But what I knew most of all was that this was all I had left to hold on to in order to keep sane, smart and stay safe.
Leaving.
We could text. We could phone. We could make plans. I could eat with him. I could fuck him. We could chat.
But I was not spending the night.
“Maybe some other time,” I told him.
He looked at me, mouth twitching, head slightly shaking, knowing there would be no other time.
“A fuckin’ nut,” he muttered again, not sounding broken up about it and still looking amused.
I liked seeing him amused even if I wished he sounded broken up about me not spending the (whole) night.
Before I could come to terms with those contradictory emotions, he bent in, brushed his mouth to mine, moved back an inch and said, still with mouth twitching, “Seven tonight, babe. Pork chops.”
It was then I realized why he wasn’t broken up and why he was amused.
Because he knew in just fifteen and a half hours, I’d be back.
Okay, maybe I was a nut.
I imagined Nick made superb pork chops.
But I was stuck on cinnamon French toast.
“Perhaps we can have breakfast for dinner,” I suggested.
His body started shaking as his mouth stopped twitching and began smiling. “Got a rule about my French toast. That bein’ you gotta earn it by makin’ me come in the morning.”
I wondered how many women had earned that.
Just as quickly as I wondered that, for peace of mind I stopped wondering.
“Hmm…” I murmured.
His smile got bigger as his laughter became audible.
And his eyes were dancing in the parking lot lights when he whispered, “A fuckin’ nut.”
I liked that. It was a sweet tease, saying he found me amusing which meant a lot to me.
Too much.
So much it hurt when he again moved in, touched his mouth to mine, but this time, when he moved back, he let me go.
“Drive safe home,” he ordered.
I nodded and made myself move immediately to get in my car.
And it hurt again when I watched through my rearview mirror as he did as he always did, jogged right up to his place instead of standing in the parking lot watching me drive away.
Maybe, I told myself, when I came back the night after he watched me drive away, I’d stay.
Maybe.
Then again, I figured he jogged right up to his place because he didn’t want me to see him watching me drive away.
Or, like it would have been if I was in his position, he didn’t allow himself that intimacy but instead, forced himself to turn his back on what we had and jog away.
* * * * *
8:27 Sunday Night
“This is ridiculous,” I declared, eyes to the TV.
“It’s awesome,” Nick replied.
I turned my head to look at him sitting on the couch beside me.
We were meant to eat pork chops in front of the TV instead of where we usually ate, at his bar. This was because there was a program Nick said he wanted to watch.
And we’d done that.
But now our plates were on the coffee table, as were Nick’s bare feet (mine were tucked up under me at my side on the couch), and we were on episode two of Nick’s program.
A program that was ridiculous.
“I can say with relative certainty, Sebring, that if a lunatic had hold of just one, but most especially five nuclear weapons, pretty much every country’s government on this earth with the resources to put a stop to him would expend those resources to put a stop to him. Not just a single man who unfathomably has been expelled from the CIA for being too good at his job and his gay, deaf hacker sidekick who types faster on seven different keyboards without once saying, ‘Crap, missed a key,’ than a transcriptionist with twenty years of experience.”
After I quit speaking I noticed Nick staring at me with an expression on his face that was so beautiful, I had to stop breathing so I could take it in fully.
Then he burst out laughing at the same time his arm shot out and he caught me around the neck. When he had hold of me, without delay he yanked me so I went up and over my legs tucked to my side toward him and slammed into his side. Then he slid his arm down so it was around me, holding me close.
It didn’t need to be said I should have fought this. If I couldn’t fight it then I should have pushed away.
In fact, Nick and I should be fucking so I could be leaving rather than us hanging out watching TV.
But we were watching TV and I wasn’t fighting it.
I was done fighting it.
We had what we had and it was good.
And it kept getting better.
It had only been a couple of weeks but it was clear Nick had his life, I had mine, he didn’t share or pry, I didn’t either. It didn’t feel surface, what we had, but it also didn’t run deep.
What it did feel was safe.
Since he could do this, I was beginning to believe I could too.
So I relaxed into his hold and allowed myself to enjoy the sound, look and feel of his laughter.
When he’d controlled it (slightly) he focused on me.
“Right, babe, what do you watch?”
“Documentaries.”
His brows shot up.
Then he again burst out laughing.
Vociferously.
That time, I stiffened.
“It isn’t that funny,” I declared into his laughter, and even if he kept doing it, I didn’t stop talking. “In fact, it isn’t funny at all. Documentaries are interesting. There are even ones they dramatize, where actors play characters in history. There was a really good one about the men who made America. It was fascinating.”
Still chuckling, Nick dipped his face to me. “Olivia, I can guaran-damn-tee it was not as fascinating as an ex-special forces, ex-CIA badass and his gay, deaf hacker sidekick chasing after a lunatic with five nuclear warheads.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds stupid to argue,” I retorted but didn’t let it go. “I still could argue it.”
He nabbed the remote on the table beside him, hit pause on the program and looked back at me.
“Right, I got this whole season taped. We watch a couple more episodes tonight. You find something you like that I can DVR, I’ll set it and we’ll watch it tomorrow. Then we’ll compare.”
From what I’d heard (since obviously I had no real experience), this was a surprising offer from a man, especially a man in your life (as it were).
“You’ll try something I like?” I asked to be certain I’d heard him correctly.
He was holding me so I felt as well as saw his shrug.
“Sure.”
I liked that.
I liked it so much and I was so comfortable in Nick’s hold in Nick’s place after eating Nick’s pork chops, I smiled at him. It was small but it came right out.
And his eyes dropped right to it.
As did his touch, like it was a gift but he feared it was a mirage that if he didn’t touch it, it’d fade away.
So he touched it, his hand to my face, his thumb sweeping over my lips while his eyes watched.
Of course, with his intensity, the smile withered to nothing.
He lifted his gaze to mine.
And my heart squeezed at the look in his eyes and the quiet, sad tone of his voice when he whispered, “Sometimes you kill me, baby.”
To get away from his sudden sadness, something I hated that I’d forced on him after he’d been laughing, which was something I loved giving him, I allowed my eyes to drift away.
He wasn’t done.
“No. A lot of the time.”
I drew in an unsteady breath and leaned forward. “I’ll take the plates to the sink.”
He didn’t let me go.
In fact, his hold tightened.
“Olivia,” he called.
I braced before I looked back to him.
&n
bsp; “Leave it,” he ordered. “Relax,” he kept ordering.
Then he gave me a squeeze, turned his attention back to the TV and again grabbed the remote.
He rewound until we were back to where I’d started talking and he hit play.
I left the dishes. I relaxed. And over two and a half more episodes, I watched a lone, ex-special forces, ex-CIA operative and his gay, deaf hacker sidekick get closer to saving the world from a lunatic who managed to get his hands on five nuclear warheads.
They got so much closer, the next four nights, along with the documentary I chose (which, frankly, was not nearly as fascinating), we watched the rest of the season.
Plans for nuclear obliteration of London, Tokyo, Rome, New York and Sydney were thwarted.
And I had to admit, when they were safe, I was relieved.
Not only that they were safe.
But that the program had been picked up for a second season.
* * * * *
11:54 – Friday Night
I planted my chin smack in the middle of Nick’s pecs and lifted my eyes to his.
He had his head propped on several pillows, his neck bent and his eyes were already on me.
“Did they have casualties?” I asked.
I watched his head give a slight jerk as his brows inched together.
“What?” he asked back.
“The…your…” I felt funny but for some reason persevered. “Your boys. You were talking to one at the club the week before last. You spoke of casualties. Was…were…” I wanted to trail off and let it go, but like before, I couldn’t stop myself from pushing forward. “Did it all come out okay?”
His lips hitched up.
“Is Olivia Shade asking me a question, sharing concern about my business and my boys so, by extension, doing the same about me?” he teased.
I looked away as I shifted to get my hands to the bed to push up, murmuring, “My mistake. Time to leave.”
I didn’t push up.
My back hit the bed and I couldn’t move because Nick was covering me at the same time grinning down at me.
“No casualties,” he declared. “The reinforcements got there on time. The bad guys showed, saw they were fucked, didn’t try for the girl and instead retreated after my boys engaged. They were probably waiting for their own reinforcements. When they retreated, my team moved her out and put her in a different safe house. We found out her brother has a big mouth and that’s how her first location was discovered. Now the job’s done, she’s safe and I got paid,” he shared.
“I’m glad,” I returned snappishly.
He didn’t stop grinning, in fact, he started quietly laughing as he replied, “You sound it.”
“Though, your story over, it’s now really time for me to leave.”
He stopped grinning and laughing.
“Get off me, Sebring,” I ordered.
He studied me.
In the middle of doing it, he lifted a hand and trailed a finger down my hairline as I held my breath because that, like most everything from Nick, felt nice.
After that, without another word, he got off me.
We dressed.
He walked me to my Evoque.
We kissed hard and rough at my driver’s side door.
I got in my car.
And in my rearview mirror I watched him jog up the steps to his place as I drove away.
Chapter Thirteen
Beauty Bound
Olivia
3:48 – Thursday Afternoon
“Just text the ingredients, Olivia,” Nick said into my ear as I drove to the warehouse.
“I’ll bring them,” I returned.
“Babe, I’m goin’ to the grocery store before I hit home.”
“And I have to drive to your place before I hit your home so I can stop by the grocery store.”
“No need for us both to go.”
This was true.
“You’re always feeding me,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, that’s the rule. Your ass is in my house, I feed you.”
I made a turn, muttering, “You have a lot of rules.”
“My ass is in your house, you make the rules.”
It was only the second time in our time together he’d mentioned being at my house.
I felt a thrill at the very thought.
Then it felt like I hit a wall with a painful thud when I remembered that’d never happen.
“Maybe we should chat about that later,” I murmured before saying louder, “But I’m making dessert tonight and I’m buying the ingredients for the dessert I’m making.”
“Fuck, got another call comin’ in that I gotta take so I can’t continue this stupid fuckin’ argument with you,” he replied semi-distractedly.
“Which means I’m bringing dessert.”
“Whatever. Six?”
“Six, Sebring. See you then.”
“Later, Olivia.”
We hung up.
I saw the warehouse and felt my stomach go from warm and happy at talking with Nick to roiling with sick.
It was the first time I’d been back since the whole thing went down with David. This was because it was easier doing David’s job at his office in the Denver Technical Center, known by locals such as myself as DTC. It was also because I hated the warehouse and I hated my father, who only had one office, that being in the warehouse. Therefore working elsewhere I could avoid him a lot easier.
I was parking in the spot that had my name on it when my phone rang again.
I looked to it in hopes Nick was done with his other call and had called me back so we could continue our ridiculous fucking argument about dessert.
It wasn’t Nick.
It was Dustin, the fixup my mother perpetrated.
I sighed.
Dustin and I had spoken, just enough for him not to share with his mother (who would share with my mother) that I was blowing him off, not enough for me to actually fix a date with him.
However, this was something he was pushing more for as the days went by, our conversations became longer, his interest in seeing me again was more firmly communicated and I was beginning to run out of excuses.
I was, indeed, busy at work. But mostly, I was fucking another guy (that being after we ate together and hung out together) who I preferred to spend time with so I didn’t have time for Dustin.
I looked from my phone to the warehouse and decided one thing that annoyed me and reminded me my life really wasn’t my own at a time.
I let the call go to voicemail.
I would find it was really not my day when I made my way up the stairs that were open to the large, loud loading area where many men were being loud while loading things and I nearly bumped into Tommy at the top. This happened when I opened the door to enter the hall off which the offices were located.
“Liv,” he murmured, not moving, his arm out to hold open the door.
“Tom,” I replied, shifting to scoot by him.
He caught my arm.
I froze, my gaze cast to his hand on my arm.
I lifted it to him.
Even with the order I was giving with my eyes, he didn’t let me go.
“We have to talk,” he shared.
“We’ll make a meeting,” I replied.
His fingers tightened. “Not talk like that.”
I raised my brows, allowing mild curiosity to infuse my features.
He got closer. “Shit’s gone down. I shared somethin’ with you. Haven’t seen you since. It’s fuckin’ with you, I know it and I gotta know you’re good.”
“I’m good,” I assured him immediately, pulling at my arm in his hold.
“Liv—”
“Tom, let me go. I’ve got things I need to do.”
He didn’t let me go.
He kept hold of me with one hand as he let the door swing closed and lifted his other to lightly touch the marks on his face before he dropped it.
“I got a life to live and one choice how to live
it, honey, but I gotta live it and you know I want kids,” he shared gently, but albeit gently, they were things I already knew.
I knew he wanted kids because we were going to have kids. Three of them.
And none of them were going to be gangsters.
“Then it’s good your wife is pregnant,” I remarked.
His chin jerked into his neck.
“Now, unless you’re intent on talking me into holding her baby shower, and just to remind you, she and I are not that close, I’d like you to let me go,” I requested, pulling again at my arm.
He didn’t let me go.
He got even closer.
This meant I got even more annoyed.
“I know you’re hurting, Liv,” he declared.
“I’m not hurting, Tom. I’m busy. Now let me go.”
“There’s shit we need to talk through, probably needed to talk through way before now but no matter the time that passed, it was always too raw. But we can’t avoid it anymore. And with things changing the way they are with the business, it could mean change between—”
“There’s nothing we need to talk through,” I interrupted. “There’s just one thing you need to do and that’s let me go.”
“Honey—”
I felt the icy-heat of my anger flash.
“Fucking let…me…go,” I snapped.
Tommy blinked.
Then he let me go.
Even released, I was no less displeased, and in our new roles in our world, Tommy needed to know that.
So I shared it with him.
“You don’t obey an order immediately again, Tom, this will not make me happy.”
He stared.
“Now, get back to doing whatever you need to be doing,” I finished curtly, gave him a sharp nod of my head, yanked open the door and I walked into the hallway.
I heard the door close, drowning the noise behind me.
The second indication it was not going to be my day was when I barely lifted my head from watching my feet take me toward my office and I saw my father walking my way.
Damn.
“Olivia,” he called.
“Dad,” I replied.
I stopped at my door.
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