Chapter 12 – Skylar
SKYLAR
Ireally need a haircut, but honestly, who has time for that?
I shift my part around, only to settle on putting it up into a high ponytail.
I’m nervous, which is ridiculous. I’m only looking at apartments, not being auctioned off to the highest bidder and forced into an arranged marriage.
Though that’s pretty hot and sexy in my books, so maybe…
argh! I’m a mess. Looking doesn’t have to equal buying, and I might find something that I love.
I don’t know why I’m freaking out. Something just feels off today.
My mom was supposed to join me this morning, but she ended up driving out to my grandparents’ compound along with all of my uncles to talk Fritz family business.
She asked that I postpone this for another day or do it tomorrow on Sunday, but I just want to get the ball rolling and don’t want to put it off.
Aston has been cold and keeping his distance from me since I made lasagna and hung out with Zoey a couple of nights ago. Well, since the almost kiss. And right on cue, my stomach flutters. It happens every damn time I think about it or replay it in my head.
I appreciate him being distant after that, and it’s been fine.
What I want actually, and what I tried to do for the full week we were living together before that, but instead of making things easier, it’s felt more strained.
Maybe that’s just me since I seem to be the only one feeling the tension, but it’s another reason to go sooner rather than later.
I smear on a coat of pink lipstick and ignore the churning of my stomach as the smell of coffee, bacon, and French toast wafts its way up to my room. My stomach is off this morning, like the rest of me, and I know it’s just those nerves, but even the idea of coffee is off-putting.
The doorbell rings and I jump. Shit. How did it get this late?
I run and open my door to ask Aston to get the door, but I hear the heavy stomps of his feet, so I take the extra second and shove a few last-minute items into my large, gray leather purse, slip into my Monroe leather boots, and fly out the door to the stairs when I hear Aston talking with my realtor.
“I’m here for Skylar Davenport,” he says. “I’m Elliot Abernathy.”
“Good for you. Is she expecting you?”
“Yes. Of course she is.”
“I doubt that. She hasn’t come down for coffee yet, and she never misses coffee.”
“Um. Well. I don’t know what to say to that other than she’s expecting me.”
“I’m coming,” I call out as I hit the bottom step and walk over to the door.
Aston turns, and his eyes widen when he sees me before they drag up and down my body.
By the time they reach my face, they’ve narrowed, and his features have hardened and turned almost accusatory.
I blow past him and greet Elliot. “Hi. Thanks for coming to pick me up. It’s lovely to see you. ”
“You too.” He glances over at Aston on my right, who’s only wearing a white T-shirt and flannel pants with an old-school Rebels hat on his head, his hair annoyingly sexy as it tickles out from the bottom of it.
Though I think that last observation is only mine.
His gaze snaps back to mine. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes. Let me grab my coat.”
“She’ll be right with you.” Aston slams the door in Elliot’s face, and I turn on him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Who is that guy?” he hisses, aware that Zoey is in the next room.
I cross my arms, not liking his tone. “That’s none of your business.” I mean, I could tell him it’s my realtor, but I shouldn’t have to explain myself to him, and I’m not about to start now.
“It is when you bring strange men to the house where my daughter lives. That was one of our rules, remember?”
My eyes flash, but I settle for a small, dismissive laugh instead. “First of all, he’s not a strange man. Second, I didn’t bring him to the house. He’s picking me up. And third, I don’t owe you explanations about my personal life.”
Without waiting for him to reply, I push past him toward the closet, set my purse on the floor, and pull out a camel-colored cashmere coat and slip my hands through the sleeves.
“So, you’re dating again?” he asks, almost incredulous but with a very distinct edge I don’t like the sound of.
I pause, my back to him as I button my coat. “Would it matter if I were?”
“Yes. No. It’s just… it’s been, what, only seven weeks since Josh? That’s a bit fast, don’t you think?”
I whirl around, my eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare bring Josh or my past relationship into this. You don’t know anything about that, and you certainly have no right.”
“I’m just concerned—”
“Oh?” I snort a laugh. “Is that what you are?”
“Yes,” he barks defiantly. “What else would I be? I don’t like you bringing strange men to our house, and I don’t want to see you make yet another mistake. Or is this simply some fun you’re trying to have? You know, see how many guys it takes to get you to the finish line for once.”
I gasp, my jaw dropping. “You son of a—” I cut myself off and settle for a glare. “You have no right to judge me or the things I do. You’re not my brother or my boyfriend.”
“Thank god for that.”
I point at him. “I seriously don’t like you.”
He chuckles. “The feeling’s mutual, Little Swan.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? We both know you like it.” He smirks. Bastard.
“You’re an ass, and I’m late for Elliot. Move!” I practically shove him out of the way of the door.
He grabs my arm. “Don’t go out with him.”
I jerk away from him. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t?”
He stares down at me, his jaw locked tight. That’s what I thought. No, thanks.
“Bye, Zoey,” I call out to her so my voice will carry across the first floor and into the kitchen. “See you later, babe.”
“Bye, Sky!” she chirps, oblivious to the standoff between me and her father since she’s focused on something on her iPad.
I pick up my purse and nudge past him, heading out the door to a waiting Elliot, who looks nothing short of perplexed and uneasy. Who can blame him?
“Everything okay?”
I plaster on my Fritz-Davenport smile. The one I’ve been trained to deliver since birth. Even if I’m silently fuming. “Perfect. Let’s go. I’m anxious to see the places you have lined up for me.”
“Great. Okay.” He pans his hand down the steps toward a waiting Mercedes SUV, but as he helps me up, I glance back up at the house and catch sight of the shutters snapping shut.
Was Aston watching us? I don’t know what that was all about.
All I know is I can’t make heads or tails of Aston Hughes, and I don’t want to. Men are officially bad for my health.
“This one is a bit closer to the hospital, which I know was on your list of desirables,” Elliot tells me as we head up the elevator in one of the larger buildings in this complex.
“The apartment has two bedrooms, two full bathrooms, a large state-of-the-art kitchen, a dining area, and a family room with an unobstructed view of the Back Bay Fens.”
“Sounds nice,” I tell him, but the truth is, not much today has been. I don’t know if it’s me or the encounter I had with Aston, or perhaps maybe I’m coming down with something, but I haven’t felt well all morning.
He unlocks the apartment, and we step inside to bright lights and dull gray skies outside the window.
Snow is starting to fall, and it would be cozy, but nothing right now is.
Elliot continues to tell me more about the building amenities and things like that, but a wave of nausea comes over me so fierce that it has me running straight for what I seriously hope is a bathroom.
Mercifully, it is, and I slam the door shut behind me, lift the lid for the toilet, and vomit nothing but bile into it.
“Skylar, are you all right?” Elliot questions behind the door, concern in his voice.
“Yes,” I manage as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Ugh. “I just need a moment.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
A few dry heaves rattle through me, but my stomach seems to have settled, and the vomiting stops.
I flush the toilet and wash my hands and mouth.
I’m a disaster with mascara running down my cheeks.
I do my best to clean myself up, and when I step out of the bathroom, Elliot is across the apartment, standing against the island in the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize.
He waves me away. “No worries. These things happen. Do you want to see the rest of the apartment or just go?”
“I’m here,” I tell him as I glance around and start back for the kitchen so I can get a better look at it.
“I suppose that’s why you’re looking for two bedrooms,” he muses, and I stop short and pivot to look at him.
“Pardon?”
A knowing glint hits his eyes, but he holds his hands up in surrender.
“I get it, and I won’t say anything more.
But when my fiancée started skipping coffee and throwing up out of nowhere, we figured out pretty quickly she was pregnant.
It also makes sense why your brother was so protective of you when I arrived. ”
I’m impersonating a goldfish. Or perhaps an owl.
Or more like I’m a motherfucking deer in headlights because what the actual fuck?
My first reaction is no. And that no carries a lot of meaning behind it.
No, I can’t be pregnant. No, it can’t be Josh’s because that would mean a lot of bullshit, and I cannot have that bullshit, any of it, in my new life.
He must catch on that I’m panicking because he pauses and tilts his head before a blush like a wildfire takes over his face. “Oh. Crap.” His hands stretch out toward me. “I’m sorry. Listen, I didn’t mean to—”
“No. Um. Yeah.” I laugh. There’s absolutely no humor to it. “I think maybe I should go.”
He nods. “I’m so sorry. Can I drive you anywhere?”
I shake my head. “I think I just need to walk.”
“Of course.” I’ve never seen another human look more awkward or uncomfortable before, and I’m a nurse. “Can I call you next week? See if you want to reschedule?”