by J. Kenner
Shelby loved her mom, but for a woman who lived by math and numbers, she was very rarely direct and straightforward in life stuff. “If you’ve been taking to Alan, you know there is.”
She could practically hear her mother’s frown. “Alan didn’t know who’d captured your interest.”
“His name’s Nolan Wood. He’s a radio host.”
“What? Like a DJ?”
“It’s a lot more than that, Mom. He’s practically a stand-up comic.”
“I’m really not sure that makes it better. You have professional appearances to think of. Does he—”
“That reminds me,” she said, grateful to have a way to change the subject. “I got a call from the Young Professionals. You know, that networking and educational group? They asked me if I’d do an on-camera interview for their webpage. It will be on Facebook and YouTube and I don’t know what else.”
“Sweetheart, that’s wonderful. That’s exactly the kind of thing you should be doing.”
Unlike Nolan, which wasn’t.
Her mom didn’t say the last, of course, but Shelby heard it anyway, and the censure was still ringing in her ears after she ended the call.
But all it did was bring her thoughts of Nolan front and center.
She reached for her phone to call him, but pulled her hand back, afraid he’d hang up on her. More than that, afraid that she would deserve it if he did.
Instead, she grabbed the copy of Watchmen off the table, settled back on the love seat, and picked up where she left off.
When she finally closed the book, it was late. She’d been absorbed in the story of the flawed and fascinating heroes. A lot of times, they’d made the wrong choices, but that didn’t mean she stopped rooting for them.
Then again maybe it was Nolan she was thinking of, and not the Watchmen at all.
Frowning at her own meandering thoughts, she got up and went to the bedroom, intending to go to bed. Instead, she found herself pulling on shorts and a T-shirt, grabbing her purse, and then heading out to her car.
Chapter Fifteen
Considering Nolan usually crashed early during the week so that he wasn’t a zombie on his show, he very rarely went to bed before one or two a.m. on Friday and Saturday. Why would he? Those were the only days he could enjoy all the magic of late nights. Like really bad YouTube movies and obnoxious shopping networks. Both of which never failed to provide Nolan with plenty of material for his own show.
Today, he’d crashed early. A cop-out, because he didn’t want to think about what Shelby had said. About him keeping part of himself from her. It was bullshit, of course. Just because he didn’t catalogue every tiny aspect of himself didn’t mean he was holding back on their relationship. And, honestly, what did it matter to them as a couple if he struggled with reading?
Not a goddamn thing.
All of which was a perfectly sound argument. Except for the minor flaw of being entirely unbelievable.
In other words, Nolan had spent his Saturday evening mostly alone and kicking himself for not telling the only woman he’d ever actually wanted a relationship with that he was sorry. That he’d been wrong. And that he not only should have told her about the benefit, but he should have told her the entire story about his childhood, his dyslexia, and the way he now coped as an adult.
Instead, he’d turned pissy and marched out.
Way to man up, asshole.
He rolled over in bed, craving the oblivion of sleep, but that wasn’t happening. Instead he tossed and turned until he finally got up, thinking that maybe a Scotch and one of the news channels would lull him to sleep.
He’d just tossed back his first drink and was pouring the second when his doorbell chimed, which wasn’t a usual occurrence since he lived in a security building, and no one other than residents could get to his door without the access code for the elevator.
He pulled a ratty robe over his boxers and Mornings With Wood T-shirt, then headed barefoot toward the door. It was already after midnight, and he frowned, hoping there wasn’t trouble in the building. Maybe one of his neighbors had locked themselves out and needed to borrow his phone.
But when he looked through the door, it wasn’t a neighbor. It was Shelby. And the relief that washed over him almost swept him away.
He unlocked the door, then yanked it open. “I’m sorry,” he said as she spoke the exact same words at the exact same time.
They looked at each other, then laughed.
“How did you get up here?” he asked, after he’d hustled her inside. They usually stayed at her place since his was a studio and was furnished with garage sale rejects and IKEA pieces. He kept meaning to hire a decorator, but somehow never got around to it.
“I watched you punch in the access code the last time you brought me up. I have a good memory for numbers,” she added with a wink.
Silence settled in then, and they stood awkwardly for a moment. At least it felt awkward, because he wanted to tell her everything, but didn’t know where to begin.
“Listen,” she said, letting him off the hook, “I appreciate your apology, really. But I’m the one who needs to do a mea culpa.”
“No,” he said firmly. “You were right. It’s just that I’ve never talked to anyone about it except my sister. Not even my parents.”
“And you don’t have to talk to me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
She tilted her head, studying him, her serious expression contrasted by her casual summer clothes. “Why?”
“Because I want you to know me. Hell, Shelby, you’re probably the first woman I’ve ever wanted to know me, and that includes the woman I used to be married to.”
“Oh.” She said nothing else, but from the sparkle in her fascinating eyes, he could tell she was pleased.
“You wanna take a walk?”
If the non sequitur bothered her, she didn’t show it. “Sure.”
He disappeared into the bathroom long enough to throw on some khaki shorts over his boxers. Then they headed down to street level and started meandering toward the river in silence. When they reached Cesar Chavez, the street that ran parallel to the river, they crossed at the light, then followed the hike & bike trail under the Congress Avenue bridge and toward the grounds behind the Four Seasons hotel.
It wasn’t until he drew her to a stop at a small bench by the water’s edge that he started talking. But as soon as he did, the words spilled out. He told her about his struggles in school—and how even though he knew he wasn’t reading “right,” that he didn’t ask for help because of his father. ”Not Huey. He’s my stepfather, and he’s great. But my dad’s got his own views of perfection, and a son with a dyslexia diagnosis wasn’t going to hack it.”
“You lived with him?”
“Half and half. And I could have told my mom the truth, but back then, my dad’s attitude colored what I thought of myself. There was another kid in our neighborhood who had trouble reading, and every time my dad talked about it, he complained that the kid was stupid or lazy.”
“That’s horrible.”
“You’re not wrong. But I was young and didn’t know any better. So instead of asking for help—or getting myself in a position where a teacher might realize I needed help—I started learning to cope. I became the class clown. I developed a fucking awesome memory. I learned to fight my way through a word, then a sentence, then a book if I had enough time—so multiple choice tests worked okay for me. Essays, not so much.”
“And nobody noticed.”
“In elementary and middle school? Not even. In high school, they started. But I dove into extracurriculars—especially speech and drama—and anyone who noticed the dip in my grades wrote it down to me being overextended.”
“Don’t drama and speech involve a lot of reading?”
“A lot of memorizing,” he said. “I’d go slow, read into a tape recorder. After that, I just listened and memorized. I nailed my lines every time.”
“But you ended up dropping out, right?”
&n
bsp; “Funny thing about high school. Eventually they make you write essays and research papers. I was popular as the class clown with the okay grades who had the lead in a few plays. And I wanted to go out on a high note. Not as the obnoxious kid who failed all his classes.”
“Nolan…”
“It’s not so bad. By that time I knew I wanted to be in radio. So I pushed that dream. And I’ve gotten to exactly where I want to be.”
He told her more about how he’d worked his way up the ladder and about how Connor helped by giving him oral briefings.
“Does he know about the dyslexia?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked. If he does, it doesn’t bother him, and that’s good enough for me.”
“And I guess Lauren had issues.”
“I never told her. She just thought I was lazy. Didn’t apply myself. She never considered that by starting low in radio and working my way up I gave myself a better understanding of everything that went on. Or that I didn’t go back for my GED because I reached a point where I didn’t need it. And as for ambition, being happy wasn’t enough for her—not that we were, but so long as we were living frugally, she would never have been satisfied. She wanted wealth, and she wanted it right then. And the fact that I’ve been saving since I was fourteen and have a tidy sum put away didn’t impress her at all.”
“Well, I’m impressed. And as an accountant, that’s saying a lot.”
He grinned, her words easing the unpleasant memories. “She always made me feel like I couldn’t make it. And I think I was starting to believe her, because I’ve had a similar voice in my head—my father’s—my whole life.”
He exhaled. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed in school. Harassed the counselor until they got me into a program, and just sucked it up when my dad belittled me.”
“No,” she said firmly. “No regrets, okay? Because your past made you who you are. And the Nolan I’m sitting here with is pretty terrific.”
“Baby…” He cupped her head, then kissed her so tenderly it made his heart ache. When he pulled back, he lost himself in her eyes as he brushed the hair off her face with his fingertips. “Do you want to go back?”
He wanted her—God he always wanted her—and if she wanted to head back to his bed, then he wouldn’t hesitate. But right then, he only really wanted to hold her.
“Do you mind if we stay here for a while? I just want to watch the river and be with you.”
“Sweetheart, that sounds perfect to me.”
He thought about that night at the river days later as he stood in a tuxedo behind a podium in the ballroom at the Westin Hotel in North Austin. The huge room was full of round tables, each of which sat eight guests. And every table was full, as the staff had told him they would be when they’d called last week to give him an update on the event.
Normally, Nolan had no problem talking to crowds. After all, he did it every day at work, although those listeners were blissfully invisible to him.
Still, he’d never even hiccupped at a public appearance, because that was all about being Nolan Wood the celebrity. Pop on the schtick, and away you go.
Today, he was being himself. And that was infinitely harder.
He’d been a nervous wreck getting dressed at Shelby’s house, so much so that she’d had to deal with his bowtie. He’d calmed himself by watching her dress in a stunning red number that she told him she’d borrowed from her friend Hannah.
“Why bother?” he’d asked when she’d put on a lacy thong. “Go commando. You’re practically naked under there, anyway.”
“You’re insane. It’s a gala benefit. For kids.”
“I don’t think kids are coming to the gala. And even if they do, they won’t be peeking under your dress.”
“I’m not ditching the underwear.”
“Not even if it calms my nerves?”
But she simply gave him a hard stare as she shimmied into the dress, then slipped on her shoes. “Not even,” she said. “Besides, they say nerves are good before a speech. Gives you that extra adrenalin kick. So you’re welcome.”
He’d laughed then. Now, he allowed himself only a tiny smile, letting the memory settle his nerves once again. And then, as the room calmed, he began to talk.
When he’d planned his speech, he realized that a lot of what wanted to include tracked what he’d told Shelby during their night by the river. He talked about his past, about his struggles, about his secrets and his shame, and that was what he now told the folks in this ballroom.
He’d told his parents the full truth three days before, and now they were watching him with so much pride it made his throat thick. Amanda sat beside them, positively beaming, and Shelby was next to her, having abandoned her table for his under the pretense of chatting up Amanda about accounting work for her real estate company. They’d spent much of the evening together, and he’d been relieved to see how well they got along. Not that he’d doubted it, but memories of Amanda and Lauren’s mutual disdain still lingered.
As he continued his speech, he was surprised to see tears in the eyes of many in the audience. Considering he was used to making people laugh, the impact of his words was humbling.
And when he finally wrapped and stepped off the podium, he had so many hands to shake and good wishes to receive, that it took a full forty-five minutes before he finally manage to end up alone with Shelby.
“You were great,” she said.
“Take off your panties,” he countered, making her laugh and almost spit out the wine she’d just sipped.
“One track mind, much?”
“Hey, I’m like a god here. Did you see the reaction?”
From the way she beamed at him, he knew that she had. “Your excellent performance here doesn’t earn you a naughty fantasy.”
“Fantasies I can manage on my own. I want the reality.”
She rose up on her toes, then kissed his cheek. “No. But I’m incredibly proud of you.”
“And yet you still won’t get naked under that dress.”
She lifted a shoulder, her expression just a little wicked. “Take me home,” she said, “and I’ll get as naked as you want.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chapter Sixteen
Shelby always knew that she liked routines. It went along with liking numbers and the way they made sense and followed patterns. But she’d never imagined just how comfortable it would be to slide into a routine with a man.
Then again, she’d never imagined Nolan.
When she thought about it logically, they didn’t fit at all. Her, all ordered and precise. Him, practically overflowing with wild and untamed energy.
But that was surface stuff. Underneath, they fit. Not because they were alike, but because they were like a jigsaw puzzle. Their differences meshed perfectly, and once together, everything made sense.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, coming into the living room with two cups of coffee. Since his speech, he’d pretty much moved into her place. He even had his very own drawer. And Shelby loved the domesticity of it.
“Are you only worth a penny?” she asked lifting her feet so he could sit, then replacing them in his lap. “Because I was thinking of you.”
“Then we’re even, because I’m always thinking of you.”
“We are so sappy,” she said, then laughed.
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Deal.”
He glanced at his wristwatch. “I need to get going. You’ll come later?”
“I wish I could come now.” Tonight was the Mr. March contest at The Fix, and Nolan was going in early to meet with everyone involved since he was ramping up the promo for The Fix on his show.
“I’ll probably be late,” she reminded him. She gestured toward the stacks of paper on her coffee table. All minor crises that had to be dealt with, and so she’d brought the work home so that she could focus properly. “And then I have to meet Frank after work and brief him.”
“But even if you don’t make the contest, you’ll meet me there?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “And as for the contest, I still think you should enter.”
“Too late now.”
“Not for Mr. April.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Not happening.”
“If I can surprise you, can that be my prize?”
“Surprise me?”
“Yeah, you know. Pull a rabbit out of a hat. Give you a blowjob while we’re doing eighty on the toll-road. Stuff like that.”
“Let’s skip that one.”
“Illustrative purposes only,” she promised. “But if I manage a safe surprise…”
“I guess it’ll depend on the surprise.”
She rolled her eyes, but knew it was the best she’d get from him. “Go,” she said. “And let me get back to work.”
It really did take her all afternoon and into the early evening to get a handle on her various projects, but that still left her plenty of time to get to The Fix and settle in. Because she had no meeting tonight. She just needed to go alone. Because that was all part of her plan.
Nolan clapped Cam on the shoulder, congratulated him on being Mr. March, and thanked him for doing the promo spot. Then Cam pretty much bolted. Not that Nolan could blame him. Nolan knew damn well that the only thing on Cam’s mind at the moment was Mina.
He checked his watch, then glanced again at the door. He still hadn’t seen Shelby come in, and he hoped that he hadn’t missed her in the crowd. He’d been to all three of the Man of the Month contests, and with each event the crowd grew bigger and bigger, such that Brent was going to have to hire extra security to make sure the crowd didn’t get too rowdy and that the door didn’t let too many people in and violate the fire code.
But, again, that was something Nolan didn’t care about.
He wanted Shelby, and he was about to pull out his phone and text her when Aly hurried up, her expression harried and her tray overfull. “A lady just tipped me twenty to make sure this gets to you,” she said, then shoved a folded receipt into his hand. He started to ask if she’d given him the wrong thing when he realized that the handwriting on the thin strip of paper was more than just a signature.