6. Nina
Chapter six
Nina
“I. Hate. Him. So. Fucking. Much.”
Lindsay’s silvery laughter filled my ears. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.”
I turned on my bed to face the ceiling, scowling as I put the call on speaker and placed the phone on my chest. “How on earth did you grow up living with such a jerk? No offense, Lin, but your brother is the Devil. Like, seriously. The dude has done nothing but insult and belittle me since he moved in. And I’ve been nothing but kind and accommodating!”
“Have you?” Lindsay hummed. Her question didn’t even sound like a question. More like she was only half-listening.
But I had too much inside me I needed to let out, so I kept talking. “Like the other day, he informed me—very rudely, I might add—that he was setting up a schedule for the house and I absolutely had to follow it. Can you believe that? Are we in the military? Who the fuck makes a schedule for their roommate?”
Lindsay chuckled. “Knox.”
I scowled, even though she couldn’t see me. “It’s not funny. I’m losing my mind here. When is he moving out?”
There was a ruffle in the background and a female voice that sounded oddly familiar, which was highly unlikely because I didn’t know anyone in Boston.
Then I heard Lin reply to the voice before, “Sorry. DoorDash. Right, so where were we? Yes. Knox. He’s not moving out anytime soon, Neens. You know he already covered the next two months' rent.”
My scowl deepened. “I’ll pay him back,” I said without thinking.
Lindsay made a scratchy sound at the back of her throat. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s a brilliant idea.”
“Why not?”
Because that would be me proving him right.
It hit me harder than expected. Cursing, I flipped on my stomach, dangling my legs in the air. “Lindsay?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“I hate your brother.”
Lindsay burst into laughter.
“I hate you too,” I added sourly.
“I’m sorry,” Lindsay wheezed, “but what did you expect? You’re both new to living with someone of the opposite gender as adults. Did you think finding a dynamic would be that easy?”
She was right, even if I was hesitant to admit it.
I mean, he was thirty-two, not exactly what I would describe as youthful. Surely, there had to be some women that had come and gone. For all his narcissism, he didn’t strike me as a troglodyte. In fact, it wasn’t hard to imagine him hazy-eyed and aroused, sinking into some girl’s—
Nina Burton, your mother did not raise you to be a fool.
Clearing those intrusive thoughts, I dragged my attention back to Lin, unable to stop myself from asking. “You’re saying he’s never had a woman in his space that wasn’t you or your mom?”
“Not that I know of. Knox is very particular about these kinds of things. He’s sort of a control freak, as I’m sure you’ve seen.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me about it.” But my curiosity was not satisfied. “He’s never had girlfriends then? Somehow, I doubt that.”
Lindsay scoffed. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“I’d rather stab my eye with a hot needle a hundred times.”
“Then why do you seem so interested in his love life?”
I snorted a little too loudly. “Knox and love in the same sentence? Must be an alternate universe. Your fucked up brother would not know what love is if it walked up to him and gave him a wedgie. I’m not interested in his nonexistent love life. He doesn’t deserve a second of my attention.”
“Wow. I’ve never heard you speak so strongly about a man before. You must really hate him.”
I frowned at my phone. “Of course I do. Why do you say that like it’s a lie?”
Lindsay laughed softly. “How’s your new painting coming along? Finally found a buyer?”
I didn’t miss the subtle change of topic, but at least we weren’t talking about that asshole anymore. “Not yet. It’s not even finished.” I turned to look at the canvas standing in a corner of my room. I refused to touch Lindsay’s room. She’d be back. One day. Hopefully—I didn't have anywhere else to paint, so I settled for creating a small area in my room for my work.
The painting was abstract and until now, I couldn’t tell what exactly I was trying to depict. The black brushstrokes were all haphazard and somehow, I’d blended them with fuchsia. It looked pretty and chaotic, but the message was not completely clear yet.
At first, I thought I wanted to draw a woman. But as things progressed, the vision changed. To what, though, I did not know. If there was one thing I’d learned from years of working on a canvas, it’s that it was better to not paint at all than to rush the process.
Art was fluid.
“If you asked me—”
“I didn’t.” I cut in, knowing where this was going.
“I’d tell you that you’re only a phone call away from making good money off your paintings,” she still finished. “All you have to do is—”
“I’m not calling my parents for help, Lindsay. We’ve been through this.”
She sighed. “Yes, but I still feel like you’re going about this the wrong way. They’re your parents. They’re obligated to do anything they can to help you. Why do you always reject them?”
This conversation was exhausting no matter what time of day we were having it. “Well, first off, my dad doesn’t like the fact that I paint. You really think he’s happy telling his rich friends his daughter is an artist? He already thinks it’s beneath me.”
“Which is perfectly normal. He’s a couple of millions away from being a billionaire. I think he’s allowed to be arrogant.”
I groaned, covering my face with a hand. “Can we change the subject? Please?”
Lindsay huffed. “Fine. But I’m just saying. Many of us would kill to have rich parents with the ability to snap a finger and make life good. At some point, you're going to have to stop rejecting them.”
“I don’t reject them,” I mumbled. “They send me a ridiculous amount of money every month and I spend it.”
“Barely,” Lindsay countered. “How much do you have in your bank account, Nina?”
I stopped for a second to think about it. My parents had credited my account every month from the day I turned eighteen. I’d stopped the excessive spending when I was about twenty-one, so give or take… a lot. At least the last time I bothered to check.
“The point is,” Lindsay continued when I took too long to answer. “Life is tough and personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with accepting help. Take Knox, for example. He recently lost a huge project that would’ve helped save his company, and now it looks like he might have to pack up shop if he doesn’t get a breakthrough soon. If he had rich parents, maybe things would be different.”
I inhaled sharply. “I didn’t know that.”
Lindsay gave another exhale, and I could imagine her biting her lower lip. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Listen, I know you have no interest in finance and that’s great for you. But it’s stupid to live like you don’t have all these resources. Life doesn’t favor the poor, my dear. Take it from me.” Then her voice changed. “Gotta go, Neens. Let’s talk later. And try not to rip each other’s heads off. Love you!”
And then she was gone.
Long after the call ended, I lay in bed on my stomach, blankly staring at the painting as my mind wandered. It was easy for me to say that I didn’t want my parents' help because I would always have it. If I went to them now and asked that they help me sell my paintings, I would be out of pieces and a couple thousand bucks richer by nighttime, whether or not they liked it. Because my parents truly loved me.
And while I tried not to compare myself with others, there had been times when I’d wondered if my life would be different if my parents weren’t rich. Would I have had genuine friendships with those kids in high school? Would everyone who approached me do so without hidden intentions? Or would things have been the same, regardless?
I doubted that. I’d have a better chance of finding a needle in a haystack than rich people had finding true friends.
Nevertheless, I had a life that many people envied. I thought about what Lindsay said about Knox and his company. I knew he owned a PR agency he’d founded about four years ago, and I knew that was how he provided for his mom as well as how he paid Lindsay’s college tuition. But I didn’t know he’d hit a rough patch. Was that why he was such a sourpuss? Maybe not. Who knew? The man was a closed book.
Still, I felt bad even though I knew I shouldn’t.
If Knox wasn’t such a dick, I’d ask him if he was okay. Though I was kinda sure he wouldn’t appreciate me all up in his business. He might even give Lindsay hell for telling me.
At the same time, it didn’t excuse his rudeness and absolute incivility toward me. I wasn’t the cause of his problems, and I didn’t deserve to be treated like I was. If anything, he should apologize to me.
But I wasn’t so dense that I didn’t know that my behavior toward him wasn’t the best either. I might not have started this feud between us, but I did nothing to stop it either. If it were me in his shoes, I would probably lash out at the nearest person out of frustration alone.
I couldn’t believe I was thinking this, but maybe I should have tried to be nicer. I might never be in his position, but I could sympathize with his plight. I’d spent enough time around the Colemans to know that the weight of responsibility on Knox’s shoulders was enormous. A role he’d stepped into the second his father died.
I actually admired him. In some ways. He’d only been twenty-three when he lost his father and had to step up as the man of the house. Lindsay always said that if Knox hadn’t chosen to be the breadwinner when he did, she didn’t know what would’ve happened to their family.
The downside was that he’d grown up too fast because of it. Life hit him harder than Lindsay, who was still young at the time—only fourteen. She told me once that Knox had been her best friend before the accident. Even though he’d been away at college for a few years, he usually came home to spend time with her. But when everything happened, he retreated into himself, and they slowly drifted apart until she couldn’t recognize him anymore.
It was why I’d tolerated the idea of Knox staying here. I didn’t imagine that Lindsay would leave so soon, and I’d hoped she would finally find the time to rekindle her relationship with her brother like she’d always wanted.
Well, now that I knew what was making him be such a dick to me, I was a little more understanding. See? I could be reasonable.
Just don’t be a dick to me without reason, I guess.
Did it make sense that my heart ached for him? If there was one thing I knew about Knox, it was that he was hardworking. The thought of his company packing up because they couldn’t get a breakthrough was heart wrenching. I might not particularly like the dude, but it didn’t mean I wanted him to fail.
I got the idea of doing something nice for Knox and decided to cook him dinner. It was Monday, so he was out, but it was almost 8:00 p.m. He’ll be back soon.
So, I threw on my cute pink apron again and got to work. Of course, it was going to be pasta. Again. I couldn’t make anything else that would likely be edible. I’d have to spice up my menu. I was getting tired of eating fucking pasta all the time.
I tried to hurry while ensuring that I didn’t make a mess. This was supposed to be a friendly gesture, not a recipe for another verbal sparring session between us. I wiped the counter and stove as I cooked, and made sure the plates were washed and stored away.
After adding a little more salt to the sauce because it didn’t taste quite right, I let it simmer a bit longer, then added parsley to give it a nice color before turning the stove off. Quite pleased with myself, I grabbed a plate and made a serving, twisting the creamy pasta around the tongs the way they did at those fancy restaurants before gently placing it in the middle of the plate.
A little more parsley and… et voila!
I didn’t have time to rejoice at my culinary greatness because the lock twisted a second later, and the door opened. Knox walked in, holding a small suitcase and looking quite dapper in a crisp white shirt and black slacks. His hair tumbled down in stubborn locks just above his shoulders, and my breath hitched at how breathtaking he was. I’d never seen such beautiful hair on a man. Almost brown with dirty blond strands and darker roots.
I stood, transfixed, as he ran his hand through the silky locks then locked the door behind him. Huffing at the tightening in my abdomen, I placed the plate atop the counter and pushed it forward, setting a fork next to it.
Knox turned, then paused when he saw me. I watched the internal battle in his eyes as he seemed to try to decide if he was going to ignore me, or talk to me. I also saw tiredness in the form of bags under his eyes. Was he even sleeping? He looked so stressed.
Five seconds later, it was clear that I would have to be the one to speak.
Plastering a smile on my face, I waved awkwardly. “Hi. How was work?”
Knox’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly, as if that was the last thing he ever expected me to ask him.
But he nodded, slowly. “The same as always, I guess.”
I nodded back because what did I say to that? “I made you dinner.” I gestured to the plate on the counter.
His gaze dropped for a moment as he eyed the pasta, before jumping back to me, full of confusion. “Why?”
I forced the smile on my face to sit still. “Because I figured you’d be stressed from working all day and probably have had nothing to eat.”
His confusion only got worse. “Why?”
I lost the battle, my pained smile dropping into a scowling. “Stop asking stupid questions and just accept that I did something nice for you.”
I swear, he grinned. It was small but I swear that for a second, I saw the corner of his lips curl upward. Or did I imagine it?
When Knox approached me, I couldn’t keep the surprise from showing on my face. I’d honestly expected him to turn me down.
I watched in awe as he dropped his suitcase on the floor, then took the stool directly opposite me, eyeing the pasta like he was trying to figure out if it was a bomb. I didn’t know what he was worried about. It looked nice to me.
His head rose to look at me, face suddenly blank. “Thank you.”
I nodded again, though my heart was jumping inside my chest. That was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said to me. It didn’t even matter that he’d said it in such an unfeeling tone. Something inside me warmed.
Knox grabbed the fork, as if uncertain of the choices that brought him to this point, heaved in a breath, and then scooped some pasta and lifted it to his mouth.
I didn’t breathe as I watched him chew. Other than Lindsay, no one else had tasted anything I’d cooked before. And she dutifully played the role of best friend every single time, complimenting my food when all she wanted to do was spit it out and rinse her mouth. I always appreciated her for not laughing at me, especially when she offered to teach me how to make basic meals and taste-tested each plate.
With Knox, however, I’d put in more effort. I realized I wanted to impress him, though for what reason, I didn’t know. I just knew that I wanted him to like my food.
His jaw worked as his eyes locked onto mine. My heart was hammering so loudly that I could hear it in my ears.
When the silence stretched in for much longer than I could take, I raised an eyebrow at him, biting my lower lip. “Well?”
“Well, what?” He stuffed his mouth with another forkful.
That means it’s good, right? Knox didn’t strike me as considerate as his sister. If it was bad, he’d be laughing right now.
“How is it? Do you like it?” I inquired impatiently.
He shrugged, taking another forkful. “It’s edible.”
Okay. I already knew that. I needed more. And why was he being so casual about it?
“Yes, but is it good?” I pressed.
It sounded like I was fishing for compliments, but I didn’t care. I put my heart into cooking this meal, and I wanted him to say something other than “ It’s edible ,” for fuck’s sake.
But Knox just kept chewing, seemingly oblivious to my agitation.
My nostrils flared. I could feel the anger coming up. “Knox—”
“Didn’t you say it’s the thought that counts?”
I did say that. It wasn’t a lie, though. It just wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Reminding myself that I’d done this to be nice to him and not to feel good about myself, I let it go. I didn’t think a good deed would automatically make him a better person, but still, I’d expected a little more gratitude.
He ate in silence for a while and sometimes his eyes would drift off as he stared into the distance while I wondered what he was thinking about. I didn’t dare ask, though, no matter how much I yearned to know. But I knew it must have had to do with his work.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he suddenly asked.
I blinked down at Knox. “What?”
He gestured to his almost empty plate. “You’re not eating.”
“Oh.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not hungry.”
Both perfectly arched brows shot up. “You cooked for just me?
Well, when he said it like that, it sounded weird.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
For a second, he looked like he didn’t know what to say. An awkward tension filled the space between us as we held each other’s gazes. I bit down on my lower lip, my breath hitching when his sapphire eyes dropped to it. They darkened just a bit, filling my head with images of lips on lips, tongues clashing.
I shouldn’t be thinking of such things about Knox. It made me recall last week, when I’d worn some of my sluttiest clothes and paraded around him with my breasts all but hanging out. Obviously, I hadn’t been in my right mind, or I wouldn’t have made such a pathetic move. But I could’ve sworn that I got to him. His body language and general uneasiness were clear.
And when he grabbed me during our little spat in front of the thermostat, my body had never felt so hot.
Much like now.
Knox was staring at me through dark, hazy eyes, and I found myself clenching my pussy, seeking some sort of friction to ease the throbbing in my clit. Something was happening between us. Something decadent and strange, yet tantalizing.
And if I wasn’t wrong, Knox felt it, too.
Was he going to say something? Would he address the elephant in the room? Or was he going to—
The stool scratched against the ground as Knox jumped to his feet, chest heaving, eyes jumping frantically from me to the plate. “Thank you for the food.”
He quickly reached down and grabbed his suitcase, and I swear he sped across the room like “The Flash,” and I didn’t even get the chance to say goodnight.