Chapter 25
25
Never in his life has he felt anything as painful, as potent, as the red hot jealousy choking him.
“Stop fidgeting.” Lux narrows her eyes as she readjusts the piping hot curling iron poised dangerously close to my neck. “Unless you want a pretty little brand for your date.”
Stilling my incessant squirming, I offer a sheepish apology. “Sorry.”
“Relax. It’ll be fun.”
I bark a nervous laugh—f un is the last word I would use to describe the upcoming night.
Nerve-wracking. Nauseating. Sweat-inducing.
Mistake .
Those feel much more accurate.
Winding a strand of my hair around the curling iron, Lux uses it to tug my gaze upwards. When I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror opposite, I sigh—I’m really not hiding my nerves very well, even with Lux’s best efforts to doll me up. No amount of careful primping can hide the utterly frightened look in my eyes.
Sitting cross-legged on Lux’s bedroom floor with her kneeling behind me, her makeup strewn haphazardly around us, I look like a little girl playing dress up with her mommy. Or like a fragile, porcelain doll, one wrong move away from shattering.
“Enough,” Lux scolds gently, reading my mind. Switching off the curler and setting it down, she runs her fingers through my freshly styled hair—a comfort I close my eyes to soak in. “You look beautiful.”
A touch of an exaggeration, but I thank her anyway. I do look pretty, I guess. Lux was careful to keep it natural—a good thing, considering I’m likely to sweat or— and —cry her hard work off before the date even begins. With her help, I spent half the day frantically picking out an outfit before we settled on one of my nicer dresses, one with a little more structure in the bodice, a little more flair in the skirt, a little more extravagance in the intricate flowers embroidered on the fabric.
It felt like the right choice at the time, but now that I’m wearing it, clambering to my feet and watching it swish high around my thighs and cling to my chest, imagining how Roberto might react when he sees me in it… Well, I’m not entirely sure how I feel.
It’s hard to feel anything other than the nerves roiling my gut.
God, what am I thinking ?
A date ? With Aldo's cousin, no less, someone who I'll inevitably see again at some point in the future, unless I take to ignoring one of my closest friends for the rest of my life? How pathetic does it make me that one little rejection sends me into such a tailspin, I lose all sense and start throwing myself at handsome, Italian men? How, how , could I possibly think for even a second that this won’t just be another case of me embarrassing myself?
And, if by some miracle, it goes well, what then? We kiss? We go on another date? God, what the hell happens if he asks about my parents, my dad? I’ll have to lie, like I always do, because who the hell is going to want me once they find out my own father doesn’t?
Who am I kidding?
I can't maintain a relationship. I can barely maintain friendships.
“This is a really bad idea,” I insist for the umpteenth time.
For the umpteenth time, Lux rebuts, “It's a great idea.”
“I'm gonna embarrass myself.”
“No, you're not.”
“He's probably hoping I'll cancel.” My teeth worry my bottom lip, my eyes suddenly going wide as another awful prospect springs to mind. “What if he doesn't show up?”
“Caroline.” Gripping my shoulders, Lux gives me a shake. “Stop it. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack.”
Flattening a hand against my chest, I grimace at the erratic thump of my heart. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was already having one.
“Come on.” Lux coasts her palms up and down my bare arms before spinning me around and steering me out of her bedroom. “You need some fresh air.”
I allow her to guide me down the hall—fresh air does sound good. What’s less good, though, is the fact that I have to go through the kitchen to get outside. A kitchen that's currently occupied by way too many people for my liking.
Telling Roberto to pick me up at the ranch was an idea born out of panic. When he called to confirm our date, I wasn’t expecting it, and I got flustered. I overthought how he would react if I told him to pick me up at Bloom. So, naturally, the next best option was here. I didn’t think it through, and I certainly didn’t think I’d have a freaking audience.
Rapturous applause and deafening whistles greet me as I slope reluctantly into the kitchen, cringing thoroughly at the racket. When I attempt to hide behind Lux, she holds me in place with a firm grip on my biceps, making sure I remain on display for everyone's viewing pleasure.
It would be one thing if it was just the Jacksons crooning over me, but no. Fate just had to intervene, had to make this experience all the worse by ensuring my big date settled on the same weekend that Jackson's friends were in town again.
With his pinky fingers hooked around the corners of his mouth, Cass Morgan whistles louder than everyone else. “Damn, Line,” he practically yells. “Ditch the Italian and let me take you out instead.”
I duck my head as I choke on a laugh, cupping my heated cheeks. His sister whacks him on the chest, but that doesn’t deter him. He simply bats her hands away and ensures I am as flushed as I can possibly get with a wink of pretty brown eyes.
A hip bumping mine draws my attention to Luna’s wide grin. “You look hot.”
One perfectly crafted curl gets tugged as Grace coos in my ear, “I love your hair.”
I turn to thank her, but a flinch-inducing squeal cuts me off. “Oh my God .” Eliza shrieks, clapping her hands together, so very sixteen in her excitement. “You look so pretty.”
When I scrunch my nose against the onslaught of compliments, Lux props her chin on my shoulder with a huff. “Tell her another dozen times and maybe she'll believe you.”
I knock my head against hers, mid-snorting at her faux-innocent puppy-dog eyes when the front door swings open and the kitchen falls eerily silent.
Hunter’s usual uniform of dirty jeans and a muscle-baring t-shirt dries up my throat like it always does, but the accompanying rush of guilt is new—as inept at dating as I am, I do know that fawning over another man counts as unsportsmanlike behavior, whether Roberto is present or not.
The man who gave me my first adult kiss makes it all the way to the refrigerator before he notices the silence—before he realizes all eyes are on him, and that perpetual frown deepens. I wonder if everyone else feels the husky snip of his voice in their freaking bones. “What?”
“Nothing,” everyone blurts in such perfect unison, I’d laugh if I wasn’t so horrified.
“Alexandra Winona Jackson,” I murmur beneath my breath when, even as normal conversation resumes, I notice every single person in the room looking decidedly suspicious as their gazes bounce between me and Hunter. “Did you tell everyone in Haven Ridge, or just everyone here?”
Lux drags her fingers across her lips before tossing an imaginary key over her shoulder. “I didn't say a word.”
I glance at Luna, who shakes her head, then at Eliza, who does the same. “Then why are they looking at us like that?”
“I don't know, honey ,” Lux drawls sarcastically. “I don't know where, honey , they could've possibly, honey , gotten the impression, honey , that maybe Hunter would react to you, honey , going on a date with another man, honey .”
“Roberto isn't another man,” I correct, frustration bubbling up in my chest. “He's just a man.”
Lux's disbelieving hum brushes my cheek, and I sigh. The breath of air that leaves me is tiny, miniscule, barely audible yet somehow it draws the attention of the big man on the other side of the room.
The moment pretty hazel eyes flit in my direction, I avert mine, scrutinizing the strappy heeled sandals on my feet and wondering how quickly they can carry me out of here. I pray for a miraculous breaking of the sound barrier as I shrug Lux off and make a break for freedom.
A hand engulfing my elbow gently tugs me to a stop right as I reach the front door. A whole freaking zoo of winged insects erupts in my stomach at the simple, warm touch. I count to three in my head, taking that many deep breaths too, before tentatively looking up.
“Hi.”
I blink at the simple greeting. “Hello.”
Still holding my arm, Hunter rakes his gaze over me slowly. His throat bobs as he swallows, the veins in that thick neck straining. “You look nice.”
The subconscious hope tingling beneath my skin evaporates. Nice; the antithesis of an actual compliment. “Thank you.”
A holler of my name saves me from any further stilted conversation. Turning, I find Eliza with her face practically smushed against the window, and her excited proclamation fills me with dread. “Your date is here!”
Hunter’s grip abruptly loosens, and I take the opportunity to wrench my arm away. Without so much as a backwards glance at the people wishing me luck, I scurry out the door and towards the car coming up the drive, despite every instinct urging me to run in the opposite direction.
Tears blur my eyes as I huddle on the porch steps less than two hours after I rushed down them. Alone and under the cover of darkness, the uncomfortable ball of frustration that’s been brewing all evening finally releases, streaming from my eyes in hot rivulets.
I don’t even know why I’m disappointed. Or surprised. The date went exactly how I anticipated it would—awfully. It was completely and utterly awful. From the moment Roberto picked me up, I was a flustered, blundering mess, and there was no one to blame but myself.
I overthought every move I made, everything I said. Half of my meal was left uneaten because of the nauseating nerves slithering around in my gut. I couldn’t carry a conversation to save my life; every question my date asked or comment he made took an extra thirty seconds to sink in, and every response I spent way too long conjuring up made me sound like a ditz. And if my mortifying fate wasn’t already set in stone, I spilled an entire pitcher of water all over the table, and I knocked over my chair when I shot to my feet in surprise.
Either Roberto was taking pity on my frazzled state when he promptly requested the bill, or he was sharing my humiliation and needed to get the hell away. Whatever the reason, the evening ended barely an hour after it started.
Everything was made all the worse by Roberto being nothing short of perfect. The ideal candidate for a girl’s first date, if that girl was anyone but me. He tried so hard to keep everything on track, to not let my inability to behave like a normal human being ruin the evening. He was kind and polite and sweet the whole time, right up until he dropped me off.
As he pulled into Serenity Ranch for the second time tonight, he shot me a subdued smile. My cousin pressured you into this, didn’t he? he said. You didn't really want to go out?
I denied it vehemently—I wasn't about to blame my dating incompetency on my friend’s good intentions. I apologized too, mind buzzing as I tried to search for an explanation that wouldn’t incite pity and add to my embarrassment, but he cut me off.
It’s okay, he’d said. I understand. I know, Caroline.
I don’t know what he knows, and I didn’t get the chance to ask. Before I knew it, he was exiting the car and jogging around to my side to help me out. I stood there frowning, trying to figure it out, as he kissed my cheeks, not entirely registering his goodbye until he was gone.
That was almost half an hour ago. I’ve spent the minutes since then slumped with my head in my hands, reliving the painful experience. With each run-through, more and more guilt sets in.
I'm a terrible person. Letting Roberto take me out in an attempt to counter the sting of Hunter's rejection and then thinking about Hunter the whole time makes me a terrible person.
Because that's exactly what I was doing.
Thinking about Hunter. Unconsciously imagining it was him sitting opposite me. Comparing every little thing between the outstandingly different men.
He'd never take me somewhere like this, I'd thought to myself as we settled at our table, eyeing the sleek restaurant and the obscenely priced entrees. He wouldn’t take me anywhere he couldn’t wear jeans. He wouldn’t take me somewhere so clean and poised and quiet, where it felt like every word we shared could be overheard by the people around us.
He wouldn’t take me anywhere, full stop, I had to keep—and keep and keep and keep—reminding myself.
I couldn’t drag my thoughts away from a man who doesn’t want me for a damn hour. And I feel wretched, just freaking wretched, knowing that I like a man who doesn’t like me.
Again .
Sniffing loudly, I scrub at my leaking eyes, grateful that everyone seems to have cleared out and, for once, the ranch is empty. For once, there’s no one around to witness my breakdown.
Or at least, that’s what I think.
“Caroline?”
Of course.
Of freaking course.
Digging the heels of my hands into my shut eyelids until stars dance across the blackness, I ignore Hunter. I hope that maybe if I pretend he isn’t here, he suddenly won’t be.
I should know by now that tactic doesn’t work.
“Line.” The porch creaks as he lowers himself down beside me. Knuckles brush the back of my head. “Look at me, please.”
To my credit, I hold out. I don’t move, a little brattish in my stubborn noncompliance, but it gives me some meager sense of control, not immediately folding to his whims. But then he whispers that freaking term of endearment, so soft and concerned, and those five little letters unravel me.
Wiping away as many tears as possible, I slowly look up. Hunter scans me quickly, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly in my hair. “You cryin’?” he grunts, his accent the thickest I’ve heard it, his face the hardest I’ve seen it.
I shake my head—the world’s worst lie.
His hand drops onto my shoulder. He moves to crouch in front of me, never once breaking eye-contact. A thumb swipes beneath my eyes. When the pad comes away wet, his disapproving huff blows my hair back from my face. “What did he do?”
I frown.
“Your date ,” he spits the word like it tastes bad in his mouth.
“He didn’t do anything.”
“Bullshit, Line.” Palms cup my bare knees. “Just tell me what he did. I’ll take care of it.”
Not even rolling my bottom lip between my teeth can stop it from wobbling. “He didn’t do anything. It was all me. I’m a terrible date.”
“He say that?”
“No.” A half laugh, half sob escapes me. “He was perfect and I—” Couldn’t stop thinking about you? Is that really how I was going to end that sentence? Swallowing those foolish words, I shake my head again. “I’m just upset because it was a bad date, okay? Nothing happened, I promise.”
Eventually, the tension holding Hunter taut leaves him with a deep breath. His grip shifts as he sits beside me again, an arm slinking around my shoulder as he tugs me into his side.
I shouldn’t, but I sink against him anyway. I turn my head so I can bury my face in the crook of his neck, and I inhale deeply, hopefully discreetly. I allow the earthy smell of hay and Hunter and a little salty sweat to calm me down until my erratic heartbeat matches his steadier one. I think every occupant of the ranch could suddenly return and I still wouldn’t move a muscle—I don’t think I’d even notice. For the first time in days, I feel… settled. Free of frazzle or fluster or the sinking gut feeling that’s been normal as of late.
I hate it, but I still don’t move.
“Fuckin’ kill me, honey,” he murmurs into my ear. “Those tears kill me.”
I don’t apologize. If anything, I silently revel in the admission— ha . Good. Let someone other than me suffer for once.
“You avoidin’ me kills me too.”
That, on the other hand, ekes a reaction.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” I lie.
I’m not sure when we separate, when a hand drifts upwards to cup my cheek, but suddenly it’s there, a thumb stroking my still-damp cheekbone as hazel eyes hold me hostage. “Liar.”
It’s too much for me. Too reminiscent of the last time we were this close. And the completely mortifying memory of being so thoroughly rejected has me pulling away. Dropping my gaze to my lap, I shrug weakly. “I didn't think you'd want to see me.”
“I always want to see you.”
Six words somehow bolster me yet sucker-punch me at the same time. Wrapping my arms tightly around my middle, my posture deflates until I'm practically caving in on myself. “You can't say stuff like that to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I'll believe you and you don't mean it.”
“I mean it,” he insists firmly, forcing my heart into my throat as he repeats himself. “I always want to see you. All the fuckin’ time. The best part of my day is seein’ you and that’s been killin’ me too the last few days, thinkin’ I fucked it all up because I'm a selfish bastard.”
“I'm…” Astounded. Speechless. Dead, possibly. “Confused.”
“Honey, I told you I can't be more than your friend.” Somehow, it stings more hearing it the second time, but the hurt doesn’t linger. Not when he adds, “Not that I don't want to be.”