by M. Leighton
“As long as Nash doesn’t care what I look like…”
Marissa laughs in her demeaning little way. “Olivia, I’m sure Nash won’t give you a second thought.”
I’m gonna be honest. I see red. Red, dammit! And it’s in this very moment that I decide I’m going to knock everyone’s socks off, especially Nash’s. Marissa will rue the day…
Even if I have to pull a Pretty in Pink and sew my own effing dress in seven minutes flat.
All this is taking place internally. On the outside, I smile sweetly at Marissa. “Well, in that case I’d be happy to.”
She turns around and walks away without so much as a thank you or kiss my ass. When I hear her tell Nash that I’ll go and that she’ll do her best to make sure I’m presentable, I can’t help but wonder if I could get away with stabbing her cold, cold heart with an ice pick.
For that, I might win the Nobel Peace Prize. Or, bare minimum, a call from the Vatican, thanking me.
This time, I don’t bother to hide my snicker.
CHAPTER TWELVE- Nash
As I wait for Olivia to come out of her bedroom, I can’t help but feel a little ashamed. I shouldn’t be looking forward to spending the evening with her as much as I am.
Yet I am. And there’s just no denying it.
“Nash?” I hear Olivia call. I turn toward her bedroom. I can see the door from where I’m standing in the living room. It’s cracked just enough for me to hear her, but not see her.
“Yes?”
“Promise me that if I’ll embarrass you in this dress, you’ll just go without me. It won’t hurt my feelings. I swear.”
“Olivia, it doesn’t matter what—”
“Promise me right now or I’m not coming out at all.”
She’s stubborn? Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that. But actually, I kinda like it.
I laugh. “Okay, fine. I promise that if I think you’ll embarrass me, I’ll go without you.”
The door closes and then there’s a long pause before it swings all the way open. What I see takes my breath.
Marissa is taller than Olivia. Thinner, too. But Olivia is curvier. Much curvier. And every single one is displayed to absolute perfection in the dress she’s wearing.
I think I’ve seen Marissa in it before, and she looked great. But not great like this.
The material is some kind of thin, almost sheer stuff in dark red. It flutters in the air that stirs as the door comes to a rest against the stopper with a muffled thump. Olivia stands still and lets me appraise her before she starts toward me. I clench my jaw to keep my mouth from dropping open as I watch her. The wispy cloth clings to her body as she walks, outlining her form perfectly. She might as well be nude.
Holy mother, I wish she was.
I shake off the thought, knowing I can’t go forward tonight thinking things like that.
Think with the big head, man! Think with the big head!
She glides to a stop in front of me, all grace and luscious skin. Her bare chest and shoulders glow in the low light. I want to touch her, caress her, so much so that I ball my fingers into tight fists to keep them to myself.
“You look beautiful.” My voice sounds strained, even to my own ears.
Her face falls. “It’s too tight, isn’t it? I’m wearing taller heels to make the length right, but there’s nothing I can do about the rest.” I can see that she’s genuinely distressed, which makes me want to smile, although I don’t. That would be the wrong thing to do in front of an upset woman. “Marissa is so much thinner than me,” she says, one of her hands fluttering as she talks. “And I just don’t have anything that—”
I reach out and take her spastic hand, pressing the forefinger of my free hand to her lips. “Shhh.” She stops talking immediately. Yes, I could’ve shut her up a hundred different ways without touching her, but I figure this is better than kissing her, which is what I really want to do.
Good God, how I want to kiss her!
It takes me a few seconds to focus on something other than the way her lush lips parted just a little. It would be so easy to slide my fingertip between them, to feel the heat of her mouth, the wetness of her tongue.
I’m both surprised and irritated that I feel my tuxedo pants shrink a size in the crotch. I’ll have to be extra careful with this girl. I can’t remember the last time someone so thoroughly tested my restraint.
Actually, yes I can. It was Libby Fields in her tight little dress at the Homecoming dance in the ninth grade. I thought for sure if she sat in my lap and wiggled her ass one more time, I was going to explode like Mt. Saint Helens.
I didn’t, of course. But it was close. And this girl—this tiny, curvaceous, engaging, walking, talking contradiction—is working her way up to Libby Fields’s position very, very quickly, which is really saying something since I’m twenty-five, not fourteen.
I clear my throat. “Please don’t say another word. You look beautiful. In Marissa’s wildest dreams, she could never fill out that dress the way you do. I’ll be the envy of every guy in the whole damn place.” I smile to further make my point.
Although her brow doesn’t smooth entirely, I know she’s feeling better when she grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away. I can see the slight curve of her lips where she’s holding in a smile.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Really really?”
“Really really. Just remember, tonight you’re mine.”
It worries how much I like the sound of that, the thought of that.
Her grin fully forms and she releases my wrist to salute me. “Sir, yes sir.”
I love how playful she is. Such a nice change from Marissa, who’s always…well…who’s just not.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” I say with a nod. “A woman who knows her place is beneath me. Oh, wait. That didn’t sound right,” I tease.
She laughs. “I’m beneath no man!” she replies harshly. Then, with a mischievous quirk to her mouth, she adds, “At least not without dinner and a drink first.”
“Ohhhh, so that’s how it’s gonna be! Because there’s a McDonald’s right across the street.”
I offer her my arm and she curls her fingers around the inside of my elbow. I know it’s ridiculous and juvenile, but I flex my bicep hoping she notices.
“Is that all it takes to get you to, ahem, come to attention?” she asks, suggestively sliding her eyes over me.
“I’m a twenty-five year old completing an internship at one of the most influential law firms in all of Atlanta. McDonald’s would never do it for me.” I stop at the door and open it, gesturing for her to precede me. “But now a look like the one you just gave me…”
Her cheeks turn a delicate pink and she drops her eyes shyly. It makes me want to tear that dress off her with my teeth.
“Colonel, just what is it you’re insinuating?”
“Colonel? A salute like that and all I get is a Colonel?”
“I don’t know. Have you earned enough stripes to be a General?”
We stroll leisurely to my car. “Depends on how you think someone earns their stripes.” Two little dimples pop out on either side of her mouth where she’s trying to control her smile.
“Oh, I guess the same way most guys earn their stripes,” she says, swinging the red purse attached to her wrist, trying to act nonchalant.
“Baby, if that’s your definition, I’d be a four-star General.”
She bursts into laughter. I can tell she wasn’t expecting me to say that. But I’m so glad I did. Hearing her laugh is like listening to the best kind of symphony.
I’m a little disappointed when we reach the car. I could really just walk and talk and tease her all night long.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN- Olivia
The silence in the car is only slightly tense. Well, maybe “tense” is the wrong word. For me, it feels…charged. Sexually charged. I wonder if Nash feels the same way.
Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he flirts with al
l the girls like this.
I think on that for a second. The prospect is both disappointing and aggravating. But I honestly don’t think that’s the case. It could just be my ego talking, but I don’t think he’s like that with just anybody.
At least I hope not.
For some reason, Nash seems like the faithful sort.
I’d be genuinely surprised if he’s ever cheated on Marissa.
I bet he’s an actual good guy. The kind that I desperately need in my life. The thing of it is, he’ll never be mine because he’s a good guy. By nature alone, a good guy would never cheat on his girlfriend, hence the impossibility of anything happening between Nash and me. Even if they were to break up, he’d probably be too nice a guy to hurt her like that, by dating her cousin.
As Shawna would say, that sucks major ass!
“Did you solve it?”
Nash’s deep, heavenly voice interrupts my troubled thoughts.
“Solve what?”
“World hunger.”
I know I must be looking at him like he’s sprouted wings or a third eye. He looks from the road to me a couple of times before he starts laughing.
“Yes, in case it isn’t apparent at this point, I’m completely lost.”
“So it would appear,” he teases with a grin. “I just meant that you were thinking awfully hard. Is everything okay?”
I lean my head back against the padded leather headrest and I stare at Nash’s handsome profile. With his hair combed smoothly to the side, unlike his brother’s messed up ‘do, and his summer-tan skin, he looks like James Bond in his tux. And I fell victim to his charms as if he really were the dashing MI6 agent.
He’s got me shaken and stirred.
“You belong in a tux, you know that?” He frowns over at me, but smiles. I straighten my head and face the windshield. “Ohmigod, could I be any more random?”
What has gotten into you?
He chuckles. “Actually, I think the answer to that is ‘yes’.”
“You know me well, Bond.”
He chuckles again. “Bond? As in James Bond? Where did that come from?”
I turn my head to look at him again. Immediately it gets all fuzzy with hormones.
“Um, I was, uh, I was thinking about being shaken and stirred.” He looks over at me and quirks one brow. “I mean I was thinking how well you could probably shake and stir something.”
Ohmigod, somebody stop me!
“I mean, how well you could probably shake and stir a drink. Not me.” I snort.
Ohmigod, I just snorted!
“You were?” His mouth curves into a sexy grin. With that brow raised and those lips curled up at the corners, he looks exactly like his brother. Like the twins that they are.
I just stare at him, quite embarrassingly—again—for several seconds before my wits return and I begin to chastise myself.
What the hell is wrong with you? Why don’t you just have him pull over so you can climb into his lap?
FYI, that’s the wrong kind of thing to think in an effort to settle hot-and-bothered thoughts. That visual sends me into another brief catatonic state as I fantasize about riding in the driver’s seat of Nash’s car. With Nash still in it.
After several seconds, I remember that he’d said something. “Um what?” I ask, literally shaking my head to get back some focus.
Nash frowns. “Olivia, are you all right?”
I sigh and turn to face straight ahead again.
Note to self: Do not expect coherent thought to be possible when staring at Nash. Motor skills may be impaired as well. Take necessary precautions.
I almost snicker when I picture myself putting on a helmet, knee pads and a mouth guard every time Nash enters the room.
Then I think of what I could do in the knee pads…
Gahhhhh!
I’m pretty relieved when Nash slows and guides the car into the parking lot of the art gallery. Even though there are no appreciable signs indicating the nature of the establishment, I know that’s where we’re at. I googled it before we left so I’d know a little bit of what to expect. I’d hate to fall down some unforeseen stairs or something. I need zero help making a fool of myself in front of this guy.
As the valet pulls away from the curb in the BMW, Nash offers me his arm again and leads me into the gallery. My first impression as I look around at all the artificially tanned skin, medically enhanced figures and bottle-blond heads is that I’ve stumbled into Barbie’s mansion. Only the black and white version, as everyone is in black formal attire. But that’s not the only thing gone awry in this Barbie-fied alternate universe. There are no Kens! I see only nerdy, ugly or just plain old men on most of their arms. That’s when I realize this must be a trophy wife convention instead.
I look down at my own red-clad, curvaceous physique and then back up at the mostly monochromatic room. As I’m debating running for the exit, Nash leans down to whisper at my ear.
“Is something wrong?”
“I feel like the only splash of color in an abstract painting.”
“You are the splash of color. But there’s nothing wrong with that.”
I look at him. He’s smiling. It appears to be genuine. He doesn’t seem embarrassed by my appearance. I can only hope he’s not.
Mentally, I put on my big girl panties. If he’s not bothered, there’s no reason for me to be. Right? Right. I take a deep breath. “All right then. Let’s go.”
The further we make our way into the room, the more heads turn in our direction. Most of the men seem to be appreciative of my attire. But the women? Eh…not so much.
Nash stops here and there to speak to several couples. It’s obvious he’s here on business. Besides the perfunctory compliment to the women, he mainly addresses the men. He makes polite chit chat, but there’s lots of measuring up going on. Thankfully, he seems to be getting nods of approval left and right.
Why do you even care? It’s not like his career or what his peers think should matter to you.
But it does.
Unfortunately, after about twenty minutes, the gloves start coming off. Or should I say that the claws start coming out. And it all begins with a girl that knows Marissa.
“Nash, where’s your better half?” the girl I’ve dubbed Catty Barbie asks. She looks me up and down with a thinly veiled sneer that says she thinks I might’ve eaten his better half.
“Last minute change of plans. I’ll be sure to tell her you asked about her.”
“Please do,” she says, not taking her eyes off me. “And who might this little peacock be?”
Peacock? Are you kidding me?
“This is Marissa’s cousin, Olivia.”
“It’s a pleasure, Olivia.” It’s so not a pleasure, her look says. “Interesting choice for the evening.” She nods her imperious head at me.
“His better half chose it,” I reply with a super bright smile, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me.
Her collagen filled lips turn up in a smirk. “Nice.”
Nash clears his throat. “I’ll tell Marissa to give you a call,” he says to Catty Barbie before he turns to her mate. “Spencer, I’m sure we’ll talk next week.”
Spencer nods to Nash then smiles at me. His expression says he’s sorry that his “better half” isn’t better at all, more like “toxic” instead. I smile in return, thinking I hope showers with her are worth it because I see only misery in his future.
I’m glad Nash doesn’t mention the interaction as we move on to the next couple. This pair is every bit as misfit as the previous one. This guy is so dorky looking all he really lacks are black-rimmed glasses with tape over the bridge piece and a pocket protector for his tux. And the girl? I’m pretty sure he got her from a movie set where the music sounds like bow chicka bow wow. That or she’s inflatable.
I think to myself that there’s no way these two are going to be nasty. They look so comical themselves, surely they won’t throw stones.
But they do. Big one
s.
In my head, I dub this one Bimbo Barbie. My assessment of her is only further reinforced when starts laughing at me the instant we stop in front of them.
“Oh my gawd! Somebody didn’t get the memo.”
She doesn’t even try to keep her voice down. My mouth drops open and my cheeks sting a little when, from the corner of my eye, I see several heads turn in our direction. I can almost feel judgmental eyes burning their way through my brightly colored dress.
I say nothing and make no move to acknowledge her in any way other than to smile, a smile I hope belies my growing humiliation.
Still, Nash doesn’t speak. And I’m grateful. I’d likely burst into tears.
We move on to the next couple. And the next. And the next. Each gets progressively worse.
Just when I think there isn’t a more rude person left in the room, I meet another one. I shall call her Vapid Barbie.
“Where did you get that dress?”
My stomach drops into my shoes. I want nothing more than to run and hide. After I hunt down Marissa and strangle her with her own dress, of course.
To make matters worse, I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes. I blink quickly and force my lips up into another smile. It’s when I feel Nash stiffen at my side that anger makes an appearance. It’s bad enough that they’re doing this to me, but Nash has to work with some of these people!
I don’t bother to stifle the sharp reply that comes to my tongue. “I stole it from a homeless person,” I say, straight-faced. “She was lying right beside the stripper that gave you yours.”
Her expression is blank for several seconds before my meaning sinks in. Then her face turns red and her glossy lips drop into a nice big O of shock.
For one second, I’m satisfied. Seeing her speechless makes me feel a teensy bit better. But then I remember the guy at my side. The one I wanted to make a good impression for.
Guilt hits me in the face like a bucket of ice cold water. And I feel sick.
I smile sweetly at Vapid Barbie and her clueless mate. “Pardon me while I find the ladies’ room.” To Nash I whisper, my heart in my eyes, “I’m so sorry.”