I swear I try on every combination I can and only come up with a few possibilities that still don’t stand out as being winners.
“Fuck this shit,” I say to no one in particular. Keeping on the most recent top from my trial-and-errors since I am partial to it, I rush to the bathroom with the hopes I’ll at least have my hair and make-up finished by the time Nash gets here. If I’m forced to, I’ll resort to throwing something on—as long as my hair and make-up are up to par.
I plug in my largest curling wand and crank it up to highest temperature, then get all my make-up set up. I bring out the whole lot, spreading it all out on the countertop and organizing it by type, standing all the tubes of lipstick up like some sort of rainbow.
It’s not like I get to do this often, so I’m going all out.
Plus, it’s not like you’ll be doing this again anytime soon, I silently remind myself.
This is all just a one-and-done to prove a point, that even if we try, being together is simply an impossibility because of our past. Undeniable attraction be damned.
Once I’m finished applying the last bit of mascara, I separate my hair into two-inch sections and make quick work of creating loose curls, securing them with a bit of setting spray.
I glance at the clock for the fiftieth time today, and a string of curse words come flying out when I realize I only have ten minutes before Nash is supposed to be here. Which, in Nash time, means any minute since the fucker likes showing up ten minutes early.
As if the forces of the universe are out to get me, the crunch of gravel and low rumble of an engine draws closer. Panicking, I grab the first things I can get my hands on, shoving the appropriate limbs through the appropriate holes and running to the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Nash
My fist raps lightly at her front door, and my anticipation climbs, excitement ricocheting through my body like a bullet with no exit wound—except one that spreads happiness instead of turning my insides to mush. She answers the door almost instantly, breathless like she’s been sprinting. Her face seems to glow with a rosy flush to her cheeks, and I frown from concern.
All until I take in what she’s wearing, then it’s like my jaw has become unhinged.
How does this girl make dressed-down look more like dressed-to-impress?
She’s donning a pair of stylish skinny jeans tucked into a pair of black leather-looking, knee-high boots with a heel. My eyes skim over her hips, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed between the top of her jeans and the hem of her—I gulp when my gaze climbs higher.
A lace bustier top molds to her torso with just enough translucence to be sexy without being gaudy, and apparently there’s a built-in-bra to keep from showing her tits.
Such a damn tease.
Nearly invisible metal clasps line the front and my mouth is watering as my mind starts going rampant. I’m about to say fuck this date, and push her right back through her front door. I doubt I could even wait to make it past the kitchen before I’d peeled everything off her body and had my way with her.
Then I’m remembering making love to her the other night, how sexy she was, yet still so innocent, and I’m irritably readjusting myself.
Which, of course, she catches.
She smirks at me, her perfectly arched brow rising condescendingly.
“So, are we gonna do this, or what?”
I clear the scratchiness from my throat.
“Yeah. You ready?”
“Yup. Just need to grab one thing.” She holds up a finger for me to wait, and right about that time a cool gust of air assaults us, a reminder that it’s getting closer to the holidays.
“Uh, come inside for a minute while I grab it.”
I stare at her for a moment, hands plunged inside my front pockets and feet glued to her moon and stars welcome mat, reading “Welcome to my Space.” It’s not that I’m reluctant to come inside, I just don’t trust that I’ll be able to control myself.
And I’m the fucking one who insisted on this date.
Naturally, I follow her in anyway.
After about a minute I hear a soft feminine growl that makes me smile, along with a racket coming from her bedroom like she’s tearing it apart in search of something.
“Hey, Stars. While you’re looking for whatever one specific item of clothing you think you just have to have, I’m gonna use your restroom.”
I walk back through the other end of the house toward the guest bathroom she showed me the last time I was here, but I come to a screeching halt when I pass an open door that was closed the other day. Reaching through the doorframe, I flip on the light-switch, completely in awe as the light illuminates the walls.
Before I know it, I’m slowly perusing the room, drawn to her paintings and random little works of art—a few sculptures, a few ceramic bowls, intricate paper origami. She dabbles in everything, but it’s the paintings that capture my attention most.
Apparently, Lyra has an obsession with space—no secret there—but she also favors really strange paintings of the eye. As I draw closer, I can make out how detailed the irises of each painting are, how the inner-workings are composed of many smaller hidden images and portrayals, making up the bigger picture.
I stop in front of her latest work which is still drying on the easel. Another eye—but a fascinating mix of greens and golds swirling about and creating a space-like effect.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Lyra clips from the doorway, and I turn to find her standing there with her arms over her chest, a black dressy blazer now hiding most of that lace bustier I loved so much.
“Didn’t hear you sneak up on me,” I admit, throwing her a wolfish grin.
She glares, not falling for my attempt at charm.
“Whether or not you heard me coming, isn’t an excuse for snooping through my shit. Out.” She steps back, giving me room to pass by and making me feel like I’m a dog being scolded by its owner.
Once she’s secured her house, I put my game face back on, attempting to quell the insistent screaming of my dick that we take a raincheck on date night and focus on some more physical activities instead.
But my heart reminds me of why I insisted we do this. She thinks she’s proving a point that we’ll never work out. I’m taking her out, probably even thinks we’re going out of town to do so.
We’re not.
I’m showing her off where everyone knows who we are, where everyone is privy to our warped past because I have a plan. It’ll cause a ruckus. News will spread like wildfire and everyone we’ll be choice topic of conversation at their breakfast tables tomorrow. But after tonight, everyone in Central Valley will know something essential—that Lyra Knightley belongs to me. Even if she doesn’t even know it herself.
~XoXo~
“Can’t we just go to that new restaurant in Warren?” Worry fills her voice and she looks to me with concern written all over her face as I pull into the crowded lot of Gia’s, our hometown’s Italian restaurant.
Killing the engine, I turn to look her directly in her blue-green eyes, taking her palm and squeezing. “I don’t want to hide the fact we’re together,” I start, trying to settle her into the idea, but she quickly sets me in my place.
“We are not together.” Her eyes narrow as she emphasizes her view point on our relationship, or lack thereof.
I lean forward and drop a kiss on the end of her nose. “You keep on telling yourself that, Stars.”
“This is only our first time going out. We’ll have to see how it goes before there’s talk of anything further,” she sasses back, but when I hop out, and walk to her side to open the door for her, she’s frantic all over again. “People are gonna talk. I’m used to it, but are you?”
“Do you really think I give a shit what they say?”
She shrugs. “You’re their golden boy…I’m the town pariah. We’re like oil and water.” Taking her hand, I help her climb down out of my truck, pulling her back to me when she tries to h
ead on toward the restaurant. Her palms catch her own weight when she slams into the wall of my chest. Before she can protest, I’m dipping my head and pressing my lips to hers. She instantly melts against me, all the tenseness in her limbs evaporating.
When I finally pull back, I slide my hands up to cradle her face, the pad of my thumb tracing her plump bottom lip. “Oil and water you say? We’re more like oil and vinegar.” My mouth curves into a grin. Staring at me expectantly, she awaits the punchline. “Mix us together and we make a great pair.” She rolls her eyes when I wink, but allows me to lace our fingers together before leading her to the entrance. I stop midway through opening the door just to reassure her one last time. “Stop freaking out. You don’t even know how things are going to go. Everyone will probably be too busy eating their lasagna to notice us.”
“Yeah, right,” she mutters just as we step inside.
I’m about to say something else to reassure her, but someone squeals, calling out my name and interrupting the moment. I turn to find Melanie Walters, the daughter of one of my Aunt Marlowe’s friends, standing at the hostess podium.
“Nash, hiiiiii! It’s so great to see you again! I’ve missed seeing you at get-togethers…It’s been forever!”
Yeah, and there’s a damn good reason for that. My gut intuition is issuing a distinct warning—do not engage—and I’m going to trust it this time. A few years ago, my intuition issued the exact same warning but with a few too many beers, I didn’t heed the caution. Against my better judgment, we snuck off from a boring barbeque shindig thrown by her parents, and banged it out. Big fucking mistake. She took the casual sex as being a casual declaration on my part that we were an item, announcing to the dinner party when we finally returned that we were now dating. The bitch is CRAZY in all caps.
I clear my throat. “Melanie.” I nod my head, and she’s lucky I’ve greeted her in any roundabout way at all. “Can you please get me and my date a table—booth preferably, and somewhere off to the side where we can have some privacy.”
Her smile seems to slide right off her face. “D-date?” she stammers. Glancing behind me, I watch her eyes widen at the sight of Lyra. “Will your date be arriving soon?” Her voice is riddled in confusion, and I narrow my eyes, turning back to glance at Lyra before turning back to her.
“Looks to me like she’s standing right here,” I snap in spite of myself, my irritation continuing to grow as Melanie proceeds to stand there confused, not taking action. “Are you going to seat us, or do I need to pick any table I want and just do your job for you?” I arch a brow in challenge. Melanie purses her lips, openly showing her displeasure.
“Follow me,” she grunts, spinning on her heel and striding quickly through the restaurant. I try not to pay attention to any of the tables we pass by, or their occupants, but it’s like every pair of eyes in the restaurant are on us. Next come the whispers. I squeeze Lyra’s hand, scared she might dart away and disappear.
As if choosing to purposefully ignore my earlier request at privacy, Melanie sits our menus and utensils down at a table that’s practically in the middle of the room, retreating wordlessly. It’s starkly silent around us, not even the clatter or dishes or scraping of silverware filling the air, but I pretend not to notice, pulling out the chair for Lyra so she can take a seat.
“Thanks,” she whispers. I pull her hand up to my lips and press a kiss to her knuckles, looking directly into her eyes.
“Looks like I was wrong…You ready to give ‘em a show?”
Her eyes drop shyly to her lap, before returning to mine. She gives me a weak smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
Instead of taking the seat in front of her, I drop into the one to her right. Her brows knit together in confusion. “Why aren’t you sitting across from me?”
“I didn’t want to be that far away from you,” I shrug simply before opening my menu. Scanning it quickly, I close it. “Looks like they haven’t added anything new since I’ve been gone.”
Lyra snorts, her eyes flitting about the room around us, taking in the rude stares of the other patrons. “Looks like nothing ever changes in this little town.”
My chair squeaks across the wooden floor as I scoot closer to her, taking a lock of her curled raspberry hair between my fingers and tugging playfully, fascinated at the silky feel of it and the way it springs back into place. “That why you made it your mission to change as much as possible?”
“I didn’t change that much,” she retorts. “I just woke up one day and decided I was tired of trying to be invisible most of the time. I was sick of allowing people to control how I acted, and how I perceived myself. Sure, I had my moments where I was okay with getting all dressed up, of letting loose and having fun out around my peers—especially when I was in high-school and became friends with Valley—but most of the time, I just tried to fade into the background and stay out of the crosshairs. Finally, I had an epiphany.
“I decided to start doing what I wanted, that I would color my hair purple if that’s what tickled my fancy, whereas before, I would have avoided it knowing I’d stick out like a sore thumb. And tattoos,” she gushes, her eyes mindlessly going to the inside of her wrist where there’s a tiny tattoo of a mapped out constellation. “I’ve always wanted tattoos, but to me, it was just another thing to call unwanted attention to myself.”
“So go big or go home, huh?”
“I guess so,” she laughs. “But like I said...I just chose the things I wanted without worrying about what others would think. For once in my life anyway. Not that they aren’t also convenient…” She mumbles to herself, but I’m still able to catch it.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she answers too quickly, her eyes sliding away as if she’s hiding something.
“Well, for the record, you were never a plain jane. Not even when we weren’t talking in school. Not even when you tried to fade into the background. Trust me, you had my attention. There’s nothing plain about you. Never has been.”
She huffs, eyeing me disbelievingly. “If you say so.” Her mouth tilts downward and she tears her eyes away from mine, putting up the fortress again, pretending to study her menu when we both know she’s either having the Lemon Chicken and Pasta, or the soup and salad combo.
My jaw ticks in frustration, and I find myself shutting down. Every time I try to open myself up to her, she doesn’t seem to believe me. It’s like she thinks I’m not sincere, and while I get why she’s reluctant to just fling open the door to heart for me, it’s still discouraging that she won’t even give it the slightest crack.
The waiter comes to take our drink order and disappears again.
“Do you know what you’re having?” Lyra turns to me, her expression closed-off and slightly cold.
And I know it’s childish, but I ignore her.
“Nash?” She tries again, her fingers inching across the table toward mine, fluttering out to touch me as if it’ll garner my attention. Doesn’t she know she has it? Always has, despite my best efforts.
I snatch my hand back out of reach, feeling like shit when I witness her draw back with a tremble, her apparent humiliation over my having more or less snubbed her in front of witnesses. At the same time, it catapults my wounded pride to recovery. Putting myself out there isn’t easy for me. I might have done it with Jenna, but that was just my stupid, naïve self chasing after blind lust. It’s not the same as having a long, winding history with someone you care about, and finally trying to express yourself.
“Don’t fucking do that,” I finally grit out.
Her turquoise eyes snap to mine, glittering like sun rays caressing the surface of tropical waters. “Do what?” She whispers in reply, her voice trembling slightly.
“Keep trying to convince yourself I don’t care. I do.” Seizing her hand now, I pull it toward me, holding her gaze steady. “Or keep trying to tell yourself I’m not sincere.” I flip her palm over, pulling it up toward me. “I am.” My lips brush lightly across the thin sk
in of her wrist, never quit making full contact. “Keep believing my feelings for you have a timeframe.” I flick my tongue out ever so slightly, tasting the natural sweetness of her. She squirms in her seat, her eyes burning into mine with wonder. “They don’t.” I press my lips to her inner-wrist now, trailing several kisses up until I reach her inner palm. “What I feel for you is real. It’s honest, and it’s infinite. You’ll have to learn to live with that knowledge, whether you come to accept it, or not.”
She stares at me wordlessly, an unnamed emotion written all over her face, then awards me a shaky nod.
The waiter, with his shitty impeccable timing, sidles up to sit down our beverages, taking our orders. When she opts for the Lemon Chicken, I can’t help but smirk confidently. We settle into casual conversation. I tell her about Ari, and his latest obsession with books and farm animals. She invites me to bring him over any time to help with the Knightley’s horses since my family raises cattle. Then she tells me about Willow. It’s obvious she loves her niece and is a big part of her life.
“Do you want children one day?” I blurt randomly. Fuck, this isn’t an okay question for a first date. “Sorry,” I counter. “You don’t have to answer that.”
She gives me a tight smile that borders on a grimace. “Going for the heavy questions I see.” She scratches the end of her nose with her ring finger, a habit she has when she’s lost in thought, I’ve noticed. “Do I want children?” She repeats back to me.
I’m practically holding my breath as I await her answer. It’s kind of a deal-breaker considering I already have a son of my own, and no matter how badly I want to be with a woman, she’ll have to fit into our pre-made family unit.
“I used to,” she glances at me apologetically, but there’s a lie glittering beneath the surface, something she isn’t saying. Is she just telling me that to push me away, knowing that’s the reason Jenna and I split, among other things? If so, I’m not buying it. The Lyra from my youth had the names for at least four kids picked out.
Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 28