Chapter Fifteen
Call me a chicken shit, but I didn’t go back. Carmen’s call allowed me to make my escape to my room, and I just stayed. Put on one of my tank tops with no bra and some shorts just because, and curled up in my bed with a book. He was a big boy, and she sure wasn’t here to see me. He could entertain his own damn guest.
Forty-five minutes later (I’d wagered myself an hour, so he did at least surpass that expectation) my door opened. No knock. Just a walk-in.
“And if I’d been getting myself off?” I said, not looking up from the book that I hadn’t turned a single page of.
“I would have stood here and watched,” he replied, sitting at the foot.
“Well, I’m not sure what you’re expecting,” I said. “But if you came in here to take up where we left off you’re gonna be disappointed.
“Don’t insult me,” he said, his voice edgy. “I came in here to check on you.”
“I’m not breakable,” I said, pulling my eyes up to meet his.
“You didn’t come back.”
“I don’t think she’s here for me, Nick,” I said. “I figured since you have a conversation you need to finish—”
“Don’t,” he said. His voice was low and irritable, like he’d been arguing already. “Don’t play games, Lanie, you’re better than that.”
“Okay then I’ll shoot straight,” I said. “Why is your ex-wife in my house?”
“I didn’t invite her here.”
“You didn’t tell her to leave, either,” I said. “You stood there like a broken puppet, while the woman that always gets under your skin batted her eyes and pulled your strings.”
“Jesus,” he said, getting up and pacing. “Of course you’d latch on to that. Do you want to know what happened last weekend?”
I laughed bitterly. “No thanks.”
“Nothing,” he said. “For the first time ever.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You—want a gold star for not hitting the sheets with your ex-wife? That’s kind of not normal.”
Nick ran a hand over his face. “I’m not saying that, I’m saying things usually get weird with her. That’s why I avoid her. But this time—” He shook his head. “This time, you want to know who I couldn’t get out of my head? You.”
I blinked, my thoughts pinging all over the place.
“And not just because of the boob flash, either,” he said. “Before you go there. I found myself missing you. Wanting to get back here—to you. You want to know why she’s really here?” He laughed. “To check you out. Because I didn’t want to fuck her.”
“That’s twisted,” I said, while mentally filing away the missing me comment. I couldn’t enjoy it right now, but I could pull it up and pet it later.
“Well, that’s Tara.” He stopped pacing and sank into the chair across from the bed. “She’s got a different way of thinking about things. And it usually has very little to do with Addison and very much to do with her ego.”
I met his troubled gaze. “You told her where we live. Where I live. Where I may or may not still be when this is over—”
“You are all about pointing out the end of this, aren’t you?” he said.
I let a couple of beats pass. “That’s when you get your money,” I said softly. “When you’re free.”
Arms crossed over his chest again. “And you?” he asked. “What does the end look like to you?”
I looked away. I couldn’t answer that. Not anymore.
“So is the first Mrs. McKane spending the night?” I asked, trying to ask that without an attitude or reaction.
“I’m not making that call,” he said. “This is your house. You tell me.”
“Oh my God, Nick, make an executive decision,” I said, swinging my legs down and getting up. “If you want her here—”
“I don’t want her here,” he said, suddenly standing in front of me. “I didn’t tell her to leave because—she may look sweet, but she’s not. She would march right down the street to whoever would listen and sell us down the river.”
I nodded, my arms crossing over my body. I needed space and he was blocking me. I needed to not need him. To not need to walk into his arms and bury my nose in his neck and inhale the very Nick-ness of him. To not need to feel his hands in my hair and mine going up the back of his -shirt, but all of that was all over me and I didn’t trust myself to get close enough. I couldn’t do that now. We’d already crossed that line but I didn’t need to jump over it fully. Not when his feelings for the supermodel downstairs were questionable.
“Then I guess she stays,” I said.
That topic being settled, I saw the change in his expression.
“Lanie—”
“Good night, Nick,” I said, sliding past him.
“Lanie.”
It was loud and forceful and full of look at me vibes. I shook my head, looking at the chair he’d just vacated instead.
“No,” I said. “I’m not—this is why I don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?”
“This,” I said, thumbing between us. “Getting—involved. Giving a shit. It’s never a good idea.”
“You give a shit?”
I closed my eyes and counted backward while I cursed my inability to—
His lips were on mine in less than two seconds, followed by hands holding my head. My first reaction was to balk and be indignant, but that one was quickly squashed by the coup my body threw. My hands moved up his chest and around to his back before my brain kicked in and poked me.
I pulled back and he leaned his forehead against mine, not letting go.
“I’m not—”
“I’m not asking you to,” he said softly. “I’m just kissing you.”
Just kissing.
With Nick, that was like saying the Grand Canyon was just a ditch.
“Why?”
He gave me a look. “You say the damnedest things.” I raised an eyebrow and he sighed. “Okay so maybe I give a shit too.”
It was possibly the sexiest thing any man had ever said to me.
* * *
I was up early for coffee. Partially because I didn’t sleep well, and partially to see if Tara was a coffee person. And what she looked like with morning hair.
I sat outside at the patio table and fiddled with the little peg game Nick had left out there one day when he challenged me to a competition (that he always won). Ralph had come downstairs meekly and was now lying on one of my feet.
“I know what you did,” I said under my breath. “You never came to bed last night.” Ralph’s little Groucho eyebrows took turns going up and down. “I know where you were.”
Ralph settled his head a little higher up on my foot.
“Yeah,” I said, sipping my coffee. “Men. Snuggle up a little more and all is forgiven, right?” Ralph’s tail thumped. “What I thought.”
The door opened to my right, and out came Mr. Hot Stuff, in a gray muscle shirt and shorts, ready for his run. The butterflies that hit my stomach I chalked up to being hungry and not caffeinated enough yet. Not the result of yesterday’s antics and last night’s kiss that kept me up all effing night replaying it all on long loop. God, when did I become such a girl?
Be normal.
“Morning,” I said. “Looks like the rain is go—”
My words were interrupted by the door swinging open again and producing a female version of Morning Nick. The perfect hair was slicked back into a shiny ponytail, a bright blue sweatband that looked like it had never been sweated on held back the tiny hairs. Matching blue tank top that possibly grew from her skin, black running shorts, and a face that still looked perfect while free of makeup. She could have tried out for high school cheerleader right now, and probably make it.
Of course she’d be a runner too. Why wouldn’t she be? They were like brunette Barbie and Ken.
“How far do you go?” she said, bending over to stretch and literally touch her nose to her knees. “Distance or time? Morning Lanie,” she said, glancing my way as if just realizing the lump in the chair was breathing.
“Cheers,” I said, halfheartedly holding up my cup.
“Since when did you start running?” he asked. “You used to be all about sleeping late.”
“That was the old me,” she said with a smile, propping a leg on a chair to stretch it. “I’ve gotten into healthy living lately.”
“Really,” he said, his tone insinuating he didn’t believe her.
“Actually, why don’t you just see if you can keep up,” she said to Nick, tossing that ponytail with a wicked grin as she took off from the patio and disappeared around the side of the house.
He blew out a breath and landed his gaze back on me, where I just held up my cup again.
“Have a good time.”
“Her idea of healthy living usually involves carrot cake as a vegetable,” he said.
“Well, if she can live on carrot cake and still look like that, more power to her,” I said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve already shared too many words for this time of the morning. Go be energetic somewhere else please.”
There. That sounded a little disconnected and not bothered at all by the circumstances, didn’t it? Like I wasn’t jealous of her or affected by him or any of the monumentally stupid things people start doing when they—give a shit.
My phone dinged with a text as he disappeared around the corner. Carmen.
Are you up?
Unfortunately.
Does she drink coffee?
Sigh. She just took off running with Nick.
Ugh. That’s just wrong.
If she comes back looking better than she left, I give up.
* * *
She did. She even pulled off sweaty and messy as more of a healthy flush and shine. I would be red-faced, splotchy, wet hair sticking to my face, and probably dry heaving in the corner.
Nick walked past her, pulling off his sweaty shirt as he did. Both of us watched. Hell, I couldn’t blame her for that. Not that many people had exes who looked like him.
“I’m taking a shower,” he said, as he always did. Every morning.
“Me too,” she said.
“You have to wait till he’s done,” I said. “The plumbing goes on strike when two showers are going at once. Or my dead aunt likes to play with the pipes.”
“She haunts your pipes?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” I said.
“I’ll be fast,” he said. “I have to get to work.”
Tara plopped down in a chair opposite me, taking a long drag from her water bottle. Great. Girl time. Awesome.
“So, what are you doing today?” she asked.
“I’m off,” I said. “I work tomorrow.” Bad plan. Come up with something. Something she won’t want to do. Like cleaning out the attic. No, with my luck she’d enjoy cleaning out the attic and I’d be stuck actually cleaning out the attic.
“We should go to brunch,” she said.
It was still early, so my head lean was justified. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Brunch?” she said. “Don’t y’all do that here?”
“Um, maybe,” I said slowly. “I usually just call it eating early.”
She chuckled. “Then we should have an early lunch. At the diner.”
Bingo.
“I don’t know if Nick would be happy about that,” I said. “He’s kinda weird about being distracted at work.”
He loved being visited at work, but I didn’t think this would qualify. Plus—trapped in a car babysitting her? No. No. No. No thank you.
“Let him be distracted,” she said. “I want to get to know you.” Uh-huh. “We should go to the festival.”
There were maybe a hundred places I could think of off the top of my head that beat out that festival on places I’d like to go today. Like the chiropractor. And getting my oil changed.
“It’s really not that exciting,” I said. “Basic small town snoozefest. With honey.”
“I love honey.” Of course she did. “Do they make it locally?”
“Yep,” I said. “It’s a bee charming, honey farming town.”
She grinned and took another drink. “They should put that on their welcome sign.”
I chuckled. “I’ll hit up the mayor for it. Then again,” I added, twisting my lips. “He’s not real fond of me right now so maybe not.”
“Uh-oh, town drama?”
I bit my top lip. You could say that. “Nah, just—personal disagreement. We grew up together and probably know too much.”
“Ohhh, juicy?”
“No, he dated my best friend, and—” How and why was I talking so much? How was she drawing this shit out of me? “Anyway, small towns are bad about that. You can’t get dressed without everyone knowing the color of your underwear by noon.”
“Oh, I love that stuff,” she said. “I’m so drawn to books and shows about it. I grew up in downtown Dallas, so the only small town life I ever had was when Nick and I moved in together when Addison was a toddler.”
And it had begun.
“It’s not like the movies,” I said. “Pretty boring.” Now to take a play from her book. “So where did you and Nick live?”
“A little town north of Dallas,” she said. “It’s not little anymore, everything has exploded around there, but when we were there it was adorable.”
“You didn’t get married right away?” I asked. Yeah, I was digging. Sue me. “I mean, Nick told me y’all were young, but he never really got into the details.”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “We were still in high school, and my parents were a little less than thrilled, understandably.” She shook her head. “I would have died if Addison had come up pregnant at that age. I don’t know how my mom kept her cool.”
Money buys good therapists.
“So what about you?” she asked. “Ever been married? Before now, I mean?” she added with a grin.
“No,” I said. “Never been a big believer in it.”
“Really?”
“My dad skipped out when I was little,” I said, wondering if there was any duct tape in the house. I needed it over my mouth. “And I watched my mother just bleed grief for a year. She was so hopelessly in love with someone who was never coming back, she—” I couldn’t go into that detail again. “She died before I was eight.”
Tara’s eyes got huge. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “No need to be. I had a great life with my aunt. That’s why it’s so important to me to save her house.”
“Wow, that’s so much like Nick’s story.”
Ding ding! That got my attention.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to be vague, not wanting her to know that we hadn’t actually delved into personal pasts that much. Outside of her, anyway.
“His brother Leo raising him after their parents died,” she said. “And then just taking off and disappearing one day. He had major trust issues for years. Still does,” she added, looking away.
Nick walked through the patio door, not in a towel, thank God, or I might have yanked it off him and strangled him with it. He had on his work white T-shirt and jeans, his hair finger combed and spiky. His expression a little leery on what we might have been chatting about all this time. I would have given my right boob to go be all up in him right at that moment.
“So you grew up here,” Tara said, switching tones and giving me a wink. “Did you ever have sex in this house?”
Yesterday, nearly, till you got here.
“Not quite,” I said, glancing at Nick.
And then I realized what she’d done. She got me all comfortable and buddy-buddy and then popped the question to find out if Nick and I had done the deed. And I fell for it. Dear God, she really could get under your skin.
“Shower’s free,” he said. “Watch the hot, it gets finicky.”
“Lanie said it’s haunted,” she said, getting up and patting his chest as she passed him.
“Well, there’s that,” he said. “Good luck.”
The door closed behind her.
“She’s good,” I said. “Scary good.”
“Told you.”