Sterling

by Willow Summers

  “Meh.” Greg waved the thought away. “I betcha she won’t care. She’s living with her parents. Hell, she’ll probably jump at the chance to change locations and earn her room and board. I don’t know many who wouldn’t. I mean, look.” Greg gestured at his plate. “I’m getting waited on, and I’d still rather take off after dinner. That says something.”

  “Shh.” Noah smiled and looked at his mom. She’d just set out a pumpkin pie, and was heading back into the kitchen for more goodies. “Don’t bring it up, or the spell might be broken and we might have to help.”

  Tia walked out with a stack of plates. One she set down in front of Noah’s dad, who had pointedly ignored him since that morning, and one she put in front of her oldest kid.

  “Even my wife is waiting on the men-folk,” Greg said, loud enough for her to hear. “Isn’t that right, honey? You’ve finally found your calling.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as she straightened up. “And what calling would that be?”

  “Looking after your man. Being at his beck and call.” Greg puffed up and put his hands to his chest dramatically, like he was holding on to lapels.

  “Keep it up, and you won’t be going home with me,” she said in a voice that could curdle milk. She slammed the rest of the plates down on the table—not loud enough to create a disturbance, but plenty loud enough to send a message.

  “I’d abort that joke, bro,” Noah said in a low tone, barely moving his lips. “Maybe don’t tease her about that. She looks like she’s about to crack.”

  His brother’s expression had already dropped and his hands quickly returned to his sides. “I could’ve used that advice before she silently threatened to cut off my dick. Thanks for nothing.”

  “She’s your wife, not mine.”

  “Exactly. I’m the one that’ll get her wrath.”

  “You’re also the one sitting here like an asshole, letting her wait on you.”

  “I don’t see you up and helping,” Greg said through his teeth, shifting to stand. He was no dummy. Well, not after Tia’s threat, anyway.

  “I don’t have a wife, you idiot.”

  “Oh, are you staying here for dessert?” Noah’s mom asked him after having delivered a serving bowl of ice cream. “I thought Tia said you were going to stop by the Bells’ for dessert?”

  Noah was standing before she’d finished her sentence. “Right, yes. I’ll just head over.”

  “Wish them a happy Thanksgiving from us,” his mom said, heading back into the kitchen.

  “Good luck with your pissed-off wife,” Noah said, and shoved Greg as he passed him.

  “Good luck with her batshit-crazy family,” Greg muttered as he slouched off toward the kitchen.

  An uncharacteristic nervousness rolled through Noah. He sent a text to Cynthia. On my way. Then he was walking briskly down the sidewalk. Once there, he barely knocked before the door swung open.

  There she was, his beauty, wearing the white dress from earlier, her hair still a little tousled, her eyes glimmering. She gave him a radiant smile. “You made it.”

  “Of course. I got to skip dessert in the other place.”

  “You got to? What was it?” she asked.

  “My mom’s legendary homemade pumpkin pie.”

  “Oh yeah. Definitely worth passing up in favor of store-bought pecan pie. Bullet dodged.” She shifted and glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes dulled for a moment and she lowered her voice. “Look, I didn’t say anything about us. To my family, I mean. I said I was at your house the whole time, chatting with the family. Friendly. Just friends.”

  He tried to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. No, he hadn’t expected her to talk about their sex life, but he’d thought she would mention something regarding their attachment or intimacy level. He was thoroughly into this…thing between them. This budding, growing thing. He’d thought they were on the same page.

  “Just…” She bit her lip. “I mean, Ellen would be pissed and think…you know…”

  “No, I don’t know.” He’d tried to go for light and unaffected, and missed the mark entirely.

  “Well…you played a lot of girls in high school, and it’s only natural that she’d expect you would do the same to me.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her out onto the porch. He stepped around her and pulled the door shut so they would have some privacy. Anger simmered just below the surface, and he realized it was because of fear. Fear of losing her because of a stupid misunderstanding or unfounded rumors.

  “Look,” he said, trying to keep his cool, feeling warmth in his chest at her proximity. “It’s weird that I have a past with Ellen—I get that. It was so long ago that I don’t ever think of it, but I can understand why it would make you uncomfortable. To be honest, I don’t know why she’s angry. I never lied to her. I never misled her. At the time, I thought we had an understanding.”

  “She wasn’t picking up what you were putting down, but that’s not your fault.”

  “And yes, I did see a…few girls in high school. But the rumors were out of hand. I had a couple of consistent hookups, and a couple of one-night stands after parties. That was it. I was labeled as a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy, but half the girls that said they’d slept with me were lying.”

  “Wait… They said they slept with you? Not the other way around?”

  Noah shook his head. It had completely dumbfounded him at the time, although the same thing had happened to Colton. “Yeah. My friends and I figured it was smarter, less drama, to stay away from the friends of the girls we were seeing. Including…” He glanced at the door, wishing more than anything in the world he’d never gone down that road. He hoped to hell Cynthia could look past it. “But we started hearing people whisper that we’d hooked up with the friends, too. With girls we’d hardly spoken to. The best we could figure, the friends didn’t want to be seen as less desirable. They were jealous. It was ridiculous, but what could we do? Make fools of them? I didn’t think it mattered, in the end.”

  Cynthia stared up at him with a thoughtful expression. “Did you ever tell Ellen you weren’t screwing her friends?”

  He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Yes. Often. She didn’t believe me. Amazingly, she also didn’t tell me to get lost. I think she was mostly annoyed by the thought that she wasn’t special. I mean, not special, as if I’m anything special, but—”

  “You were. It’s fine. You don’t have to be modest. She probably lorded it over her friends in that way she does, and they lied to knock her off her pedestal. I could definitely see that happening. I mean, if I hadn’t gotten dumped in a garbage can every time I approached the quad, then I might’ve admired your majesty once or twice. As it was, I hung out in the grass. It was safer.”

  “Wait…what? You were dumped in garbage cans?” He probably shouldn’t have been smiling, but the way she’d said it was so absurd, so humdrum and blasé, that it didn’t sound like the crappy situation it had obviously been. “Bodily dumped in, you mean?”

  “Yeah.” She stared at him with a straight face. “That dickface Bobby Nygard and his band of blockheads declared I wasn’t welcome in the quad because I was too smart. This was right after I jumped up into his grade. He didn’t trust me, he said. Thought I was working undercover for the Russians as a spy.” She rolled her eyes. “You can see why he thought I was too smart. If there were three or more of them, they could get me in the garbage can. One or two, though, and I could take them. I gave that dickface Bobby a bloody nose on a couple occasions. He deserved it.”

  “I heard of you fighting guys, but I never knew why. What the hell?”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” She waved it off as though being canned throughout high school wasn’t a huge deal. Most people would’ve been scarred for life. Instead, she just roamed around in shirts featuring Jesus riding a T-Rex.

  “I think you’re my new hero,” he said seriously, staring down into her beautifully expressive eyes.

  “As long
as we’re digging into the past, why’d you only have two boyfriends in high school?” Her eyes went wide and her mouth turned into an O. “Three girlfriends, I meant! Duh. What’s the deal with you only having three girlfriends?”

  He thought back. Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t bringing up much. “Honestly, and this is probably me shooting myself in the foot, I only remember having Becky as a girlfriend. She was my girlfriend in tenth grade. First love, first lay, first girl to cheat on me and then rip out my heart…”

  Cynthia grimaced. “That’s rough.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not going to lie—I was hung up on her for a long time. Any girls who came later were my attempt to fill the void. Even in college, none of my relationships surpassed what I remembered feeling with her. You never forget your first. But…” He stroked the side of her face. While he knew he shouldn’t be this forthright with her this early, it felt right. “When I’m with you, I can’t remember what I felt for her. I can’t remember how consuming I thought it was, or the pain of her betraying me. I just think of you. Of what I’m feeling when I’m with you.”

  A slow smile bent her kissable lips and her eyes glittered, soft and deep. “I told myself I wasn’t going to give in to you. That I wouldn’t turn out like Ellen.”

  “You won’t. I mean, I don’t know why Ellen turned out like Ellen, but our situations are in no way similar. I don’t want to be your friend with benefits. Your casual fling when we’re both single and lonely. I want…” He took his hands away and shoved them into his pockets. “I’m just going to lay it all out there. Please be kind.” He cleared his throat. “I want to date you, Cynthia. To be exclusive. To…call you my girlfriend.”

  Fear shot through him as he heard what he was saying.

  Exclusive.

  How the hell could he be exclusive when he worked for Big Dick Escort Service? If he gave that up, it would slice out two-thirds of his income.

  But her delighted, relieved smile and bright-eyed gaze turned something inside him gooey. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached for her again, hugging her tightly against his chest. “And since I’m just laying it all out there like a goober…”

  “I like goobers. Even ones with silver spoons stuck up their asses.”

  “Like you can talk. You grew up four houses down.”

  “Yes, but my family doesn’t like me. You see? I have a grievance. That makes me oppressed and cool.”

  “Sure.” He blew out a breath, ruffling her hair. Why was this so hard? The worst that could happen was that she’d say no. He’d been rejected plenty of times. What made this different?

  The pep talk wasn’t helping, because he knew it was her. She made this different.

  “Remember the mini-golf thing my friend Colton is about to open?” he asked.

  “Yep. With the painting.”

  “Right. He’s just about out of money, so his resources are thin, but he doesn’t really have a marketing plan for the launch. He has a large social media network, but that’s about it. I wondered—”

  “I can take a look, sure.” She pulled him down for a soft kiss.

  His cock hardened and he deepened their contact, wanting her again. Struggling against his raw, consuming desire, he pulled back. “I wasn’t done,” he said, panting. “Since he doesn’t have any money right now—”

  “I can do it for free, sure.” She shrugged. “I can’t do any serious job searching for a while anyway. Why not?”

  “I still wasn’t done. I have a spare room if you want to get paid in room and board.” Heat rushed to his face. “Whatever happens between us is up to you. The arrangement could be purely platonic. But you’d be in Sacramento, so if you have any interest in working there, you’d be much closer to job interviews. Then, when you get something, you can get your own place. This is just to get you out of your parents’ house while you help out my buddy.”

  She gazed up at him with a blank face, giving him nothing. Not even her eyes let him know what she was thinking. Silence filled the space between them.

  “Or not,” he said, trying to save face.

  “Sure,” she finally said, as blasé about that as she’d been about getting stuffed in garbage cans by a bunch of bullies. “But I’d need to stop by the storage unit to pick up some more clothes.”

  Sixteen

  Cynthia could barely breathe as she led Noah into the house. Everyone else was probably already eating—her mother would’ve made sure she wasn’t disturbed. She hadn’t meant to talk to Noah for so long on the porch, but his insistence that his feelings were genuine, plus his truth bombs about his past, had kept her riveted. And hopeful.

  Now, she didn’t know what to think about the rumors she’d heard back in the day. And honestly, she really didn’t care. That was in the past. If people held her accountable for all the crazy things she’d done in college, she’d likely be single forever. The important thing was what was happening right now. And right now, Noah was coming to Thanksgiving dinner with her nutso family. He was asking to date her. To be exclusive.

  He’s asking you to go back to Sacramento with him!

  She felt queasy from all the emotions rolling through her. Excitement, joy, anticipation of feeling his body again, fear of what was in front of them, worry about basically living with a man so soon after re-meeting him, and the certainty of Ellen’s wrath.

  Somehow, it was the last that was the worst. Ellen would be so pissed. No, beyond pissed—she’d be incredulous. Noah, Mr. Silver Spoon, Mr. Popular Jock, who all the girls had wanted and couldn’t land, was going for the weirdo black sheep in the family? The sister who wandered around in superhero shirts and occasionally decided not to bother brushing her hair? The girl who could spill someone else’s ketchup on her white shirt? Who looked poor even though she came from this neighborhood? That sister had landed Noah?

  Cynthia could actually hear Ellen’s voice in her head.

  Schooling her features into flat nothingness—an expression she’d mastered to hide her daydreaming during long, boring meetings—she entered the loud dining room. Two spots stood open at the end of the table, as far from Ellen as possible. That had been by design, and for once, Cynthia and her mom had been working together to make that happen.

  “You have to sit next to me, I’m afraid,” Cynthia murmured as the conversation, which in this group entailed everyone nearly shouting in order to talk over each other, started to die down.

  “That’s it. I’m out. This isn’t what I signed up for,” Noah teased, and rubbed his hand down her back.

  Goosebumps covered her skin and her stomach did somersaults. “I’m the least of your problems, as you’ve probably gathered.”

  “Noah!” Uncle Art, sitting at the head of the table on the opposite side, raised his fork in hello. A glob of cranberry sauce went flying, landing on the cream-colored table cloth.

  “Art!” Tamie’s eyes had followed the offending piece of food to its final resting place. Even though she was in the middle of the table, she half stood and pushed forward, reaching over Ellen to dab the spot with her napkin. Her arm hit a serving fork resting in the bowl of salad, and it catapulted toward the stuffing.

  “Mother,” Tera said through her teeth, grabbing the salad fork and looking suspiciously at the stuffing. Despite being completely grown up, she didn’t like her foods touching each other.

  “Everyone is so jumpy at this table.” Uncle Art boomed out laughter. “It’s just fabric, Tamie.”

  “Noah, hello.” Rick, Cynthia’s dad, was sitting at the head of the table next to one of the empty chairs. His salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly styled, even after a morning on the golf course.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone you haven’t met,” Tamie said, resuming her seat. “You know Art and the girls, of course.” Tera smiled. Ellen glowered. “That is Tera’s husband, Aaron, seated next to her.” Tamie gestured down the table at the blond man with a large nose and thin face. She apparently thought it necessary to help Noah
find the only guy between Tera and Art. “Across from Aaron is Ellen’s husband Larry. And you know Aunt Bessie, of course. She insisted on sitting in that exact seat.” Meaning the one directly across from the empty seats.

  “I wanted to be near the sane people,” Aunt Bessie mumbled, picking at her ambrosia salad. “Who could possibly call something a salad when it has marshmallows in it?”

  “Hi, everyone,” Noah said, thankfully ignoring Aunt Bessie and smiling around the table. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Of course. Our pleasure!” Tamie beamed. Everyone else muttered a welcome, and Cynthia and Noah finally sat down—Noah taking the seat next to her dad’s. “Noah is Dan’s son from down the street. He was nice enough to join us today.”

  “Can you please pass the turkey this way?” Cynthia said as she looked over the options. She knew what they all were, of course. She was the one who’d set them up earlier. After she took off her dress and put on sweats so she couldn’t spill anything on herself—her mother’s orders.

  “Yes, of course. Now, Noah,” Tamie said, gesturing for Ellen, who was sitting in front of the turkey platter, to hop to it. “Eat your fill. We have more than plenty to go around.”

  “So what are you doing these days, Noah?” Cynthia’s dad asked as the various food items started heading their way.

  Noah took the potatoes from Aunt Bessie, who’d thrust them at him, as if encouraging him to get the show on the road, even though they’d been directly in front of him. “Currently, I’m a fitness model with a sponsorship,” he said.

  Ellen huffed. Loudly.

  “A fitness model?” Uncle Art roared down the table, leaning forward and almost dipping his blazer into his heaping plate. He laughed, putting pressure on his shirt’s buttons as his large stomach heaved in protest. “That’s a girl’s career, son.”

  “Whatever happened to law?” Cynthia’s dad asked, cutting a slice of turkey.

  Murmuring down the table indicated Aaron and Larry didn’t care what Noah did now, what happened with law, or whatever recent thing Tamie was worried about on her new tablecloth. Cynthia was actually surprised they’d paid attention for long enough to get Noah’s name. They weren’t often interested in anyone but themselves or, when necessary, each other.