “I’m not going to take you back to my house, okay? Sheesh.”
She bites down on her lip looking as though she’s trying to rein in a smile. “What do you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” Considering how upset she is, an almost-there smile seems like a small victory. “Grab a jacket and let’s go.”
Her brows draw together, and I see the questions swirling in her eyes. Before she can ask them, I say, “It’s a surprise, Davies. Just grab a jacket and you’ll find out soon enough.”
In a shocking turn of events, she does exactly as I say. Guess there’s a first time for everything. Of course, I’m smart enough not to mention that to Natalie.
Fifteen minutes later we pull into the city ice arena parking lot. This is the place where I first started out playing Mini-Mites when I was four years old. I hope it’ll take her mind off what’s bothering her, if only for a little while.
“You brought me to a skating rink?” She shoots me a skeptical look as we exit the truck.
“Yep.”
Confused, she asks, “So…what are we going to do here?”
I grab hold of her fingers and tug her along when she stops and stares at the huge white building. “We’re going to do a little something called skating. Maybe you’ve heard of it before?”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I try.” Especially around her. “We’re strapping blades on your feet, and I’m taking you out on the ice.” I raise a brow in challenge. “Do you know how to skate, Davies?”
“I took a few lessons.” She pauses and adds, “When I was seven.”
“Then you’ll be fine. It’s just like riding a bike.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking it might be a bit harder than that. I seem to remember falling on my ass quite a bit.”
With our hands clasped, I tow her through the automatic doors and into the arena. We head toward the rental booth and grab two pairs of skates. Then we move to a bench outside the rink so we can change. When we’re both laced up, I stand and hold out my hand for her to take. There’s something strangely natural about having her smaller one ensconced in mine.
I like it.
And I like her.
There are three rinks with full sheets of ice at the arena. One of the rinks has open skate for the next two hours. The metal door leading to the ice is open. I step out first and turn to Natalie. “You ready?”
She sucks in a lungful of cold air and nods. This time, she reaches for me. I steady her as she finds her bearings on the slippery sheet. When she doesn’t immediately fall, a smile blooms across her face. Her eyes seek out mine.
“See? Easy as pie,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
The first time around, we take it slow. A couple of kids who can’t be more than eight years old whiz past us. Natalie is stiff, her body too upright. Every time she tips too far in one direction or digs the toe pick into the ice, she throws her arms out wide in an attempt to regain her balance. The second time around, she loosens up and we gain some speed. She finds her rhythm, alternating between pushing off and gliding. By the time we hit our third lap, we’re moving at a good clip. The eight-year-olds are still passing us, but that’s okay. Natalie’s not as tense and awkward. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold and a huge smile lights up her face.
From day one, I thought she was beautiful. When she smiles like that, she’s absolutely stunning.
And knowing that I’m the one who put it there makes it all the more better.