Mr. Nice Guy (Pierce Brothers Book 1)

by Belinda Williams

  Tom nodded at Chelsea. ‘I’m here for moral support. I’m not considering a career change at this stage. And you?’

  She smiled at him and barely glanced at Chelsea. The sort of smile you give someone when you know them well. ‘I’m thinking of moving up here to do this course, actually.’

  ‘Good on you. The university has a good reputation, and Newcastle is a great place to live. Just don’t tell anyone as the locals don’t like the secret getting out. They don’t want too many Sydneysiders here.’

  Vanessa laughed, like what he’d said was hilarious. Chelsea tried not to roll her eyes.

  Vanessa’s gaze flicked to Chelsea, then back to Tom. ‘Have you been in touch with Gemma lately?’ she asked.

  Chelsea couldn’t be sure, but she swore she noticed Tom’s jaw tighten.

  ‘No. Why would I?’

  Vanessa shrugged. ‘No reason. I just thought you might have heard the news, that’s all.’

  Chelsea couldn’t help herself any longer. ‘And what news would that be?’ She held out her hand. ‘Hi. I’m Chelsea.’

  ‘Oh, hi. I’m so sorry. I’m being rude, aren’t I? I’m just so shocked to find Tom here.’ Vanessa accepted Chelsea’s hand, and they shook briefly.

  Vanessa looked between them again and she bit her lip. ‘Sorry, I’ve just realised how awkward this might be if you’re, if you are . . .’

  ‘Together?’ Tom finished for her.

  Vanessa nodded, darting another glance at Chelsea like she perhaps should have paid her more attention initially. ‘Ah, yes. You know what? It’s not important. I’m sure if Gemma wants to tell you, she’ll be in touch.’

  ‘It’s probably easier if you just tell Tom while you’re here,’ Chelsea suggested. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not fazed.’

  Vanessa nodded again, her easy familiarity with Tom now gone. ‘Oh, sure. OK. Um, well, so, Gemma is getting married next month. She’s also expecting.’

  ‘That’s great news,’ Tom said, but his voice was unusually flat.

  Vanessa shot him a smile and glanced at Chelsea again. ‘It is, isn’t it? After everything she’s been through, she wasn’t sure she could even get pregnant.’

  Tom nodded, then put an arm around Chelsea. Chelsea managed not to jump at the contact.

  ‘We better get going,’ Tom told Vanessa.

  ‘Oh, of course. Don’t let me keep you. It was nice to meet you, Chelsea.’

  ‘You too,’ Chelsea replied politely.

  ‘Hey, if we both end up doing this course, I might even see you around.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Chelsea said vaguely.

  Tom started to lead Chelsea away, and she didn’t resist. The sooner they left this awkwardness behind, the better.

  ‘Oh, hey, Tom? Chelsea?’ Vanessa called out.

  ‘Yeah?’ Tom half-turned.

  ‘So, you didn’t mention whether you were married now or anything like that?’

  God, the nerve of this woman. She was obviously fishing for information about Tom, and while Chelsea knew very little about Tom’s ex, Gemma, it was obvious Vanessa was good friends with her.

  Tom squeezed Chelsea’s shoulder. ‘Chelsea and I are living together.’

  With that, he turned them both in the opposite direction and they walked away. Chelsea let him guide her in a stunned silence, fighting hard to keep her mouth shut until it was safe to talk.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chelsea remained silent until they reached the car park, by which time Tom was furious with himself. He shouldn’t have lied to Vanessa, much less pulled Chelsea into it. He’d just been so surprised to see Vanessa there, and then when she’d started asking questions . . .

  ‘So, ah, apparently our arrangement is now public,’ Chelsea joked.

  Tom caught her hand to stop her walking and squeezed it before dropping it.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he told her. ‘I just . . .’

  ‘Wanted her to think you were living happily ever after without Gemma in your life?’ Chelsea guessed accurately.

  ‘Something like that. Although, with a bit of distance, I can now say I wasn’t thinking clearly. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  Chelsea shrugged. ‘It’s OK. It happens to all of us. Quite frequently to me, as it turns out.’

  Tom managed a weak smile. ‘I’m sorry to imply that we were—are—in a relationship.’

  ‘We are,’ Chelsea said simply. ‘Just not the sort of relationship she thinks we’re having.’

  ‘You’re not bothered by that?’

  Chelsea shook her head, her blonde hair fanning around her shoulders in the fading light. ‘No. Why would I be? I don’t even know her. And if it helps you get back at your old girlfriend, then I’m happy to help.’

  ‘Fiancée,’ he corrected automatically. ‘And I don’t want to get back at her. I . . .’

  He wasn’t sure what he wanted in regard to his previous partner. Closure? To forget about her completely? Those exact questions had been going around in his mind for close to three years now, and he still didn’t have a good answer.

  ‘You were engaged?’ Chelsea asked. ‘How did I miss that?’

  ‘Bad boy number eight hundred and five, probably,’ Tom said without thinking.

  ‘Hey.’ She shoved him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I know my taste in men leaves a lot to be desired, but I’m not one of those women who ignores everyone else when she’s in love.’

  Tom cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘In love?’

  ‘Fine. Lust. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I still don’t know how I missed that you were engaged. I mean, I know we weren’t really in touch then, but we were both still living in Sydney. My brother saw you regularly, but he never mentioned it. At least, I don’t think he did.’

  ‘We kept it low-key. It was easy to miss,’ Tom told her.

  Chelsea frowned. ‘It’s an engagement. Surely, on the scale of importance, it’s up there.’

  Tom sighed, undecided how much to tell her. They’d lived together for two years, and Chelsea still didn’t know. Until now, he’d preferred to keep it that way. That had been the entire purpose of moving to Newcastle. Taking a new job and relocating meant that he didn’t have to endure the pitying stares of friends and family on a regular basis. The last thing he wanted was for Chelsea to look at him the same way.

  Chelsea reached out and touched his arm. ‘Hey, you know what? It’s none of my business. If it had been something you wanted to share with me, you would have told me by now. Don’t worry about it.’

  Tom stared at her, shocked into silence.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that . . .’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘It’s hard to explain without explaining, if that makes sense. And then if I explain it to you . . .’

  ‘I’ll know all the gory details. Got it. Subject closed. Just because I regularly share the pathetic details of my sad love life doesn’t mean you have to. Besides, I’m sure the reasons for your break-up are way more adult than some loser borrowing money from me, or proposing a threesome, or because I’d failed to notice the nice professor was actually old and creepy. I’ll spare you the pain.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said again.

  ‘No worries. Now, can we go find something to eat? I’m starving.’

  In the end, Chelsea and Tom’s sixth date turned out to be an enjoyable dinner with no choking incidents. They drove around and parked near Darby Street in town—considered one of the city’s trendy café and restaurant hubs—and enjoyed Japanese food. Nothing awkward. Just a couple of friends out having a good time.

  Except Chelsea couldn’t help feeling that Tom wasn’t quite himself after seeing Vanessa. He wasn’t as quick with his jokes or his smiles, and he seemed distant. Like when she’d gone to the bathroom and found him staring out the window frowning on her return.

  Chelsea had never met Gemma, but she was pretty sure she didn’t like
her. If it meant that Tom developed a resting frowning face whenever she was on his mind, then Chelsea definitely didn’t like the woman. But Chelsea chose to keep her mouth shut.

  She’d meant what she’d said earlier. It was up to Tom to tell her his business, and if he didn’t want to, that was totally fine. Which it was. Except that now, of course, Chelsea was burning with curiosity.

  After they arrived home, Tom told her he needed an early night as he had another early start in the morning. Chelsea had gone to her room to read a book. Instead, she pretended to read while vacillating between wondering if Gemma was a really horrible person and hoping she wasn’t. The idea of Tom being hurt wasn’t something Chelsea enjoyed thinking about.

  Not your business, she told herself for the fifteenth time that night. She had better things to worry about, like what to wear tomorrow evening.

  Before he’d gone to his room, Tom had reminded her that tomorrow was the last official day of their arrangement. He said he had something planned, and for her to be ready at six o’clock wearing nice but comfortable clothing with practical shoes.

  Chelsea mused over this almost as much as the Gemma incident. What on earth did Tom have planned if he wanted her to look nice and be wearing practical shoes? That didn’t sound very romantic to her.

  ‘It’s not supposed to be romantic,’ she muttered to herself as she surveyed the items in her wardrobe.

  There was no way she was leaving the clothing decision-making process until tomorrow night. She was likely to be running late and then do something stupid like wear practical clothes and inappropriate shoes.

  Chelsea settled on her favourite pair of Guess jeans and a vibrant blue short-sleeved top that was high-necked but showed off her arms. No point showing off her cleavage because it was Tom, and she didn’t know what they’d be doing. Then she pulled out her black boots. They had a small heel but were so well-worn and loved that they were super comfortable.

  There. Tomorrow she could arrive home and be ready in fifteen minutes. Ready for what, she had no idea. But she’d be ready.

  Tom spent the entire next day distracted about the evening to come, hoping that what he’d planned wasn’t too over-the-top. Given it was the last night of their arrangement, he planned to go out with a bang. The week leading up to this point hadn’t exactly been wow factor stuff. Sure, it had all been “nice”, and the sort of things that demonstrated what a normal, healthy relationship might look like. However, normal, healthy relationships also required some energy. Some spark. And the occasional impulsive gesture that told the other person they were your favourite person in the entire world.

  Not a hard thing to fake when it came to Chelsea.

  ‘Stop being a creep,’ he murmured to himself.

  He was waiting in the downstairs basement, warming the engine of his car for the trip to come that, as yet, she had absolutely no idea about.

  The door opened, and Chelsea hopped in. ‘Right. I’m good to go.’

  Tom flicked the stereo on, and they set off.

  ‘Oh, I love this band so much,’ Chelsea gushed.

  “That band” was an up-and-coming indie rock band from the UK.

  Tom’s lips quirked, and he tried not to act self-satisfied. ‘Yeah, you know, I kind of got that after having lived with you this long.’

  Chelsea winced. ‘Sorry. I never asked if you liked them or not. You’re probably sick of listening to them by now.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ He gestured to the back seat. ‘Can you grab the bag behind us for me?’

  Chelsea twisted and retrieved the backpack as requested. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Nothing yet. But if you look in the main part of the pack, there are some snacks and drinks if you’re hungry or thirsty. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Then you might want to look in the envelope in the front pocket of the bag.’

  ‘OK.’ Chelsea undid the zip and pulled out an unmarked envelope.

  At this point she wouldn’t know what a long drive and the envelope had in common, but she was about to find out.

  ‘Go on. Open it,’ Tom instructed.

  Tom was careful to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t want to suggest that whatever was inside the envelope was particularly remarkable, but obviously it had to be something interesting, otherwise why go to this trouble?

  Chelsea used her finger to undo the top of the envelope and then pulled out two tickets. Her eyes grew wide and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  Then she screamed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chelsea hadn’t meant to scream that loudly, but she couldn’t help it.

  Tom had managed to get tickets to see her favourite band in Sydney tonight. It was a miracle.

  It was also a miracle that the car had stayed on the road after her ear-piercing squeal. Fortunately, Tom’s paramedic training had kicked in, and after a slight involuntary swerve within their lane, he had things under control.

  Chelsea then proceeded to repeat herself for the rest of the trip to Sydney, gushing about how amazing it was that he’d been able to get tickets. Apparently someone at his work hadn’t been able to go at the last minute and he’d snapped them up. The band she loved was popular, but not popular enough to do a show in a smaller city like Newcastle. Chelsea had tried to buy tickets to the Sydney show when they went on sale, but they’d sold out too quickly. She may or may not have cried after she missed out, although she didn’t tell Tom that.

  The two-hour trip to Sydney felt like it took hardly any time at all, and the rest of the night passed in a blur of excitement, music and lights. Tom even appeared to enjoy himself, though maybe her smile was catching, because it had been glued to her face the entire night.

  After the show was over, Chelsea switched between thanking Tom endlessly and raving about how good the concert had been on the walk back to the car. In typical fashion, Tom took her exuberance in his stride and let her talk while they exited the car park. Chelsea was so busy talking that she didn’t notice they were pulling up in front of a hotel a few minutes later until he’d stopped the car.

  ‘Um, why are we here?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re not driving home tonight. I figured rather than get home at two or three in the morning, we could spend the night in Sydney. I cleared it with your boss. My treat.’

  Not for the first time that night, she gaped at him. ‘You tamed the Dragon Lady? How on earth did you convince her to go along with you? This all sounds amazing, but I will totally pay you back. Just let me know how much.’

  ‘A Nice Guy doesn’t reveal his secrets, but Barb was totally fine, don’t worry. And Chels, don’t worry about the money. Consider it my Mr. Nice Guy finale moment.’

  For a brief second, Chelsea registered the fact that, as of tonight, their arrangement had come to an end. She felt a stab of something she couldn’t identify. Then gratitude kicked in again.

  ‘Well, thank you. Again. I won’t stop mentioning any of this for about, oh, let me see, the next few years, I think.’

  Tom laughed. ‘Seriously, it’s all good. I’m glad you had a fun night.’

  ‘Fun? Fun? I had an amazing night, Tom. Truly. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed.’

  Chelsea giggled. ‘OK, so maybe I’ll stop mentioning it eventually, or I might become annoying.’

  ‘You’re never annoying, Chelsea.’

  There it was. Her full name. He said it so rarely that, when he did, something about it always stopped her in her tracks. She couldn’t put her finger on why exactly. Maybe it was the gentle tone. It almost sounded like it held affection, but it was more likely amusement on his part and she was misreading it. It had been a big night, and her imagination was definitely running away with her.

  But this time she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself and demand he kiss her or suggest that he like her or anything stupid like that. Instead, Chelsea opted for a joke.

  ‘
I’m obviously not trying hard enough to annoy you, then.’

  That earned her another smile.

  ‘Come on,’ Tom said. ‘I’ll just grab the bags.’

  ‘Oh my God, I didn’t pack a bag!’

  ‘I did, don’t worry.’

  Chelsea stared after him as he got out of the car and then scrambled to open the door. She followed him to where he was standing with the boot open.

  ‘Far be it from me to criticise any aspect of this evening, but if you packed a bag for me, surely that means you went through my things?’

  Chelsea wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. It wasn’t like Tom was creepy in any way, shape or form. It just felt weird to know that he’d done something so intimate for her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I basically just grabbed your gym bag, which has your toiletries bag in it, then your favourite T-shirt that you wear to bed. It means you’ll have to wear activewear home, but you’ll live.’

  ‘Um, underwear?’ she asked, feeling awkward about pointing it out, but worried she wouldn’t have a fresh pair.

  ‘I grabbed some clean ones from the washing basket. You know that basket you never put away that always has an endless supply of clean clothes?’ he teased.

  His response relieved her. The image of Tom standing by her underwear drawer wasn’t something she had to worry about.

  ‘Thank you. You’ve thought of everything.’

  Tom shut the boot, and they walked into the foyer of the hotel together. It was pleasant and inviting. Nothing too luxurious, which Chelsea was happy about, or she would have felt bad about Tom paying her share. The concert had been held in the Olympic Park precinct where the year two thousand games had occurred, and it was serviced by several reputable hotels, this being one of them.

  She followed Tom to the front desk and waited while he spoke to the staff member. She noticed there was a nice restaurant at the other end of the foyer and hoped that maybe she could shout Tom breakfast as a “thank you”. It wasn’t until she heard him say, ‘No, you don’t seem to understand’, that she realised she’d missed most of the conversation so far.