“Okay,” I repeated on a whisper.
“God,” he muttered, his thumb drifting across my cheek, his clear, gray eyes watching it go, “you’re cute.”
I swallowed. He let me go and walked away.
I stood where he left me and realized that I was, officially, in trouble. If I couldn’t function at the sight of his chest, how was I going to tell him we weren’t going to explore what was happening?
Especially if he kept touching me and calling me “baby”?
I pulled myself together enough to take one step when the door under the loft opened, my body jerked in surprise and I gave out a small scream.
A girl walked out, a woman-girl, like Becca. Wild, curly, almost frizzy strawberry blonde hair and a lot of it. Cute as a button face. Cornflower blue eyes. Long, thin, shapely legs that went on forever.
And last, but oh so definitely not least, she was wearing the shirt Max wore yesterday.
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
“Forgot to tell you,” Max called from upstairs, probably because he heard my scream, “Mindy’s here.”
“Hi!” Mindy cried brightly and skipped to me, actually skipped. “You’re Nina, right?”
“Right,” I said, immobile again, this time for a different reason.
“Cool!” she cried, grabbing my arm in one hand, my hand in the other, both with a friendliness that was unreal and she jumped up and down twice.
“I, um… need to look after the bacon,” I told her.
“Oh, sure,” she said, looking suddenly confused at my behavior in the face of her outgoingness.
“Nina’s a zombie in the morning, Mins,” Max called and I knew he could hear everything. “Maybe you should look after the bacon, darlin’.”
Mins? Darlin’?
“Cool!” she cried again as if looking after bacon was her heart’s desire, her hands moving from me. “I can do that.”
Then she turned and part skipped, part slid on the wood floors in her adorable baby blue socks with darker blue hearts all over them, part danced to the kitchen.
I followed with a lot less exuberance.
No, it wouldn’t be hard to tell Max we weren’t going to explore anything. He wanted me to be a member of his harem? No. Not me. I wasn’t going to become a card carrying member of that particular club with, apparently, Mindy, who he’d brought home when I was under his bloody roof, and maybe Becca not to mention the ex-member, bitchy, cheating, awful Shauna.
No way. No bloody way.
I went to the cupboard over the coffeepot as Mindy pushed the bacon around in the skillet and I took down a mug. Then I poured coffee. Then I spooned in some sugar. Then I went to the fridge and sloshed in some milk. All the while I did this, my mind tortured me.
Did he sleep with her on the couch when I was upstairs in his bed? He was a big guy but his couch was deep, long. Mindy was long too but she was also thin. It would be cozy but it would work.
Did they do it, Max knowing I slept like the dead?
Or maybe not caring if I heard?
And also not caring what I’d think that he had a predilection for young girls?
Not that he seemed to discriminate since he’d obviously wanted me and Shauna seemed to be about my age. Maybe he slept with anyone. Maybe that was why Sarah, the hostess at the restaurant, gave me that weird, closed down look when I walked in. Maybe he liked buxom, copper-haired, Deadheads with fabulous earrings too.
I was sipping at my coffee and seething when Mindy turned to me. “So, you live in England?”
“Yes.” My reply was short and curt and I didn’t care. She might be okay with this arrangement, seeing as Max was gorgeous and had a fantastic house, but she was young, she’d learn.
“You like it?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied again and saw Max rounding the counter in jeans, a navy t-shirt that fit him like the gray one he wore with his pajama bottoms. In other words, it fit him too well.
I had the urge to throw my coffee mug at him and then I squelched this mainly because he meant nothing to me. I barely knew him. This intensity of emotion was because I broke up with my fiancé via e-mail the day before. My emotion had nothing to do with Max.
He hit the range, his hand hit Mindy’s waist and my eyes narrowed on his touch.
“I got it now, babe,” he said softly and I felt that punch in my gut again when he called her “babe”.
Mindy moved away on another skip then she rounded the counter and planted herself on my stool.
“Duchess,” Max called and my eyes cut to him, “get Mindy some coffee, will you?”
He wanted me to get Mindy a coffee?
I was back to wanting to throw my coffee mug at him.
Max was oblivious, I knew this because he turned to Mindy and asked, “You take cream or sugar?”
“Lotsa milk, two sugars,” Mindy ordered and I moved to make her coffee mainly because this would give me something to do, something that had nothing to do with me inflicting bodily harm.
As I was filling her order, Mindy called out to me, “Hey Nina, you ever wanna move home?”
“Home?” I asked, pouring coffee.
“America.”
“No,” I lied because I did, all the time, I missed home constantly. The trouble was I was also home in England and I knew if I came back to The States I’d miss my other home so I couldn’t win either way.
Which was, I realized at that dire moment, the story of my bloody life.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” I answered when I poured in “lotsa milk”.
“She misses grape jelly,” Max muttered and I ignored him and the memory he invoked and gave Mindy her mug of coffee.
“Hey, thanks!” she cried, like it was a surprise I made it for her when she’d watched me the whole time then she continued, “Why do you miss grape jelly?”
“They don’t have it in England,” I replied and went to the fridge.
“What else don’t they have?” Mindy asked with open curiosity.
“Quite a bit,” I answered, not inviting further discourse.
I pulled out my yogurt and berries. Then I grabbed the bunch of bananas on the counter and I yanked one off. Then I pulled a knife out of the block by the range. I was going to eat my breakfast and if Max didn’t give me my keys I was going to throw such a fit that Mick, the nice police officer, would be called to the scene and then I’d damn well get my bloody keys.
“You all right?” Max asked quietly when I got close and I could feel his eyes on me.
“Perfectly fine,” I answered, not looking at him and I reached into a cupboard to pull out a bowl.
There was silence a second then, ever game, Mindy called, “Why’d you move there? To England.”
Not thinking clearly and it didn’t matter anyway, I’d be out of there very, very soon, I answered, “I’ve sort of lived there on and off most of my life.”
“But…” Mindy said to my back as I started to slice bananas into the bowl, “Max said you were American.”
“I was born here,” I told the banana. “My mother is American, my father is English. They got divorced when I was a baby and my father moved back.” I finished with the banana, threw the peel in the bin under the sink and started to rinse the berries.
“So, you’d go back to see your father,” Mindy guessed.
“No, my father forgot I existed until he got remarried and his second wife had a baby, my half-brother.” I turned off the tap and shook the berries in their plastic container, the water leaking out. “She wanted her son to know his sister.”
“So, that’s when you started going?” Mindy surmised.
“Yes, when I was around seven.”
“Cool that you have a brother,” Mindy announced happily from behind me and my eyes closed automatically as I felt that punch in my gut again, this one different but familiar, it had come at me a lot over the last three years but it never hurt any less.
“Yes, co
ol,” I said and opened my eyes then turned to my bowl, dumping some berries in and setting the rest in the container aside.
I looked at Max who was watching me closely, his face carefully blank but his eyes alert and asked, “Where’s my granola?”
“Cupboard with the oatmeal,” he answered and I turned there.
“I’ve got a brother,” Mindy shared. “We’re close but he lives in Seattle now, which is a bummer sometimes and not a bummer others ‘cause he can be kinda, in my life. YouknowhatImean?”
Yes, I knew what she meant. I knew if her brother knew that she was carrying on with a mountain man Lothario who was old enough to be her much older brother, then her real, Seattle dwelling brother would be in her life.
I didn’t say this, instead I said, “Of course.”
“You close with your brother?” she asked.
I poured granola on my berries then set the box down and answered, “I moved to England permanently because of him.”
“Yeah?” Mindy prompted.
“Yes,” I said, spooning out my yogurt and not measuring my words, not even knowing why I was speaking at all. “He was in the Army, sent to Afghanistan. When he was there, a bomb blew his legs off.” I heard Mindy gasp and I felt something coming from Max but I was impervious, like I was in a different world. “My father, who is not a nice man, turned his back on his golden boy when he felt he was no longer…” I hesitated then said, “Golden.” I shook my head at the still painful memory and put the top on the yogurt. “His fiancée broke things off with him and he was having trouble adjusting. So I moved to England to help.”
There was silence as I mixed my fruit, granola and yogurt and I turned to face the kitchen. When I did I saw they were both staring at me. Well, Mindy was, it was more like Max was watching me, closely.
Mindy broke the silence, saying quietly, “Jeez, Nina, I’m sorry. He okay now?”
“No,” I told her bluntly, looking right at her. “Charlie never adjusted. He committed suicide three years ago.”
“Holy crap,” Mindy breathed and I watched the color drain out of her face.
“That pretty much sums it up,” I told her.
“Mins, do me a favor. Go upstairs, get yourself one of my t-shirts to wear into town, yeah?” Max said and Mindy’s eyes moved to him.
She also saw him watching me, how he was watching me, her body jolted and she hopped off the stool.
“Yeah, right, um… a shirt…” she hesitated, her eyes going back and forth between Max and me.
“Just lose yourself for awhile, okay?” Max ordered, not taking his eyes off me.
She didn’t answer or maybe her answer was her skip-dancing away.
I looked at Max and took a bite of my breakfast.
“What was that about?” Max asked, not moving toward me.
“What?” I asked back, my mouth full, well beyond thinking it rude to speak with my mouth full.
“Closed up tight for two days, you share a tragedy and you do it like that?” Max asked and it dawned on me that he looked angry. “What’s that about?” he demanded to know.
“Mindy was asking,” I explained after I swallowed.
“You didn’t have to tell her like that,” Max returned.
“Oh, sorry, Max,” I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm. “Does she have a delicate disposition? Should I have shielded her from that?”
“Yeah, considerin’ she was raped three weeks ago and her boyfriend’s bein’ a fuckin’ dickhead that would have been good.”
I felt every cell in my body cease moving and I stared at him.
Then I whispered, “What?”
“Mindy was raped three weeks ago. She was in Denver with Becca. They were out clubbin’ or whatever the fuck they do these days and got separated. Mindy was raped. She went through that, they haven’t found the guy, she gets home, her boyfriend who she lives with starts actin’ like an asshole. Then more of an asshole. Brody, her brother and my best friend who lives in Seattle, asked me to come home and look out for her seein’ as he can’t.”
Oh my God.
Mindy and her baby blue socks with darker blue hearts, skip-dancing, jumping up and down when she met me was raped.
“So, Nina,” Max cut into my thoughts, “I’ll ask again, what the fuck was that?”
“I thought…” I shook my head and looked away, closing my eyes, feeling like a bitch because I’d been a bitch then I looked back and whispered, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, yeah, it does, considerin’ she’s like my sister too and she and Brody talk and you didn’t make a very good impression. This’ll be all over town and to Seattle and people’ll think I got another Shauna in my bed.”
“I –”
He cut me off. “I don’t care what people think but I do care what Mindy thinks and I care what Brody thinks.”
“I –”
“Jesus,” he muttered, looking away and I noticed he’d taken the bacon off the burner and it was sitting in its grease then he went on as if talking to himself, “was I wrong about you?”
There it was. My opening.
“Yes,” I told him and he looked back at me. “I’m a screaming bitch.” He stared at me and I went on, “It was jetlag, I think, making you think I was cute… or… whatever. Really, I’m like this. I act like this all the time.” He didn’t speak just kept staring at me so unwisely I went on. “I’m over my jetlag. I’ll probably be bitchy willy nilly to just about everyone.”
His head cocked to the side and his face got dark in that scary way before he repeated, “Willy nilly?”
“Yes,” I replied instantly, “to everyone.”
“So, what you’re sayin’ is, you’re actin’ like a bitch to me and to Mindy in an effort to bullshit me into givin’ you your car keys back so you can run away because you’re scared as shit of what’s happenin’ with us?”
No, that wasn’t what I was saying. At least, it didn’t start that way.
I looked at him in an effort to assess my next move and he looked really mad so I found it difficult to assess my next move.
Then I said carefully, “No.”
He moved toward me, I retreated and hit counter. He didn’t stop until he was super close, he pulled the bowl out of my hand, set it to the side and then he put a hand on the counter on either side of me and leaned in.
“Duchess, let me explain somethin’,” he said in a low, quiet, angry voice. “Bitches, real ones, don’t say the words, ‘willy nilly’.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to reply.
“You talk to him?” he asked and I got confused because I was thinking he was changing the subject.
“Talk to him?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Him,” Max clipped and I realized he was changing the subject and I tensed, didn’t answer and Max said in a low, warning voice, “Nina.”
“Kind of,” I whispered quickly.
“How kind of?”
“I sent an e-mail.”
“You sent an e-mail,” Max repeated, his face disbelieving of the fact I’d send a breakup e-mail to my fiancé and even in my state, I had to admit it did sound bad.
“I’m…” I hesitated, “better at saying things when I write them down. I can edit. Make sure that it says what I need it to say and I don’t…” I licked my lips, “that I can make it so it doesn’t…” This was hard but for some reason I kept going. “I had to do it so it didn’t… hurt too much.”
Some of the anger slid from his features and he muttered, “Baby.”
“Can you move away?” I asked quietly.
“No.”
“Max, please.”
He ignored me and asked, “That really happen?”
My head jerked and I asked back, “The e-mail?”
“Your brother.”
My whole body jerked and I looked away.
“Nina, look at me.” When I didn’t, his hand wrapped around my jaw and he made me look at him or he made i
t so he could study me which he did a long time before murmuring, “What else is behind that fuckin’ shield?”
He really didn’t want to know, if he did he’d know why I jumped to conclusions about him with Mindy with Becca and he’d know just how messed up my head was. I wanted to be gone but I didn’t want him to think I was messed up and just that was messed up.
I didn’t answer and his hand at my jaw became fingers sliding into my hair.
“I’m sorry about your brother, honey.”
I pressed my lips together, felt the tears hit my eyes and then whispered, “Me too.”
“You were close,” he stated, I nodded and when he opened his mouth to speak, I beat him to it.
“Please, don’t. Please don’t, Max. You can’t be nice to me, not about Charlie. You can’t be nice. Anyone who’s nice… when people are nice…” I stopped talking and tilted my chin down to hide my face.
His fingers were in my hair, cupped against my head and he pulled me into him so my forehead was against his chest.
“All right, Duchess, I won’t be nice.”
My hands went to his stomach and I pushed at it as the tears clogged my throat and I choked, “You’re being nice!”
“Honey –”
My fingers curled into his t-shirt and I demanded, “Stop it!”
His hand at my head twisted it so my cheek was against his chest, his other arm went around me and he pulled me to his body which was shaking. “Baby,” his voice had laughter in it, “I’m not doing anything.”
I felt my breath hitch and at the sound his arm got tight and his fingers flexed against my scalp.
“I miss him,” I whispered and I didn’t know why, I didn’t even think the words before they came out of my mouth.
“I can tell.”
I pulled in a shaky breath then another one and the third went in smooth so I told him, “You can let me go now.”
“Keep tellin’ you when you’re in my arms, I like you where you are.”
“Max –”
His hand in my hair pulled my head back and when I was looking at him he declared, “Next up, we’re talkin’ ‘bout your Dad.”
“I don’t have a Dad.”
His brows slid together and he said, “You mentioned him earlier.”
“No, I mentioned my father,” I stated clearly. “I don’t have a Dad.”
The Gamble Page 12