Chapter 4
FOUR
PAIGE
I glance at the clock. I have thirty minutes until midnight.
Frustration washes through me over the choices I made this evening. What should I have done? I should’ve gone to Nate’s after meeting Hollis or, at the very least, while the sun was still up. It would’ve been the right thing to do. Which is probably why I didn’t do it.
I sit back in the driver’s seat and release a long, tired sigh.
Why do I make bad decisions? Repeatedly.
I bite a fingernail, pulling off some of the red paint from my manicure last week. The jagged edge will drive me crazy. At this point, what’s one more thing to deal with?
Nate’s house sits in front of me, lit by two solar lights shining up at it.
The railings need a new coat of black paint, and the front door could use a nice wreath or welcome sign like the one my mom has hanging at her house.
But the porch light is on, probably for me, and that helps soothe the acid bubbling in my gut.
This whole idea felt a whole hell of a lot better when we were at The Gold Room. Sure, things between us are always flirty, but they’re always flirty there. In public. In places where it can’t be anything more. In places where my actual attraction for the man has nowhere to go.
But now, when I’m about to walk into his house, it feels a little different.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say, practicing talking to myself like I would my best friend. It’s a tactic my mom has reminded me to use four million times in my life and one I struggle to remember most days. “It’s Nate. My friend. What’s the worst that can happen?”
I watch the house for movement. The worst thing would be for him to already be in bed, and I miss seeing him tonight.
I take a long, deep breath and grab my purse. Then I climb out of the car and lock it behind me.
The night air is chilly, and the sky is dark. Only a spattering of silvery stars peeking out from behind the fast-moving clouds provide any sort of light from above.
I make my way up the wooden steps and then tug on the screen door. It opens with a squeal. Not sure whether to knock or just walk in, I decide to test the handle.
It’s openfree.
I wrap my hand around the knob and push the door open.
I’ve been to Nate’s house twice. Both times were to drop off paperwork from The Gold Room since he only closes it himself on the weekends, preferring to be home with his son during the week.
Which I find ridiculously attractive. And both times I’ve been here, I didn’t make it any farther than the small foyer.
The door shuts as softly as I can manage.
The walls are painted an eggshell white.
It could probably use a refresh, but who am I to judge?
To my left is a wooden storage unit that goes from the floor to the ceiling.
Jackets are hung haphazardly on hooks across the middle of it, and shoes are shoved into the four small compartments at the bottom.
To my right are three art pieces that definitely came from a first-grade classroom.
They make me smile.
I tiptoe a little farther into the house, unsure what to do. This wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t procrastinate coming over here. I get to the doorway and stop.
A dining area with a circular table is on my right. In the middle sits a basket filled with magazines and crayons. But to the left? That’s the showstopper.
My mouth goes dry. My insides do this interesting mix of shriveling up and melting into a heated pool of need.
I don’t know what’s hotter—the way he sits in the chair. Reclined back, knees apart, thumb feathering his bottom lip. Or the fact that he waited up for me.
I know he said he doesn’t go to bed until midnight, so there’s a distinct possibility that he would be up and sitting here anyway. But I don’t think so.
He lifts a heavy brow. It’s an unspoken question, a prompt for me to speak. And I do.
“You didn’t have to wait up.” I sit on the sofa—on the opposite end. I just need a minute. “Did you happen to grab my bags from The Gold Room? They weren’t there when I went back to get them.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment before dropping his hand and sighing. “Yeah. I got them.”
“Awesome.” I grin, finding my footing. “I’d hate to have to sleep in my underwear, considering the whole don’t be naked rule.”
Nate wants to smile. The corners of his lips twitch. But instead of giving in, he sits up and rests his elbows on his knees.
“Where have you been?” he asks, ignoring my comment about sleeping in the buff.
“Running errands.”
“What errands can be run at eleven o’clock at night?”
I shift around on the sofa until I’m comfortable. He watches every move I make. Satisfaction slips over my nerves and settles them down.
“You know,” I say, toying with him. “There’s a Daddy joke here if I wanted to make it.”
He takes a deep breath and loses the battle with his smile. A slight, barely-there grin licks at the corner of his lips.
“But I won’t,” I say, content with his reaction. “You’re welcome for that.”
“So you’re just going to ignore my question?”
“I’m staying with you. I’m not your child.” I wink. “See that Daddy workaround? Didn’t even touch it.”
He chuckles, although begrudgingly.
“But, because I appreciate your hospitality, I’ll humor you,” I say. “I had an early dinner with Hollis. Then I got a coffee, gas, and then hung out at the bookstore for a couple of hours. I was going to go to my friend Kinsley’s house, but she had a date like a boss.”
“You hung out at a bookstore? This late?”
“Yes,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “I fretted between the romance section and self-help but went with the latter figuring it would behoove me to help myself before trying to fall in love. Right?”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.
“Anyway, I probably shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to show up here, but I did, and it’s done. Now that the Band-Aid has been ripped off and the awkwardness of, well, this, is over, I’ll be earlier from here on out. Promise.”
“I don’t want this to be awkward, Paige.”
“I don’t want it to be either.”
He stands up and stretches overhead. The edge of his white T-shirt pulls away from the waistband of his black joggers, displaying a sliver of muscled abdomen.
Good God.
“Are you hungry? You said you had an early dinner,” he says over his shoulder as he walks across the room, into the dining area, and through a doorway.
I jump up and follow him like a puppy. “No. I’m good.”
We enter a small, cozy kitchen. There is no discernable theme—no color palette or common element like lemons or beer cans, even. Yet somehow, it all pulls together in a warm and inviting way.
The countertops are black with tiny gold flecks. The floor is the same hardwood as the rest of the house. The appliances are black, and a plethora of various items—from a fake plant to a tequila bottle to an oversized Tonka truck—sit on top of the counters in a show of dramatic bachelorhood.
It’s a complete one-eighty from the curated kitchen I grew up in, but I don’t hate it. Not even a little bit.
Nate stops at the narrow island and plants his hands on the counter. “There are drinks and your basics in the fridge. Milk, eggs, cheese, sweet tea. Pudding cups.”
I smile at him.
“The pantry is behind me. Same thing. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “Just wondering—is pudding a staple?”
“Hell, yeah. It’s the easiest, most versatile dessert ever.” He cocks his head to the side but humors me anyway. “It’s the best. All you have to do is eat it.”
“Now you’re talking my language,” I quickly reply.
His cheeks flush. He gives me a warning glance but doesn’t indulge me.
“I also like to dip a banana in it,” he says, turning toward the pantry. “I—”
“Kinky.”
He spins around. When his eyes meet mine, they’re so dark, so brooding that I almost gasp.
“You, little girl, have no fucking idea.”
I do it. I gasp. I have no idea if he heard me or not because all I can hear are those words, that tone—the grit that rumbles from my ears and buries itself deep in my core. And I don’t care if he heard me or not because clearly, he was trying to elicit a response.
I’d almost give Nate Hughes anything he wanted.
He paces toward me. His bare feet smack against the hardwood. My breath gets shallower with every step.
He stops in front of me so close that his chest nearly touches mine. I peer up, lifting my chin so I can look into his eyes.
My mind races with what he’s going to say, or hopefully, what he might do.
“You like fucking with me, don’t you?” he asks.
His voice sweeps across the quiet kitchen. It mixes with the hazy lights hanging above us, and all I can think is that this would be the perfect setting for an illicit sexual encounter.
“I do,” I say, the words a smidge less confident than I’d like. “You want to know something?”
He hums.
“I think you like it when I fuck with you.” I bite my bottom lip. “Don’t you, Nate?”
His grin isn’t friendly or amused. It’s sinful.
He shifts his weight, widening his stance. It makes him appear bigger, wider, more imposing.
“Is that supposed to intimidate me?” I ask, lifting a brow. “Because it just makes me want to fuck with you more.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t think? Because I think I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
The air between us heats. If air that wasn’t moving could push two people together, that would be happening now. The room seems to shrink as we stand, barely touching, and feel each other out.
I might’ve gotten myself in a little too far with this. Do I enjoy messing with him? Yes.
Do I think he likes it? Also, yes.
Would I love for him to actually act on the undeniable chemistry between us? Absolutely.
But am I a virgin playing ball on a court that might be a little too big for me?
Let’s hope not.
Nate’s shoulder twitches, and I flinch, thinking he’s going to reach for me—that he’s finally going to break an invisible seal between us. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair and turns away.
A rush of air leaves my lungs as I slump against the counter.
“You’re gonna need to behave,” he says gruffly.
What?
“You … perplex me,” I say.
I shove off the counter and regroup. I’ve never been particularly shy, and if I learned one thing from my brothers, it’s to fight for what I want. Otherwise, you always lose the battle.
I’m not reading Nate wrong. He wants me as badly as I want him, and that’s a huge turn-on. So here goes.
“I know you want me,” I say matter-of-factly.
He paces to the other side of the kitchen. He doesn’t stop until he’s the farthest away from me that he can get.
“A part of being an adult is knowing what you can’t have,” he says.
“Oh. Okay. I’m getting philosophical Nate tonight. That’s fun.”
He shakes his head. “Go to bed. I’m gonna lock the door and go to bed too.”
This conversation is over.
“Awesome,” I say. “But I don’t know where my room is.”
He points at the doorway. “Down the hall. First room on your right. I put new sheets on it earlier, and your bags are in there.”
Looks like I’ve been dismissed. “Thanks.”
He makes a face that possibly conveys a response but mostly tells me he’s as frustrated with the end of the conversation as I am. Then he turns toward the doorway.
“Nate?”
“Yeah?”
He looks at me over his shoulder. In his face—the one I work so hard to get to react to me—is an inherent kindness, a sturdiness, that I appreciate more than I could ever tell him.
“I’ve given you a lot of shit today, and maybe it wasn’t quite fair of me to just show up like I did. And then … manipulate you into letting me stay.” I half-smile, half-frown at him. “That was probably a dick move, actually.”
“Paige—”
“But I didn’t know where else to go, and that doesn’t absolve my jerkiness. But I do want you to know that I realize it, and I appreciate you for overlooking all of that and letting me crash. If you want me to go tomorrow, I will.”
Nate turns around so his shoulders are squared to mine. He watches me for a few long seconds. Each second that passes by makes me inch closer to jumping out of my skin.
Just say something, dammit.
Finally, he sighs.
“I would’ve been pissed if you didn’t have anywhere to go and didn’t ask me,” he says, his voice low.
My heart swells in my chest. “Really?”
“Really.”
We exchange a smile—one that calms me from the inside out.
“But the rules still exist,” he says, broadening his smile. “No guys. Don’t be late. And keep your clothes on.”
I laugh as I follow him into the hallway. “Don’t lie. You liked it. I know you did.”
He dips his head, shaking it as he turns toward the foyer.
I could tell him a hundred things, share a thousand things with him that I think he might appreciate. Everything from the fact that I’d like to see him naked too, all the way to the reason I asked him to let me stay.
Because I know it’s safe with him.
But I don’t say any of it. It’s late, and none of it matters, anyway.
I hear the lock click into place. Then I turn and head to my room.