Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Hey.” David padded down the stairs seven hours later, wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d slicked his wet hair back and his tattoos were displayed to perfection, defining his lean torso and muscular arms. There was a lot of skin on show.
The man was a visual feast. I made a conscious effort to keep my tongue inside my head.
Keeping the welcoming grin off my face was beyond my abilities.
I’d planned to play it cool so as not to spook him. That plan had failed.
“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.
“Nothing much. There was a delivery for you.” I pointed to the bags and boxes waiting by the door.
All day I’d pondered the problem of us. The only thing I’d come up with was that I didn’t want our time to end.
I didn’t want to sign those annulment papers.
Not yet. The idea made me want to start puking all over again.
I wanted David. I wanted to be with him. I needed a new plan.
The pad of my thumb rubbed over my bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth.
I’d gone for a long walk up the beach earlier, watching the waves crash on the shore and reliving that kiss.
Over and over again, I’d played it inside my mind.
The same went for our conversations. In fact, I’d picked apart every moment of our time together, explored every nuance.
Every moment I could remember, anyway, and I’d tried damn hard to remember all of it.
“A delivery?” He crouched down beside the closest package and started tearing at the wrapping. I averted my eyes before I caught a glimpse up his towel, despite being wildly curious.
“Would you mind if I used your phone?” I asked.
“Ev, you don’t need to ask. Help yourself to whatever.”
“Thanks.” Lauren and my folks were probably freaking out, wondering what was going on. It was time to brave up to the butt-picture repercussions. I groaned on the inside.
“This one’s for you.” He handed me a thick brown-paper parcel done up with string, followed by a shopping bag with some brand I’d never heard of printed on the side. “Ah, this one too, by the look.”
“It is?”
“Yeah. I asked Martha to order some stuff for us.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? No.” David shook his head. Then he kneeled down in front of me and tore into the brown package in my hands. “No ‘oh.’ We need clothes. It’s really simple.”
“That’s very kind of you, David, but I’m fine.”
He wasn’t listening. Instead he held up a red dress the same thigh-baring length as those girls at the mansion had worn. “What the fuck? You’re not wearing this.” The designer dress went flying, and he ripped into the shopping bag at my feet.
“David, you can’t just throw it on the ground.”
“Sure I can. Here, this is a little better.”
A black tank top fell into my lap. At least this one looked the right size. The thigh-high red dress had been a size-four joke. Quite possibly a mean one, given Martha’s dislike of me back in LA. No matter.
A tag dangled from the tank. The price. Shit. They couldn’t be serious.
“Whoa. I could pay my rent for weeks with this top.”
In lieu of a response he threw a pair of skinny black jeans at me. “Here, they’re okay too.”
I put the jeans aside. “It’s a plain cotton tank top. How can this possibly cost two hundred dollars?”
“What do you think of this?” A length of silky blue fabric dangled from his hand. “Nice, huh?”
“Do they sew the seams with gold thread? Is that it?”
“What are you talking about?” He held up the blue dress, turning it this way and that.
“Hell no, it’s backless. The top of your ass will probably show in that.
” It joined the red dress on the floor. My hands itched to rescue them, fold them away nicely.
But David just ripped into the next box. “What were you saying?”
“I’m talking about the price of this top.”
“Shit, no. We’re not talking about the price of that top because we’re not talking about money. It’s an issue for you, and I’m not going there.” A micromini denim skirt came next. “What the fuck was Martha thinking ordering you this sort of stuff?”
“Well, to be fair, you do normally have girls in bikinis hanging off you. In comparison, the backless dress is quite sedate.”
“You’re different. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t entirely believe the tone of my own voice.
His forehead wrinkled up with disdain. “Damn it. Look at the length of this. I can’t even tell if it’s meant to be a skirt or a fucking belt.”
Laughter burst out of me and he gave me a hurt look, big blue puppy-dog eyes of extreme sadness and displeasure. Clearly, I had hurt his heart.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you sound like my father.”
He shoved the micromini back into its bag. At least it wasn’t on the floor. “Yeah? Your dad and I should meet. I think we’d get along great.”
“You want to meet my father?”
“Depends. Would he shoot me on sight?”
“No.” Probably not.
He just gave me a curious look and burrowed into the next box. “That’s better. Here.”
He passed me a couple of sedate T-shirts, one black and one blue.
“I don’t think you should be selecting nun’s clothing for me, friend,” I said, amused at his behavior. “It’s vaguely hypocritical.”
“They’re not nun’s clothes. They just cover the essentials. Is that too much to ask?” The next bulging bag was passed to me in its entirety. “Here.”
“You do admit it’s just a tiny bit hypocritical, though, right?”
“Admit nothing. Adrian taught me that a long time ago. Look in the bag.”
I did so and he burst out laughing, whatever expression I wore being apparently hilarious.
“What is this?” I asked, feeling all wide-eyed with wonder. It might have been a thong if the makers had seen fit to invest just a little more material into it.
“I’m dressing you like a nun.”
“La Perla.” I read the tag, then turned it over to check out the price.
“Shit. Will you not look at the price, please, Ev?” David dived at me and I lay back, trying to make out the figures on the crazily swaying tag that was bigger than the scrap of lace. His larger hand closed over mine, engulfing the thong. “Don’t. For fuck’s sake.”
The back of my head hit the edge of a step and I winced, my eyes filling with tears. “Ow.”
“You all right?” His body stretched out above mine. A hand rubbed carefully at the back of my skull.
“Um, yeah.” The scent of his soap and shampoo was pure heaven, Lord help me. But there was something more than that. His cologne. It wasn’t heavy. Just a light scent of spice. There was something really familiar about it.
The tag hanging down in front of my face momentarily distracted me however. “Three hundred dollars?”
“It’s worth it.”
“Holy shit. No, it’s not.”
He hung the thong from the tip of a finger, a crazy cool smile on his face. “Trust me. I’d have paid ten times that amount for this. No questions asked.”
“David, I could get the exact same thing for less than a tenth of that price in a normal store. That’s insane.”
“No, you couldn’t.” He balanced his weight on an elbow set on the step beside my head and started reading from the tag.
“See, this exquisite lace is handmade by local artists in a small region of northern Italy famous for just such craftsmanship. It’s made from only the finest of silks. You can’t get that at Walmart, baby.”
“No, I guess not.”
He made a pleased humming sound and looked at me with eyes soft and hazy. Then his smile faded. He pulled back and scrunched the thong up in his hand. “Anyway.”
“Wait.” My fingers curled around his biceps, keeping him in place.
“What’s up?” he asked, his voice tightening.
“Just, let me…” I lifted my face to his neck. The scent was strongest there. I breathed him deep, letting myself get high off the scent of him. I shut my eyes and remembered.
“Evelyn?” The muscles in his arms flexed and hardened. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“We were in the gondolas at the Venetian. You said you couldn’t swim, that I’d have to save you if we capsized.”
His Adam’s apple jumped. “Yeah.”
“I was terrified for you.”
“I know. You hung on to me so tight I could barely breathe.”
I drew back so I could see his face.
“Why do you think we stayed on them for so long?” he asked. “You were practically sitting in my lap.”
“Can you swim?”
He laughed quietly. “Of course I can swim. I don’t even think the water was that deep.”
“It was all a ruse. You’re tricky, David Ferris.”
“And you’re funny, Evelyn Thomas.” His face relaxed, his eyes softening again. “You remembered something.”
“Yes.”
“That’s great. Anything else?”
I gave him a sad smile. “No, sorry.”
He looked away, disappointed, I think, but trying not to let it show.
“David?”
“Mm?”
I leaned forward to press my lips to his, wanting to kiss him, needing to. He pulled back again. My hopes dived. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Ev. What are you doing?”
“Kissing you?”
He said nothing. Jaw rigid, he looked away.
“You’re allowed to kiss me and cuddle me and buy me insanely priced lingerie and I can’t kiss you back?” My hands slid down to his and he held them. At least he wasn’t rejecting me totally.
“Why do you wanna kiss me?” he asked, his voice stern.
I studied our entwined fingers for a moment, getting my thoughts in order. “David, I’m probably not ever going to remember everything about that night in Vegas. But I thought we could maybe make some new good memories this weekend. Something we can both share.”
“Just this weekend?”
My heart filled my throat. “No. I don’t know. It just … it feels like there’s meant to be more between us.”
“More than friends?” He watched me, eyes intent.
“Yes. I like you. You’re kind and sweet and beautiful and you’re easy to talk to. When we’re not always arguing about Vegas. I feel like…”
“What?”
“Like this weekend is a second chance. I don’t want to just let it slip by. I think I’d regret that for a long time.”
He nodded, cocked his head. “So what was your plan? Just kiss me and see what happened?”
“My plan?”