She couldn’t take her eyes off the roses. They could’ve been a dozen snakes on sticks and she would have been less afraid to reach for the white card stuck in the middle.
“Oh, and don’t forget this.”
He handed her a small box and told her the gratuity had been taken care of too. Good thing, because tipping him was the last thing on Lizzie’s mind. She stood a long time, the small blue wrapped package in her bloodless fingers.
The sliding glass doors opened behind her.
“What the fuck?”
She spun around so quickly reaching for the roses before he could see them and ended up knocking them off the raised bar. Her entire body cringed as rose petals, water and glass shattered all around her bare feet. The vase missed her toes by a hair’s breath. The glass spray burned as it ripped against her lower calves and ankles like briars in the woods.
“Don’t move.” Rogan sounded like he was at the other end of a tunnel. She ignored him and knelt down to pick up the white card before it was soaked.
“Lizzie, wait.” He grabbed the shoes he’d left by the sliding glass door. “Hang on and I’ll get you.
It was too late. She waved him off and sat down hard in the middle of the mess, glass and thorns scratching her feet. The biting pain was nothing compared to the ice burning through her system. She hadn’t known anything could hurt so much.
This was what you wanted, she reminded herself. What had she expected when she ignored his phone calls and text messages? Did she think he’d quietly disappear?
How could he be so cruel? He wasn’t a vicious person.
She ripped open the envelope and anger surged up so fast for a moment she thought she was going to be sick.
Our week was great, cara, but we’re too different.
Even knowing what to expect, pain seared through her like wild fire and she forgot how to breathe. This was why she hadn’t wanted to get involved with him. This was why she had wanted to keep her distance. It hurt so much she couldn’t think straight. She wanted to curl up in a ball and die. It was a million times worse than she’d predicted.
It was more than Lizzie could bear. She gave in and let it consume her. She let go. What difference did it make?
Wait, how had he known where she was?
Lizzie paused, an eerie calm settled over her as the logical part of her brain flickered back on and kicked her freaked out heart to the curb. Everything froze and her mind separated from the emotions trying to smother her.
Nic had never called her cara.
Pam would never make a mistake like that on the card. Pam wouldn’t have sent her red roses. She would’ve sent her pale pink roses. Lizzie knew this because she’d made a Pinterest board called Future Reference for Pam one night while she and Nic were goofing around. Nic had dared her to do it so she’d had no choice. She’d filled it with black roses, pink roses, Italian travel tips, and the world’s most expensive diamond bracelets.
Nic hadn’t sent the roses.
Lizzie closed her eyes against the truth. Nic would never send her roses.
But Angie would.
That bitch! That unbelievable harpy.
This was all Angie. She must have someone following Rogan.
Lizzie swallowed hard. Coming down here with Rogan had been a huge mistake. They were using her to try and take away his son and now she’d given them live ammunition.
Hands reached under her arms to pull her up but she fought him off. Rogan sat down in the middle of the floor with her and pulled small shards of glass out of her feet and ankles, then he cleaned up the cuts.
“They will never find his body, Lizzie, I promise.”
She nodded, unable to speak as she opened the package and found a shiny gold bangle. She dragged in a ragged breath as her suspicions were confirmed. Pam would never have sent something so cheap and tacky. Pulling her arm back when Rogan tried to take it away from her, she slipped it over her hand. The cool metal burned her skin. She shivered. Angie really hated her.
“He had no right…damn it.” Rogan hissed as a stray piece of glass nicked his finger.
“Rogan.” She didn’t want to say the words out loud. They were going to cut him deeper than the glass had. “Nic didn’t send these.”
Rogan stopped. “Who else would?”
“Angie told me he always ended his relationships with roses and a bracelet.”
Color left Rogan’s face as he moved to sit next to her, resting his arm on one bent knee while her head tipped down on his shoulder.
“She believes you and I are a thing,” Lizzie said sadly. “She knows we’re down here together, proving her right. I’m so sorry. If you lose Zachary because of me…”
“Hey, hey, don’t go there. I’m not losing Zachary and none of this is your fault. It was my idea for you to go to Miami, remember?”
“It was a mistake.”
“I know my wife, Lizzie. She should know me better than to think I’d cheat on her but I’ve been doing some thinking and I agree with Stefan. Her father is behind this. There’s no telling what the psycho has said to her. Stop worrying.”
“Rogan.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “You have told her you and I aren’t… I would never…I mean…gross.”
“Okay, thanks, because you know my ego is at its peak right now,” he grumbled, but there was humor under his faint Cajun lilt. “She tried to put a knife through your back, why are you making excuses for her?”
Lizzie couldn’t believe it herself. “Because sending me these flowers was vicious. I can’t believe you would be in love with someone who can be this cruel. Either you completely misjudged her or she’s in so much pain she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Can’t you see that?”
“I can now.” He sighed.
“You need to talk to her. She won’t believe me and coming down here, we’ve made it worse. She must have someone following you or how would she know. You need to call her.”
“I need a drink.” Rogan pushed to his feet, then pulled her up to hers. “If it makes you feel any better, if she did send those flowers I promise you she’s curled up in bed sick to her stomach waiting for the axe to fall.”
“You should call her now.”
“I’m afraid of what I’d say to her. I’ll call her in the morning.”
She stared at him for a minute then nodded. “Okay. Do we have orange juice?”
“In the freezer. I’ll be right back,” Rogan said.
She was on her way to get the whipped cream vodka she’d spotted earlier in the refrigerator when she spotted the Silver Patrón on the top shelf. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had tequila. She remembered having a great time.
“You said we weren’t getting drunk,” Rogan said as she levered up on the counter so she could reach the bottle.
Lizzie slid down to the floor. “That was before I realized how screwed both of us are.”
A few hours later she sat in the middle of the floor, a long stem rose minus the rosebud and thorns between her teeth, as Rogan tried to flip a coin into the tequila shot she’d dropped into the bottom of a pitcher. Lizzie laughed because he kept dropping the quarter.
“Shut up.” He flipped the quarter and miss the pitcher again.
“Ha!” she announced, grabbed the shot and handed it to him.
“I hate tequila,” he said.
“Fine.” She downed it and set the shot glass upside down.
“You’ve had enough.”
He wasn’t wrong. “I should have stuck to the vodka.”
“I should have stuck to beer.”
“See, we’re so screwed up, it’s sad. We should go dancing.”
“Dancing?” Rogan shook his head. “I’m not sure I can stand. We should go to bed.”
“Now that would be something.” Lizzie giggled.
He groaned and leaned back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. “Not what I meant.”
“You’re not my type anyway,” she said. “You’re not bossy enoug
h.”
“Okay, now that’s way too much information.”
“Nic is very bossy,” she rambled on.
“Enough,” he warned, leaning up and grabbing the rose stem away from her. “You should go take a shower and throw up before you go to bed.”
She grinned, the tequila was making everything so much better. Her whole body moved up and down when she sighed. Her skin felt so good. She raised her arms over her head and stretched. She and Silver Patrón were going to be best friends forever. “Maybe you should try being bossy,” she suggested as she returned to the project she was working on. “Angie might like it, I know I do.”
“Okay, we’re done,” Rogan announced, struggling to his feet. He grabbed all the alcohol and turned for the kitchen.
“I’m just saying...” She shrugged, continuing to snap thorns off the roses she’d rescued from the garbage can sometime after her third or fourth shot.
“We’re not having this conversation. Who the hell is that?”
“Who is what?” She scattered more rose petals across the intersecting lines.
“You can’t hear someone banging on the door?” he asked, as he went to answer it.
“I thought it was in my head.” she called after him as he disappeared down the hall.
Then she heard voices, and her BFF tequila turned on her savagely and the world started to spin.
“Where is she?” Nic exploded into the room, looking around then down. Then he took a step back in shock.
Nic stared down at the floor so stunned he couldn’t speak at first. Lizzie was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the great room floor. Rose stems minus the buds were arranged in front of her and she was setting rose petals in random places. She seemed to take her time with each one, then changed her mind and moved them around.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s a Lizzie thing,” Rogan dismissed, waving his hand toward her. “We never understand when she does stuff like this.”
He looked back to Lizzie. Her eyes started at his shoes and slowly moved up. By the time she reached his face and gave him a slowly dreamy smile, Nic was burnt to a crisp. She was definitely intoxicated. Her legs were bare and she’d changed her toenail polish color to a bright green that matched the baseball T-shirt she was wearing. The shirt had bright green varsity leathers spelling…mathlete?
All the anger that had fueled him across the Atlantic deserted him. There were dark smudges under her eyes and cheekbones were too pronounced. Xia had been right. He was glad he’d come. Dropping to his knees and begging wasn’t going to be necessary. Something else was going on here. She hadn’t been blowing him off. She'd been miserable too. The world seemed to right itself but he needed to get her out of here. They could go back to Florida and do what he’d wanted to do in the first place. Take the boat out and not come back.
“What is this?” he asked, stepping closer.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “A complex plane.”
Chapter Fourteen
She liked his shoes, she decided as she stared at the leather loafers. She loved the black jeans. Her eyes kept going up and up and sighing. The leather jacket and black T-shirt gave him a slightly dangerous edge. He was the guy she’d danced with at Trick’s. The man she’d gone up to the suite with. A thrill teased at her belly. She shouldn’t be so glad to see him but she totally was.
“A what?” he asked again.
“A complex plane. I’m looking for zeroes,” she explained, trying not to roll her eyes. How could he not know what a complex plane was? Maybe because it wasn’t a complex jet. She giggled and moved the petals around again.
“Zeroes?”
“Nontrivial zeroes.” Some of the petals weren’t correct, so she rearranged them. “If I could find one that isn’t on this line…but I don’t believe there are any.”
“What line?”
“The half line.” Lizzie’s smile faded. Nic didn’t know what nontrivial zeroes were? Oh, wait, she wasn’t supposed to tell Nic about her math problem but the stupid tequila had made her forget. She winced as pain sliced into her right hand. She examined it curiously, surprised to see blood seeping out from between her fingers. “Oh, I forgot the thorns.”
She started to open her fist but Nic pulled her to her feet before she could. He had her in the kitchen with her hand under running water before she fully comprehended what he was doing. Then the stinging started and she tried to jerk it back but he made her keep it there until it ran clear.
“Let me go, it hurts.”
“Be still.” His finger traced over the bangle and started to slip it off her wrist. “Where did you get this?” His jaw was clenched. She’d never seem him so angry. Nic didn’t like her anymore. Then she remembered. He’d come for the cute and ditsy girl. He’d gotten drunk and despondent math genius. No wonder he wasn’t happy.
“It’s mine.” She wanted to keep the bangle. She’d already given too much away.
. Rogan set an open first aid kit on the counter. Nic took out an alcohol wipe. The square package reminded her of a condom, and she giggled.
He stopped and met her eyes. “You think this is funny?”
The giggle died a quick death and she tried to be serious. “No.”
She hissed as the alcohol stung the cuts, but the worst part was when he bunched some gauze together and pressed it hard into her palm with his thumb.
“That hurts, Nic. Stop.”
“Be still.”
She kept trying to pull her hand away but his grip was like a vise. She gave up and slumped in the barstool he’d put her on. He was hurting her but he smelled so good.
“Where did the roses and bracelet come from?” The question was directed at Rogan, who glanced at Lizzie but didn’t answer.
“Your sister really hates me,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, pulling his attention away from Rogan. “I mean, like really hates me. I’ve never had someone hate me so much. Not even Dr. Hatton and he thinks I don’t pay attention in class but at least the bracelet she sent me was pretty and the roses may help me win a million dollars so—”
“You think Angie sent them?”
Lizzie shrugged. “It’s not like you sent them. We weren’t together long enough for me to get roses.”
His eyes narrowed on her and she choked back a nervous giggle. Her answer must have been wrong because his expression went black. Funny, she didn’t usually miss test questions.
“We’re still together.”
They were? She was pretty sure they were not together. No, if they were together she wouldn’t hurt so much. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re wrong.”
Maybe he would kiss her and make it all go away.
He didn’t, he watched her. “I’ll deal with Angie.”
“I’ll deal with Angie,” Rogan said. “She in Houston?”
“I think so.” Nic pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Rogan. “Call Pam, she’ll find her. Leave my phone on your way out. Tag’s downstairs. He can take you to the airport.”
Rogan’s head went back but he didn’t say anything. Lizzie bit back a smile. Rogan wasn’t used to taking orders. He normally gave them. She was surprised at the curt nod as he backed off and did what Nic told him to do.
She’d never seen Rogan back down from anyone. The only reason he and Stefan didn’t butt heads was because they’d beaten the crap out of each other in fifth grade. They’d been best friends ever since.
She wondered if Nic had ever had a best friend. Probably not. It was all she could do not to run her fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut.
“Be still while I wrap this up.”
She straightened and tried to behave but he was being all bossy. The harsh look on his face and dangerously quiet words were getting her worked up. She struggled not to squirm on the barstool but she was starting to ache as the heat simmered deep inside her, turning parts of her liquid. “You’re mad at me.”
“I’m g
etting you out of here.” He taped off the gauze and set it aside.
“No.” She blinked back tears. “No, no, no. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
She squeaked when his arm snaked around her waist. “You aren’t going anywhere else without me again,” he informed her. “Except maybe a shower.”
“I’ve had far too much tequila for a shower to do any good.” She rubbed against him to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Bossy she liked. Angry not so much. “Don’t be mad. I can’t take another person hating me.”
His hand flattened at the small of her back. “Does it feel like I hate you?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
He caught himself from lowering his head and kissing her which made her mood plummet. “We’re going to talk first but not until you’re coherent.”
“I’m coherent,” she told his throat. He had the sexiest throat she’d ever seen. “I’m trying to solve the Riemann hypothesis.”
“With rose petals and stems?”
“Uh huh.” She wondered if his throat tasted as good as it looked. “And blood and alcohol.” She lowered her voice in another conspiratorial whisper. “But I don’t think it can be solved. It’s unsolvable. Like us.”
He stepped back and she tried to slide down from the barstool but the ground wouldn’t stop tilting. Nic leaned down and slid his arms under her legs and shoulders then lifted her up. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I’m going to miss this part,” she admitted, then forgot about everything else but tasting the bronze skin of his throat. He tasted so good and she loved the rumbly sound he made in his chest. She licked him next, and yes, her hypothesis was correct, he made the rumbly sound again but louder. She kissed him some more, loving the taste of the warm skin inside his collar and the way his fingers tightened on her.
Maybe she could solve her Nic problem. She might not get a million dollars but her prize would be so much better.
“What’s the Riemann hypothesis?”
She smiled. Nobody she cared about was ever interested in her work. Maybe Nic would be different. Maybe he might understand some of it. “It’s the holy grail of mathematics.”
Solving for Nic (Self Made Men...Southern Style Book 2) Page 18