He tilted his head toward the door. “Guess I’ll just get started, then.”
She straightened up. “Okay.” Her brows furrowed. “Thanks.”
He dashed inside, leaving the screen door to squeak and slam shut behind him.
As he entered Braelyn’s house, he was again overwhelmed with the sense of how she’d worked to add the delicate touches to make this a home. Puffy throw pillows decorated the couch, mismatched frames with photos of Tristan smiling at all different ages covered every available surface, colorful rugs littered the floor, sweet candles scented the air. He’d bet she even had a junk drawer in the kitchen. She had knickknacks and the general clutter of a home that was lived in. A home that all of a sudden made him feel, well, homeless.
He’d had nothing and no one for so long, other than a place to lay his head at night, that he didn’t know what the word meant. Sure, he’d seen it at a distance with his best friend Jed and his family. But he’d never truly felt a part of that life. They’d had their country club existence that was never really for him. When he and Jed found the urban culture and the world of tattoos, he’d thought he’d found his home. But it was only a shallow and temporary place. A career home. Nothing more.
But now, he was standing smack dab in the middle of an honest-to-God home. He could feel Braelyn clear down to his bones here and he wasn’t sure how to compute that. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.
He diverted his churning thoughts by making his way quickly to the fridge first as she followed him into the cozy kitchen. A grocery list hung clipped to a magnet stuck to the freezer door. Several other colorful magnets crowded the doors with different images of places she must’ve been, or maybe dreamed of going. One of Tristan’s report cards hung to the side. He ignored it, put his beer on the counter, and moved to the side to yank the refrigerator away from the wall.
She clicked on a radio behind him and the DJ finished up the tail end of a weather report before Journey came on with “Faithfully.” She started humming along as she began to fill the sink with water. He glanced over his shoulder as he shimmied between the fridge and counter. She was staring out the window, lost in thought, her sweet hips swaying to the music.
He swallowed and glanced away. Well, he was no appliance guy, but nothing looked overtly fried or snapped behind the fridge. He glanced down and frowned.
He bent over and picked up the loose plug, flipping it over in his hand. Strange. He shoved it into the wall socket and the fridge immediately began to hum to life. He straightened and squeezed out of the tight space. He caught Braelyn’s gaze as she watched him intently from the sink and the song came to its crescendo. He opened the refrigerator door and the light inside came on. Inside the freezer the motor buzzed noisily as it tried to cool itself.
“You fixed it? Just like that?” she asked, disbelief coloring her words.
He grunted as he shoved the thing back into its place against the wall then turned to her. The radio DJ was rambling about some dumb contest, encouraging someone to be the seventh caller. She reached over and turned down the volume. “What was wrong with it?”
“It was unplugged.”
Her chin dropped to her chest. “Unplugged?”
He didn’t bother to answer her and moved on to her oven. Could it be so simple there as well? He could only hope. Then he could get the heck outta there and away from that white lacy top of hers.
Noble heaved the oven away from the wall a few inches and peeked. Damn. The cord was snugly plugged into the wall. All right, time to see about turning the bad boy on. One of the mismatched knobs was barely holding on to its post, but he was able to crank up the heat.
He tried to ignore her, but her scent overpowered his senses in the tiny room as she sidled up next to him. Sweet and floral with just a hint of something darker. He nearly groaned.
“So,” she said as he checked the stovetop burners, “you from Texas, Noble?”
He glanced over. Her huge, amber eyes glowed with curiosity. “No.”
“Where’re you from?”
The burners worked fine. He shut them off. With nothing to occupy his hands until he’d given the oven time to heat, he shoved them into his pockets and propped his hip against the counter. “Arizona.”
“Hmmm,” she mumbled as she hauled herself up to sit on the counter next to him, her hand brushing his arm. “We came to Texas because it’s where my grandma was from and she told me lots of stories about growing up here.” Her soft breath hitched as emotion filled her eyes. Obviously she loved her grandmother a lot. A thing foreign to him. “So it seemed the natural place to go when we needed a new home.” Her face brightened as she forced a smile and tucked away her nostalgia. “So what brought you to Texas?”
He rolled his neck and looked away. “This and that,” he hedged. He hated to talk about his past. It was ugly and he preferred to let it lie.
“How long have you lived here?”
He sighed. “A long time.” How much longer did he have to give the damn oven to preheat?
Her petite foot tapped the cabinet in time to the music. He didn’t meet her eye. “I love it here. The weather for one thing is much better than Indiana. Do you like it better than Arizona?”
He grunted a noncommittal answer and shoved away from the counter. He opened the oven and reached his hand inside. It was still ice cold. He fiddled for several minutes before deciding on the most likely problem. He turned the dial back off and faced her again.
“I think—” He stopped mid-thought. She looked a touch pissy. Her amber eyes sparked with dark shots of gold and her fingers were drumming rhythmically against her perch on the counter. “What?”
She tilted her head. “Do I disgust you or something? Have bad breath?”
“What? No.”
“Do you find my Hoosier manners to be unacceptable down here in Texas then?” She sat forward, her palms braced next to her thighs, her head tilted.
He trained his eyes back up to her gorgeous, albeit frowning, face. “No.”
“So, are you generally just a pseudo-mute man with the conversational skills of a sloth, then?”
“Uh—”
She jumped off the counter, her bare feet landing softly on the linoleum floor. “See? I’ve been trying to make polite conversation with you. You know, be friendly. Get to know you?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “And you’ve all but ignored me.” She turned around and seemed to be talking to herself. “Not that I’m surprised. You’ve been doing that since we met.” She spun back around. “Why do you come over here if you don’t even like me?”
Holy Moses. If she only knew. “Believe me, I wouldn’t do a damn thing for you if I didn’t like you. I’m not that charitable.”
Her mouth popped open then she snapped it shut. She studied him from under her lashes. “Really?”
He barked out a rough laugh. “Really. I’ve never really been known for my social graces.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
Her million-dollar smile lit up the entire friggin’ room and his stomach tied itself into knots. “That’s a relief. And here I thought I was torturing the good-lookin’ guy next door with my crappy house and teenage son because he was too nice to say no.” She sagged against the counter. “Phew.”
She thought he was good lookin’? He filed that tidbit of information away for later.
“Well,” she continued, “now that I got that off my chest, what’s wrong with my stupid oven? Don’t tell me it was unplugged, too?”
And what a nice chest it was . . . “Nope. I think you just need a new heating element.”
Her delicate brow furrowed. “Is that expensive?”
“Nah. Less than a hundred bucks for sure.”
She pushed herself away from the counter. “All right. That settles it. I owe you big t
ime.”
He waved her away. A cold beer, Hungry Man meal, and Netflix awaited his return. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Of course I do. Don’t be absurd. You’ve gone way beyond the call of duty as my neighbor.” She smiled. “Dinner? On me?” She tilted her head toward the fridge. “Besides I don’t have a thing to eat and I hate to go out by myself.” She aimed her big, pleading eyes at him.
“No. Really.”
“What? You afraid to be seen with me? I thought you said you like me?” She smiled teasingly. “You backpedaling now, big boy?”
All the blood drained straight from his brain to his groin. Damn, but she was hot.
She winked. “Come on, Noble. It’s just dinner.”
Finally, against his better judgment, he nodded. “All right. That’d be good. Let me go put my tools away.”
Her voice stopped him before he stepped off the porch. “Oh, Noble?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
“I know I asked you out to dinner, but I was wonderin’ . . .?”
He raised a brow and waited.
“I’ve wanted to take a ride in your truck ever since I saw it.” She flicked a glance over his shoulder toward his driveway. “Would you mind driving?”
Wonders would never cease. Women usually hated his big, bad ass truck and his cycles. He shot her a smug grin. “Sure thing.” Sweet Cheeks was surely something else.
Noble helped Braelyn down from the truck with his hand at her tiny waist. She hopped delicately on one foot before putting her weight on the ground and peered up at him with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“Ankle still sore?”
She shrugged as he slammed the truck door and followed her toward the small Chinese restaurant. “A little bit. It’s not bad.”
He rushed ahead to get the door for her and was greeted by mouth-watering aromas. He didn’t realize how starved he was. They stood next to a tank full of orange and white koi fish while an older Asian woman collected their menus and silverware. The heavily stringed oriental music overhead reminded Noble of being at work.
He waited until Braelyn was seated, then took the chair opposite hers. She smiled up at the waitress and ordered hot tea. “Coke for me, thanks,” he said, trying to concentrate on the artwork, the fish tank, the music. Anything but the top button that was still undone on her blouse.
She studied the menu. “What’s good here?”
He didn’t pick his up. “Everything.”
She shot him a look from under her lashes. “What’re you getting?”
“I was debating between the garlic shrimp or the pepper steak with a side of chicken fried rice.”
She sweetened her tea and took a sip, murmuring appreciatively. “Covering all the meat bases, huh?”
“Something like that.”
She smiled. “So, are you very protective of your food, or you up for splitting?”
He sipped his Coke. He’d never shared a plate of food with anyone in his life. “I could share I guess.”
She grinned as he ordered all three items and a plate of egg rolls.
“So,” she said after a moment. Her fingers skimmed her ear as she tucked a stray hair back.
He tapped the table with the blunt tip of a finger. “So.” He watched her face.
“I’ve been curious about you,” she finally admitted with a tilt of her head.
“Curious about what?” He’d been curious about lots of things, too, but probably not the same things she had in mind. What she wore to bed, what her skin smelled like, if her panties were white and lacy, too. If she was wearing panties.
“Well, it’s probably just being nosy . . .”
He waited. Women could never leave it alone. She’d ask whatever was on her mind. One. He took a drink. Two. He smiled at the waitress when she brought their egg rolls. Three.
“But . . .”
He glanced at her and took one of the rolls onto his plate.
“You keep the strangest hours.”
He slathered his roll in spicy mustard and sweet and sour sauce and took a huge bite. While he chewed, he watched as she selected one for herself.
She took a tiny bite, then aimed those sexy eyes at him, waiting for him to answer.
“I work nights,” he offered as he polished off the egg roll before grabbing another.
She rolled her eyes. “I gathered,” she deadpanned.
He decided to show her a little mercy. He gave her a half smile. “I work with Mike.” He took in her puzzled frown. “Michael.”
“Oh.” She took another bite of her roll while she seemed to digest this information. He didn’t say a word. She turned those killer eyes on him. “So, you, um, do tattoos?”
He didn’t miss the way her eyes skimmed his arms. She wouldn’t see anything. “Yup.” He took a drink. Now she seemed tense. “I know I don’t look the type.” No piercings. His arms weren’t covered in ink sleeves. He shrugged. “Less is more for me.”
Their waitress interrupted and brought their steaming food. He waited until she’d served herself. Not enough to feed a church mouse if you asked him, but whatever. He shoveled several bites in before he realized silence had descended upon the table. They weren’t exactly on a date, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t cool either. He wasn’t used to being in a respectable woman’s company for any length of time.
He slowed his pace and focused on her for a moment. “Tristan tells me you’re a teacher?” Seemed like a safe place to start.
She nodded, a wistful expression coming over her face. He’d hit on something. “Yes. I teach special needs children at the middle school.”
“That sounds hard.” He thought tattoos were difficult. He couldn’t imagine dealing with handicapped kids all day.
She circled her rice around before scooping up a small bite. “It can be. But I really love my job most days. Don’t you?”
He thought about it. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Tattooing was a creative outlet for him, he wasn’t stuffed in an office somewhere, he worked flexible hours. He had the added bonus of working with his best friend—was hoping to be his partner soon. “Yeah. I guess so.”
She smiled as she forked a shrimp from his plate.
He grinned and stabbed two pieces of beef from hers.
She laughed. “Julian would’ve killed me for eating off his plate.” She froze. Her face turned white and her hand flew to cover her mouth. She looked down. “I’m sorry.”
Noble furrowed his brows. “For what?”
She glanced up at him. “I didn’t mean to say that.” She looked away. “Talk about Debbie Downer.”
He hated the tense line between her gorgeous eyes and that whatever ease they’d had between them was now gone. And what kind of chump was named Julian, anyway? The name screamed limp dick, or maybe that was just his own jealous dick talking. Because he could clearly see by the pain on her face that this Julian guy had done a number on her.
She eventually picked her fork back up and started eating again, but wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Shit.
“Is Julian Tristan’s father?” he finally asked. What the hell. Couldn’t ignore the big pink elephant in the room wearing a tutu.
Her startled eyes flew to his. She swallowed. “No.”
He hadn’t seen that answer coming. “No?”
He waited, deciding that if she wanted to talk, she would. If not, it was no skin off his nose. It wasn’t his business anyway. The men in her life weren’t any of his concern. He continued eating and was about to change the subject when she opened her mouth.
“No. Julian is just an ex who did me very wrong.” She sighed. “Tristan’s father, Rory, was my high school boyfriend. I got knocked up at the ripe old age of sixteen.
Gave birth at seventeen.”
Noble looked up from his plate, but her eyes were far away as she kept talking.
“He’s been sporadic in Tristan’s life at best.” She glanced down at her lap, tears shimmering on her lashes. “Last year he met a girl. A woman, I guess. Anyway, he knocked her up, too. But he loves her. He married her.” She looked him in the eye, anger sparking from every pore now. “But a teenager wasn’t part of the deal, so he relinquished all of his rights to my son.” She snapped her fingers as tears fell freely down her face. “Just like that. As though he never existed.”
Everything went cold deep inside of him as he studied her face. Time froze for that instant as their eyes locked. There were no words.
Then, like a living, breathing beast, anger began to seethe and roil in the pit of his belly. Small at first, then spreading like a brushfire. It worked its claws through his guts, up his stomach, into his heart and lungs, attacking his chest, closing his throat. He could scarcely breathe. He clenched his hands into fists as he wanted to hurl the table across the room.
Violence rumbled through his veins as he remembered what it was to be unwanted. Lost.
She seemed to sense his churning emotions, or perhaps she was still caught up in her own. She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. He was forced to relax his fist as her thumb stroked back and forth over the back of his knuckles.
She gave a soft smile, wiped the remnants of her tears, and pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry I dumped that on you. This dinner is to thank you, not bombard you with my man troubles.”
He swallowed. Composed himself. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry those jackasses treated you that way.”
She nodded. Really. What was there to say now? By silent agreement, they finished their meal and quickly got out of the restaurant. Too much emotion had been spilled and it was time to end the night.
Once home, he helped her out of the truck, careful not to hold her too close. She turned to him, her big, tawny eyes bright and free of tears—thank goodness. “Thank you for coming with me. I hate eating alone.”
The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) Page 10