by Beth Andrews
“Look,” he said as she unloaded take-out boxes onto the small table, “I’m not in the mood for company.”
“Oh, but you hide it so well beneath your polite veneer.”
That was the problem. He wasn’t polite. Wasn’t polished. Didn’t care to be.
He frowned at the delicious smells coming from the container. “What is all of this?”
“It’s food.”
“You cooked me dinner?”
She smiled. “I don’t cook,” she said as if that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “I picked it up from the café.” She glanced around, though he had no idea what she’d be looking for. “Why don’t you open a bottle of wine and I’ll set the table.”
“I don’t have any wine.” Who the hell did she think he was…that pretty-boy suit from the office? “I don’t like wine.”
She opened a cupboard. Shut it. “I do. Merlot is my favorite but I also like other reds.”
“What the hell are you looking for?” he asked, telling himself he didn’t care what kind of wine she liked.
“Where are your… Never mind,” she said, taking down two mismatched plates. “Found them.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Why are you here?”
She met his eyes. “Because I thought you could use a friend.”
Because his son of a bitch father had died, leaving more questions than answers.
But he didn’t have friends. It was easier, safer, to go it alone. Always. He didn’t trust anyone with his thoughts or feelings and he knew that’s what a friend, what any kind of relationship entailed. And he wasn’t about to give away a piece of himself like that. Ever.
He edged toward her, backing her up until she was against the counter. She wasn’t wearing heels, so he towered over her. But she didn’t seem afraid. Just tipped her head back and met his eyes. Watching. Waiting.
“Is that what we are?” he asked, cornering her between the edge of the counter and his body. Kept moving closer until he felt the heat from her body. He trapped her between his arms, his hands on the counter. He didn’t trust himself to touch her. Not today.
Maybe not ever again.
“Do you kiss your friends the way you kissed me the other night?” he asked lowly, his groin tightening at the memory. “Touch them the way you touched me? Do you do the things you did to me to all your friends?” He bumped his hips against hers, let her feel what she did to him, what he wanted from her. “You think I want your friendship?”
“I don’t know, Griffin. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I already got what I wanted from you.” He smirked, kept his gaze hooded. “But if you’re up for another go, I’m willing.”
She looked at him with understanding. With sympathy. It killed him. “You don’t have to act this way,” she said softly. “All tough and cynical and bitter. Not with me.” She laid her palms on his chest. His heart skipped a beat. “It’s okay if you’re upset or scared or angry. You can talk to me. You can tell me.”
He forced a harsh laugh, his gut twisting when her hands slid away, when hurt flashed in her eyes. “Christ, you really have no clue what I’m about, do you?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Maybe not. But I do know one thing. You’re scared to death of me. You don’t have to be.” She cupped his cheek, her hand soft and warm, her fingers unsteady. “I won’t hurt you, Griffin.”
Her strength, her honesty was too much for him to handle. Too hard for him to resist. But she was right. He was scared of her. Scared of his feelings for her.
She met his eyes and for a moment, he got sucked in. Sucked in by her openness, by how trusting and so freaking optimistic she was. She wasn’t for him, damn it. He only went after things he knew he could get, he knew he deserved. He never wished or hoped for more because doing so ended one way. With disappointment.
But he wanted her. For the first time in his life, he coveted something out of his reach.
He was too afraid to take the chance of going after it. Too afraid of what it would feel like if he didn’t get it. If he didn’t get her.
Better to end this now before someone got hurt.
He wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist, pulled her hand away from his face and stepped back. “Thanks for dinner,” he said, keeping his voice cool, “but like I said, I’m not in the mood for company.”
She nodded slowly. “I see. So you’d rather be alone.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
“Oh, I’m pretty good at catching on,” she said hotly as she stormed over to him. Slammed her hands on her hips. “You’re trying to hurt me. My question is, why?”
She sounded so upset, looked so confused, he fidgeted, had to fight the urge to take her into his arms. “There you go,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “making everything about you.”
Her eyes widened and she tossed her hands into the air. “Yes, how egotistical of me to think the man I’m involved with is pushing me out of his life.”
“We’re not involved,” he said quickly. “And you’re not in my life.” He lifted a shoulder, ignored the sense of panic climbing his spine, coating his mouth. The feeling that something precious was slipping right through his fingers. Something he’d never get back again. “We slept together. It didn’t mean anything.”
* * *
NORA COULDN’T BREATHE. It felt like she’d been kicked in the chest. She was shaking. With rage, she assured herself. Not because of his cruel words. Not because she was close to begging him not to do this, not to end what was between them. What could be.
“You don’t want it to mean anything,” she said, unable to stop her pain from leaking into her voice.
She didn’t mean anything to him.
And she wanted to be special, wanted to mean the world, at least to one person.
It hurt…God, it hurt so much she was surprised she was still upright, still able to meet his gaze. Everything about this, about him, was wrong. His eyes, those green eyes that had looked at her with so much heat when they’d made love, so much longing, were now flat and cold.
“Either way,” he said, leaning back against the table, “the end result’s the same.”
Her face was numb. The scent from the burgers and fries she’d brought made her ill. She held her hand under her nose, worked to keep the contents of her stomach from rising.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “The end result is the same.”
She crossed to the door, her legs like rubber, her heart aching. She stopped as fury leaked through the pain. Pain he’d had no right to cause.
“I was such an idiot,” she told him, staring at the door. “Such a fool. I convinced myself there was more to you than that cloak of bitterness you wear, that chip of resentment on your shoulder. My God, I was honestly going to settle.” The fact angered her. Humiliated and shamed her. “I was going to settle for whatever scraps of emotion you tossed my way, whatever amount of caring I could pry out of you.”
She opened the door then faced him, wanted to see him, one last time. Wanted him to know what he’d done to her. Wanted him to know she’d survive him. She’d be stronger. Smarter.
She’d protect herself better.
“I deserve better,” she said, her fingers tight on the door handle, the cool night air beckoning. “I deserve so much better than you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“MOM GOT THE FLOWERS you sent yesterday,” Tanner told Griffin as they worked on the car Sunday afternoon.
Griffin tipped up a bottle of water, drank deeply then put the cap back on. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She cried. I think they were happy tears,” he added quickly when Griffin’s mouth thinned. “At least, that’s what she told me.”
/> Although Tanner hadn’t believed her at first. Not when she’d cried so hard—much harder than when she’d gotten all teary-eyed that Mother’s Day a few years back when he and his dad had bought her that fancy rosebush she’d always wanted.
He had no idea what the flowers were for, either. Their mom’s birthday wasn’t until February and all the card said was It’s Enough. Griffin.
But Tanner had noticed she’d tucked the card onto her dresser mirror along with his and Griffin’s school pictures.
“She wanted me to invite you to dinner tonight,” he continued.
“What’s she cooking?” Griffin asked, tossing the empty bottle into the trash.
“Some sort of chicken.”
“Sounds good. Tell her I’ll be there.” He nodded toward the door. “Looks like you’ve got company.”
Tanner turned.
And saw Jessica walking across the parking lot toward them.
Shit.
He wanted to toss his wrench down and walk away. He didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t even want to see her.
Even though he’d thought about her constantly since he’d left her at the party a week ago.
But if he walked, she’d think she had some sort of hold over him. That he couldn’t handle sharing the same air as her. That he still liked her.
Then she was there, standing in the doorway, her shorts showing off her tanned legs, her tank top revealing her sunburned shoulders. She seemed unsure. Nervous.
Good.
God, but she was pretty.
He squeezed the wrench. She’d used him. And he’d let her. But no more.
“Hey, Tanner,” she said.
He nodded and felt Griffin give him a sidelong look. Whatever.
Griffin wiped his hand on the rag he carried in his back pocket. “How’s it going, Jess?”
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
Silence. Heavy-duty, totally uncomfortable silence.
Griffin elbowed Tanner in the side. Hard. Tanner scowled at him. Griffin raised his eyebrows, tipped his head toward Jess.
Tanner gave one quick shake of his head.
No. He didn’t want to talk to her.
“I think I hear my mom calling me,” Griffin said, walking toward the doorway. “Coming, Mom.”
He went outside and around the side of the building.
So much for the bond between brothers.
Tanner went back to work, felt Jess come up behind him.
“So, this is your car?” she asked, close enough now that he could smell her perfume.
He nodded.
She walked around it and try as he might, he couldn’t help but watch her. Her brows were drawn together, her hair down and stick straight. She trailed her fingers along the driver’s-side door and he noticed she’d painted her nails a glossy blue.
When she was done circling his car, she stopped next to him. He stared at the spot where the engine would go—once Griffin ordered it. “It’s a piece of shit,” she said.
Tanner stiffened and faced her. “It’s a work in progress.”
She pursed her lips, her eyebrows raised. “O-kay. If you say so.”
He tightened the bolt, wrenched it too hard and hit his knuckle. “What do you want?”
“God, can’t a person drop by and say hello?”
“No.”
She huffed out a breath. “Look, there’s no need to be a jerk. I’m…I’m sorry, okay? So let’s just pretend the party never happened and we can go back to how it was before.”
He stilled, slowly straightened and faced her. “How what was before?”
“Me and you.” She chewed on her thumbnail, the act in opposition to her hip-cocked stance. “We can hang out and stuff again.”
“You want to hang out with me?” he asked, wanting to make sure he was following her.
She dropped her hand. “Well, yeah. I mean…I…I had fun when we were together. Didn’t you?” she asked, sounding so unsure and nervous he almost forgot his resolve not to let her get to him.
Almost.
“Yeah, I had fun.”
She smiled, relieved. “Great. So—”
“But it’s not enough. Not if you’re going to use me to try to get to some other guy.”
“I said I was sorry about that,” she pointed out, not sounding very sorry to him. No, she sounded more pissed off that he wasn’t falling at her feet forgiving her. “I was just… It was a mistake and I…” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
Humiliation washed over him. If this was anything close to what love was like, he didn’t want anything to do with it. “You didn’t,” he said, hoping she believed him. “I just don’t like being used.”
She nodded, stepped closer to him. “Okay. I mean, that’s fair. And I promise it won’t ever happen again.”
He studied her. She seemed sincere enough but who knew what went on in the minds of girls? They were unpredictable and never did or said what you expected them to. Never reacted how they should and always kept guys guessing.
He’d give up on them but it seemed a little early in his life to quit on something so promising.
“You want me to forget it?” he asked, knowing he probably sounded like an idiot, repeating what she said but he couldn’t help it.
“Yeah.” She licked her lips. “And we can, you know, go back to being friends.”
And there it was, that kick in the balls, the one he’d known—damn it, he’d known—was coming. The one he’d tried to convince himself wouldn’t hurt.
“No,” he said, his lips barely moving.
Because he couldn’t stand there and look into her blue eyes one more minute, because it killed him to be so close to her and not touch her how he wanted, not to give away his feelings, he turned on his heel and stalked to the other side of the garage. Stared blindly at the tools lined up neatly there.
“Why not?” she asked, hurrying after him.
He turned and gave the wrench a sidelong toss. It crashed into an oil pan with a clang. “Damn it, you really don’t get it, do you?”
She took a step back as if he was one wrong word from going completely psycho on her. “Get what?”
That she was trying to push him into the Friend Zone, the place where a guy’s hopes went to die.
Once you were in the Zone, you never got out.
“That I don’t want to be your friend,” he said, his voice rising despite his best efforts to be all cool and controlled. He stormed over to her, took a hold of her by the upper arms, noted that her eyes widened, her throat worked as she swallowed. But she didn’t struggle. Didn’t push at him or yell or kick him.
He wished she would.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” he repeated, softer this time, loosening his hold on her so he wouldn’t hurt her.
“What do you want?” she whispered, her eyes searching his.
His heart pounded. “I want this.”
And he kissed her.
Her curves were soft against his body, her lips warm and she tasted like mint and soda. It was a banner day—one for the record books, really. Because after a stunned moment she kissed him back, her hands hesitantly going to his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin.
When he leaned back, he could see interest, attraction and uncertainty in her eyes. It was the last that had him letting her go and stepping back. That told him he had to let her make the next move
.
Even if that move was to step away from him.
“That’s what I want,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets where they couldn’t get him into any trouble. “If you want that, too, you know where to find me.”
He bent and swiped up his wrench and went back to work on his car. After a moment feeling her staring at him, he heard her walk away, her flip-flops clapping against the cement floor.
He hung his head, wanted to bang it against the car frame a few dozen or so times. He’d blown it. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe they weren’t meant to be.
This Zen shit sucked.
He rolled his shoulders back, prepared to forget she’d ever been there, that he’d ever touched her, that his mouth still tingled from the feel of her lips. His cell phone vibrated. Pulling it from his front pocket, his stomach dropped to see he had a text from Jess. His palms sweating, his heart racing, he opened it.
Want to go to the movies tonight? My treat.
He glanced around, even jogged to the doors and checked up and down the street but she wasn’t anywhere to be found. But she’d texted him. Was asking him out after she’d come over to the garage to apologize. She knew he wanted more than friendship and she wanted to go out with him.
Grinning he read her message again, took a deep breath and answered.
Yes.
* * *
“WE’RE CLOSED,” GRIFFIN told Layne flatly. What the hell was it with people just showing up on a Sunday afternoon? First Jess had come and done some sort of a number on Tanner, one that had, admittedly, gotten the kid out of the funk he’d been in for the past week.
But now he wouldn’t stop smiling and the constant singing along with the iPod was driving Griffin nuts. Kid couldn’t hold a note.
Layne smirked at him, tossed her long fall of hair over her shoulder. “Sure looks like you’re open to me.”