Chapter Fifty-Three
Clarke
I wasn't shy in social situations. Clearly. I really didn't have a shy bone in my body, if I were being completely honest. I could always seem to find something to talk about with just about anyone.
So I had no experience with the kind of nerves that were assaulting my system as Barrett drove my car in the direction of Tig and Kenzi's place.
It shouldn't have been a big deal. I had met most of the individuals who would be there—Brock, Sawyer, and Kenzi. I hadn't exactly met Tig or seen Riya, but I knew enough about them to be able to hold a conversation.
Besides, it was supposed to be an act. Just a grand illusion.
The problem was, of course, the fact that nothing about this felt like an act anymore, like some feelingless agreement we had come to that served both our needs.
I didn't know where Barrett stood on everything. I kept finding my eyes cutting to his profile as we drove there, trying to read him, trying to see if there was a similar dilemma going on inside him.
I should have asked.
If it were anyone else, I might have.
I didn't like leaving questions unanswered. And, in my experience, demanding answers was infinitely better than stewing in silence forever.
But I couldn't seem to make the words come out.
Maybe because, for once, this mattered. It wasn't like in the past where—no matter how much I wished it were different—I knew that things with my exes were doomed to fail, non-starters of relationships. I didn't feel that way here. I didn't think this was doomed to fail.
I thought we had a chance.
Why?
I wasn't sure.
I wished I had answers, something concrete and tangible that made sense on some logical level. I didn't have that, though. All I had was this feeling, this sensation of rightness when I was around him, this sort of connection I couldn't claim to have ever felt before.
I had the way that, when his focus was on me, I was the only thing in his entire universe right then. I had those eyes that I swore looked at me like I was something he had never seen before, something he wanted to keep looking at.
There were also the orgasms. The sex that was something the likes of which I had never known before, something electrifying, strength-sapping, yet somehow charging, energetic at the same time.
It was different.
He was different.
I could understand, maybe, that different can be scary, intimidating. I won't lie; there was a little bit of uncertainty in me, not knowing if I was handling everything right, if I was being what he needed from me.
The differentness he had, though, was what I liked most. That incredible focus, that almost freakish intelligence, the bluntness, the way he could keep things straight even when I talked in endless circles.
"Clarke," Barrett's voice called, a little louder than it would have been if it were the first time he had called my name.
Jolting, I realized we had somehow made it clear across town already without me realizing, and we were currently parked outside what I imagined was Tig and Kenzi's place. "You okay? Are you dizzy?"
"Dizzy?" I repeated, brows drawing together.
"Your concussion," he reminded me. And it was a testament to how crazy the day had been that I had entirely forgotten about having a slight brain injury.
"Oh, no. I'm a little nervous," I admitted.
"Which is weird for me," I added, climbing out of the car because my anxious energy needed an outlet.
"I mean, I once crashed a party in college all alone and made a bunch of friends over a few games of beer pong and kings.
I don't really get nervous about social stuff.
But I'm nervous," I prattled on as I went into the trunk to grab the bags of toppings, feeling Barrett's body move in behind me, his hand settling at my hip.
"You don't need to be nervous."
"I know," I agreed. "But I am regardless."
His arm slid over, giving my thigh a squeeze. "When all else fails, ask them questions about themselves. I read somewhere that people like talking about themselves. It's a good way to make friends."
Only Barrett would quote some book on how to make friends to try to help me get over my anxiety.
It was sweet.
He was sweet.
Somehow, that thought was what eventually made the churning feeling in my stomach let up as he reached for the cheesecake and slammed the trunk.
"Ready?"
"Yep," I agreed, feeling his hand slide around my lower back. I knew it was just supposed to be for show, but I couldn't help but love the feel of it, leaning into it a bit.
We made our way up to the second floor, where the main home area was situated, the bottom floor going through renovations to—as Barrett informed me—make it more of a gathering space since their circle kept getting a little wider.
The second floor was pure class, from the black walnut floors and neutral gray walls, the slate countertops and stainless steel appliances of the kitchen to the left, the carefully chosen knickknacks on the shelves around the TV, to the center of the space.
The only thing that seemed to clash with the theme was the plastic primary-colored baby pen in place of the coffee table, the inside lined with foam pads and scattered with endless toys: blocks, dolls, Barbies, and stuffed animals.
There were two little girls inside it who seemed to be around two or three.
"Ari," Barrett explained when he caught my gaze in that direction. "That is Sawyer and Riya's daughter. And Ariah is Tig and Kenzi's."
"Hey there, Killer," Brock's voice rang out, loud, happy, drawing everyone's attention to us standing inside the door, our entrance unnoticed thanks to the chaos of voices inside. "How's the head doing?"
"Oh, it's fine. Totally forgot about it, actually," I told him, waving a hand.
"Bet Barrett has been taking good care of you, huh?
Waiting on you hand and foot. Finding fun new painkiller methods.
.." His voice trailed off as he got closer, his smile going from teasing to devilish in a split second as he leaned in toward my ear so no one else could hear.
"Oh, darling, that is the look of a freshly fucked woman I see. "
"Hush, you," I demanded, but didn't bother denying it. I didn't want to deny it. I suddenly wanted the whole world to know that Barrett and I had a thing going.
Of course, everyone in this room was supposed to already know that, so that worked in my favor.
"We brought cheesecake and toppings," I announced, shouldering past Brock as I took the cake from Barrett, making my way toward where the women were gathered in the kitchen, each holding a glass—Riya's with wine, Kenzi's seemingly seltzer or ginger ale.
"I'm sure you already had dessert covered, but my mother would skin me if she knew I showed up to a dinner party empty-handed.
It was bad enough I had shown up in jean shorts and a tee. In my defense, Barrett was in his usual pants and tee as well, and did not mention that maybe dressing up a bit was appropriate.
But looking at Riya and Kenzi, I decided I needed to spruce up my wardrobe a little, maybe find a few nice pieces like the wide-leg statement linen pants Riya had on in an ice blue color with a simple silky white blouse on top.
Kenzi, well, Kenzi looked like she stepped out of a fashion magazine in her pinstripe skinny jeans, six-inch heels, and black shirt that wrapped around her stomach to knot toward one hip.
In my defense, I had no sense of style. And Kenzi owned a store where she designed the clothes. Of course she knew how to dress.
"Cheesecake is always a good idea," Riya told me, taking the cheesecake, turning to slip it into the fridge as I put the bag of toppings on the counter.
"We got caramel and chocolate and cherries and.
.. are you okay?" I asked, looking over at Kenzi, whose face was suddenly going a little, well, gray.
"Food talk," Riya explained as Kenzi raised her glass to take a careful sip. "Not the best topic for her right now. She's queasy."
"Oh, that sucks. Why didn't you cancel if you don't feel good?"
"Because, by my calculations, I have about four more weeks of being queasy..."
"Oh!" I said, understanding. "You're pregnant. Barrett didn't mention that."
"He didn't know," Kenzi explained, shrugging. "I just told Tig yesterday. I wasn't sure. I thought I had some kind of bug. But nope. Got another little hellion coming."
"Ariah is just a little... ah," Riya paused, trying to find the kind word.
"Possessed by a demon half the time?" Kenzi asked, but she was smiling in the direction of her daughter.
"I was going to say spirited. But that is fair when she is in one of those stubborn moods of hers."
"Her entire personality is a stubborn mood," Kenzi explained, sounding as proud as could be about that fact.
"Just like her mama," a deep masculine voice supplied, moving into our space, swallowing up all of it with his sheer size. "Clarke, nice to officially meet you."
"You too, Tig. I've heard a lot about you."
"Go have a seat," Tig demanded, sinking a hand into his woman's hip, steering her out of the kitchen. "I got the food."
A moment later, an ear-shrieking scream filled the open space, making Riya shrug. "I'm up," she said as she moved past.
Sawyer replaced her, going into the fridge for a beer, offering me one, which I took, still feeling a little off-center.
"And that's me," Tig said when another little voice joined the others.
"So, Clarke," Sawyer said, leaning back against the counter, eyeing me.
"So, Sawyer..."
"You're dating my brother, huh?"
"Is that so hard to believe?" I asked, picking up a hint of cynicism in his tone.
"Honestly, yes," he said, but not unkindly, just earnestly. "I'm sure you realize he's not exactly the dating type. He's too... in his own head."
I didn't know what was right here, never having needed to have a conversation like this before, about someone, about personal aspects of them that you hadn't even discussed with the person in question before.