Chapter 13
chapter
thirteen
NATE
Maren peers up at me, her thick lashes framing her deep brown eyes. Curiosity and wonder swim in them, but what turns my blood to lava is the X-rated spark flicking to life in those mesmerizing irises.
It’s the look she often gave me when we were eighteen. I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of it again, and selfishly, I wish I had my camera to capture it.
Then again, my camera never did Maren Clayton justice.
I’d be willing to try, though, because it’s one of those gazes—one of those moments—I don’t know if I’ll ever experience again. And I need some sort of proof that it existed in the first place.
I swallow and open my mouth again to finish my sentence, even if I might regret it later. Even if I know the direction of my words and thoughts would lead to trouble.
But I know I’d regret it more if I don’t tell her.
“I—” I clamp my mouth closed when a guy dressed as Batman cuts between us.
With his mask hanging over half of his face, I don’t recognize him, but I don’t need to. All I know is that he’s ruined our moment.
“DC Comics for the win, am I right?” He smiles at Maren, and his beady eyes roam over her body with obvious appreciation.
I grind my teeth in a way that would offend my dentist.
Maren doesn’t immediately acknowledge him. Her eyes linger on me for a beat, and right when I believe she’s going to tell this prick to fuck off, she swivels on her barstool and smiles back at him, metaphorically tossing me aside like old bread.
And I clench my jaw harder.
“We should fight crime,” she teases.
“But first, I think we should dance. What do you say?”
Maren sips from her drink, places her hand in his, then slides away with fucking Batman, her full hips swaying through the crowd.
The costume plastered to her body should be illegal. I should be in jail for even looking at her right now, but I’d gladly do the time.
I cling to the bar like I’m handcuffed to it—it’s the only thing grounding me and keeping me from ripping Batman limb from limb.
Cole meanders toward me, and I point to both my and Maren’s glasses. “Put these on my tab, please.”
“Hers is already paid for.” He wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it over his shoulder.
Did my eye just twitch? It felt like a twitch. Or am I having some sort of health episode caused by a sudden spike in blood pressure?
“Don’t tell me it’s Batman.” I scowl.
Cole squints at me. “What did Batman ever do to you—put out Gotham City’s fires without you?”
I glance over my shoulder at her and the Dark Knight. His hands are perched high on her hips, and she tosses her hands in the air to the rhythm of the fast-paced song. She was never much of a dancer, but she appears to be enjoying herself.
Another new thing I’m learning about her.
When I turn back around, Cole is still in front of me—and he’s still staring. “Is this one of those moments I’m going to have to remember when I’m questioned by the cops over Batman’s disappearance?”
“That will be up to him and how low his hands slide,” I grind out.
“Whoa.” A server in a black dress and cat ears—Scarlett, I believe—skids to a halt next to me. “If this is part of your role-playing game, it’s getting kinkier by the minute, and I’m hella intrigued.”
“Role-playing?” I pinch my brows.
“Oh, right.” She winks. “The rest of us aren’t supposed to know.”
Turning to the only logical person around, I ask Cole, “Can you translate?”
“I’ve gotten pretty good at deciphering her unique language, but I’ve got nothing this time.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes and loads a tray with sodas and festive cocktails. “Just make good choices, McAllister.”
“What do you know about good choices?” I shoot back, but the crowd swallows her and the rainbow of drinks she carries.
“Austin paid for her drink, by the way, so you have nothing to worry about there.”
My grip on the bar loosens, but only a fraction.
Cole’s clarification shouldn’t be as big of a relief as it is.
Maren’s love life is none of my business. I’m not back in town to relive our glory days or to open that door at all.
But it doesn’t mean we couldn’t, right? There are some unresolved feelings between us—at least for me, anyway.
It’s still hard to tell if Maren would love nothing more than to run me over with her car, or if Sabrina’s right, and Maren’s distaste for me is actually a cover for her attraction.
Ever since she said it, I’ve wanted it to be true, even though I’m far too aware that it’s wishful thinking.
I’m really good at wishful thinking.
It’s possible I’ve been living behind a camera for too long to tell what’s going on right in front of me.
I blow out a ragged breath.
“I figured that would’ve helped, but you’re holding my glass like you’re going to break it.” Cole drops his gaze to where I’m white-knuckling my drink like I do my Jeep’s steering wheel during a storm.
“It did help, but there’s still the matter of Batman over there.”
“Why don’t you just cut in?”
“Because she’d hate that.” I release the glass onto the bar and slide my hands into my pockets, but my nerves are too jittery to relax. “I always thought she hated dancing altogether.”
“Save her from dancing, then. Fake a phone call that her car’s about to be towed. Get creative, man.” His chuckle is good-natured and almost puts a smile on my face. “Or, just sit there and stew.”
“I don’t even know why I’m stewing.” I glance over at Maren and whisper, “She’s not mine anymore.”
Maren hasn’t been mine for years, no matter how much I’ve thought about her.
No matter how closely I’ve carried our memories with me throughout every new place I’ve visited. Every hardship. Every grand experience.
I’ve carried her with me, but it doesn’t mean she’s done the same for me. In fact, I have no reason to believe anything other than she’s been here, living her own life without another thought about me, just like she told me last weekend.
But Sabrina got in my fucking head with all her talk of reconnecting with Maren now that I’m back in town, and I had a lot of time on my hands to think about that during the drive from LA to Sapphire Creek.
When Teagan wasn’t asleep, and we weren’t playing road trip games, she asked me all about my life here in this town, badgering me about my friends and family. What was football like? What did I do for fun? And the sort.
Most of my answers involved Maren.
Somewhere around Arkansas, it became easy to imagine an alternate reality where I drove into town and swept Maren off her feet.
But it was the delusion from being cramped in a U-Haul for three days. I’m a smart enough man to recognize as much, but evidently, I’m not smart enough to let it stop me from marching over to the dance floor.
The ache to hold her like I did at our reunion intensifies with each step, originating deep in my stomach and swelling into my chest.
Will she melt into my arms this time?
“What are you doing?” Maren eyes me.
I hold my hand out for her. “I’d like to dance with you.”
I glare at Batman, but he doesn’t seem to comprehend the threat there. With a flick of his wrist to shoo me away, he says, “We’re having a good time here. Why don’t you find someone else to dance with?”
I chuckle, but there’s a sinister edge to it. It’s a sound I’ve never made before. “I’m sorry, but I think you misunderstand me—I’m not asking you.”
Cutting off any semblance of a response, I step into his place, my back to him and hand outstretched for Maren, leaving no room for debate from him.
But Maren doesn’t accept. Instead, she stares at my hand and chews on the inside of her cheek like I asked her to jump off a cliff.
I’ve leapt off several cliffs myself—in Hawaii, Bali, and other exotic places. I always thought Maren would’ve loved flying off into the deep waters with me.
I imagined the spark I used to witness so often, like lightning across her brown eyes.
But now, there’s no spark. The smooth edges of her features harden as she purses her lips and stalks off the dance floor, her rejection singeing every nerve ending.
“Look what you did.” Batman the Dick groans next to me.
Ignoring him, I follow Maren past the bar and sidestep the pool tables near the restrooms. The music is still loud back here, but not as much as it is right next to the speakers on the dance floor.
The crowd thins back here too, offering us a slightly more private chance to talk.
“Maren, wait.” I reach for her, and although she does stop, she doesn’t face me. With my fingers wrapped around her forearm, I slip in front of her and frown. “I’m sorry I interrupted. I didn’t realize it would upset you like this.”
“Well, it did.” She folds her arms across her chest, and in doing so, my own hand slides away, back to my side of this imaginary line separating our two war zones.
I lift the helmet from my head and tuck it under my arm, then run my hand through my damp hair—it’s so damn hot in here. “Were you really enjoying yourself with that clown?”
“You don’t even know who that was, do you?”
“I don’t need to. It was obvious he was a total clown.”
“You’re unbelievable.” The laugh she releases is humorless and completely unlike the one that floated out of her while we chatted at the bar.
When we were enjoying an innocent conversation.
Those few minutes reminded me how easy we used to talk and laugh and have fun together. All the little moments we’ve shared over the last few weeks while I’ve been in town have knocked me on my ass with reminders of us.
I miss her more and more every day.
I’ve never missed her more than I do right now. She’s standing in front of me, but she might as well be miles away.
And I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.
“You weren’t enjoying yourself with him.” I know it’s true. I want it to be, anyway, and it would do me wonders if she’d just confirm it herself.
Because all this tension seizing every muscle in my body can’t be healthy. Beyond that, blotches of red dot my vision like I’m… jealous.
But that can’t be right. I don’t get jealous, especially not over dweebs who need built-in muscles in a costume to look big and bad.
“I could have, if you would’ve given me the chance.” Her tone loses most of its sharpness from before, and her gaze darts to her shoes.
“You’re lying.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel or what I’m doing.”
“That’s not a denial.”
She shifts on her heel. “You gave Todd the wrong impression about you and me.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” I blurt.
“What do you mean?” Hesitation rings loud and clear in the slow cadence of her question. “I thought you wanted us to be friends.”
My jaw tics, like I’m physically repulsed by the idea, which isn’t far from the truth.
The final notes of a ballad hang in the air, and our gazes lock.
The crowd blurs until the room fades altogether.
My voice is low when I say, “You and I were only friends once, and I thought we could be that again because I figured anything else was off the table. But you were right the first time.” I drop my focus to Maren’s mouth.
It calls to me like the sea calls to sailors.
“We can’t be friends again. We were always better at being more. ”
She searches my expression, her lips parted. A sinful crimson previously stained her lips, but the color now remains on her glass. We abandoned it on the other side of the Tap, along with Todd and any chance he thought he had with Maren, if I have anything to say about it.
And evidently, I have plenty to say.
Her breath stutters, and she lifts her hands up my arms, her fingers skimming my skin slowly at first. Like she doesn’t even realize she’s touching me.
“Weren’t we?” I whisper.
“That was then, Nate.”
She says my name like there’s a weight attached to it. The only kind of weight that accumulates from a long history of ups and downs, as we have.
Maren licks her lips and leans into me. She raises her hands higher over my chest, a soft whimper on her lips as she says, “Things are different now. We can’t be more.”
I dip my head until my nose brushes hers. “Then why are you holding on to me?”