Chapter 8
EIGHT
NATE
This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
I watch the shadows from the streetlight move across the ceiling. I never sleep well, but I haven’t been up through the night—not even pretending to close my eyes—until three in the morning since Ryder had colic.
I toss to my left side. Again. Then back to my right.
How did I think having Paige in my house would be fine?
At least at work, the flirtation ends at the end of the night. Now I can’t get the hell away from it. She’s here when I wake up and when we have dinner. I have to hear her in the shower and know she’s all wet and naked and all that separates the two of us is the door.
Fuck.
My legs fly off the side of the bed—clad in black joggers because now that she’s here, I can’t walk around in my boxer briefs… can I? … and groan. There’s no point in lying here. I’m not going to fall asleep.
I quietly open my door and step into the living room.
The house is dark, quiet enough to hear the leaves rustling outside the window as I walk past. I make my way into the kitchen, turn on the light over the stove, and then rummage around the fridge.
A stack of pudding cups is in the back. I take out a butterscotch Snack Pack and close the door.
“Shit,” I say, flinching in surprise.
Standing in the doorway is the person of my nightdreams. Because that’s a thing now. Paige Carmichael is a mixture of a nightmare and a dream.
She’s dressed in a pair of short shorts that barely hide the curve of her ass and a tight black tank top. The fabric looks like it’s made out of silk, and all I can think about is how it would feel directly against my skin.
“You’re staring,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.
“I was trying to figure out …” Whether to fuck you or fight you. “I didn’t expect anyone to be standing there.”
She yawns. “Got an extra pudding?”
I hand her mine, avoiding any physical contact whatsoever. Then I grab myself a replacement.
“Butterscotch?” She quirks a brow. “Interesting choice.”
“They’re the best.”
“Never had it.”
I pull out two spoons from a drawer and hand her one. “It’s about to blow your mind.” I spot a twinkle in her eye and stay one step ahead of her. “No innuendos after midnight.”
She laughs. “You’re no fun.”
I grin at her as I peel back the lid of my snack. “What keeps you up tonight?”
“I don’t know. I never sleep.”
“Me either.”
We take spoonfuls of the pudding quietly. She nods appreciatively.
“Okay, that’s good,” she says, licking her lips. “Very good.”
“I told you.”
“Mind blown.” She winks at me before digging in for another scoop. “I might just add dessert to my nighttime routine. It’s much more pleasant than what I usually go for.”
I lick my spoon. “Which is?”
As soon as I ask, I regret it.
Paige hops up on the counter, her thick thighs pressing against the countertop in a way that makes it hard not to stare. She licks her spoon, running her tongue around it and watching me.
Fuck.
“Forget it,” I say and lean back against the opposite counter.
She plunks the spoon in the pudding and sets it beside her.
“I was going to say that I lie awake and play the What-If game with myself, pretending I can rewrite history. It’s fun.
You should try it. You’ll feel like a complete loser and will second-guess every life choice you’ve ever made. Guaranteed to cause anxiety.”
“That sounds like a good use of your time.”
“It’s better than being all curled up in my blankets, drifting off to sleep but just before I get there, my heart starts blasting in my chest like an air horn. I sit up in a panic and imagine a creepy person is standing in the corner jacking off.”
She smiles as if it’s somehow going to take the edge off her statement.
“What the hell?” I set my pudding down too. “What did you just say?”
“Yeah.” She sighs, her smile wobbling until it vanishes altogether. “I stayed with a family when I was really little. It was just after Hollis and I got put into foster care. They separated us, for some reason, and the people I lived with had a son. He was probably fourteen or fifteen, I guess.”
She bites the inside of her cheek. I think she might backtrack and stop telling me this story. A part of me hopes she does. My heart is racing so fast that I think I might go find this little punk if the story goes the way I fear it might. But another part of me hopes she opens up to me.
I give her space and don’t push. I just stand with her in the kitchen and allow her the choice to tell me more or not.
“He used to sneak into my room once everyone was in bed,” she says, her voice softer this time. “I’d wake up when I heard the door. Light would stream in for a split second. Then he’d stand in the corner and just watch me.”
“Did he …?” I ball my hands against my sides.
“No. No, nothing like that. He’d just grunt and then slip back out into the hallway.” She shrugs. “Now that I’m older, I figure he was probably jerking himself off, but I had no clue then. I was probably six or seven and scared shitless.”
Fuck. That’s Ryder’s age.
He’s scared of monsters that don’t exist. She lived with monsters that do.
I run a hand over my forehead. The thought of a little Paige being scared of some psycho in her bedroom makes me want to hurt someone. Bad. But blowing up now isn’t going to help, so I just clench my teeth until they hurt. And then blow out a breath.
“Did you ever tell anyone? Your foster parents? Hollis?” I ask.
“No. Hell, no. The kid would do these little passive-aggressive things during the day—you know, like remove my Barbie’s head. He’d chuckle and then put it back on like it was nothing, but I read between the lines.” Her forehead pinches together. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
A ghost of regret or embarrassment, I’m not sure which, streaks across her face. She lowers her eyes to the floor.
I shift against the cold hardwood. “I can see why you can’t sleep. But I’ll watch your door for you while you’re here. Don’t worry about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I usually lie in bed and wait for my father to come in and beat the fuck out of me.”
Her eyes go wide, but she stays silent.
“He used to just whale on my mom,” I say, gripping the counter behind me. “As soon as the sun went down, all hell would break loose.”
“Then he’d come after you?”
I shove off the counter and pace around like I have something to do. I really just need to move, to work off some of the energy that this shit brings up in me.
“Actually,” I say, “no. My little brother, Dominic, and I used to stick a chair under our door handle at night out of fear. But he never came in after us.” I turn to her and grin sadly. “I guess he was satisfied with knocking us around during the day.”
She hops off the counter. “Nate, I’m sorry. That’s … awful.”
If you only knew the half of it.
“Don’t apologize for him,” I say.
“I’m not. I’m apologizing for you—meaning that I’m sorry for you. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Her eyes shine with a genuineness, an understanding that I both appreciate and hate. Because that means she can identify with my pain.
My insides twist as I think about someone hurting Paige. It makes me want to pull her into me—makes me want to wrap my arms around her and protect her from the world.
“Everyone goes through shit, right?” I ask. The only alternative to holding her is trying to make her feel better with words. “Some of it is just a little darker than others.”
“I guess.”
She gives me a small grin and picks up her snack again. “You know, most people avoid talking about the unflattering parts of their lives.”
“We live in a social media world. You get everyone’s highlight reel, but that doesn’t mean the outtakes don’t exist.”
She nods. “That’s really hard for me to manage.”
“What is?”
“Remembering that there are outtakes.” She licks her spoon and then walks to the sink and places it inside the basin.
“I have a habit of looking at other people’s lives and thinking it must be perfect.
Then I feel terrible about myself because mine isn’t.
And I don’t have a bad life. It’s a terrible mindfuck. ”
I walk to the sink and put my spoon on top of hers. The sound clinks through the room.
“I think most people feel that way sometimes,” I say. “It looks easy and fun, but if you had to live it, you’d have to deal with their bullshit too that you can’t see from afar.”
My words bring a lightness back to her eyes. I watch the relief soften her posture and bring a grin back to her face.
“You’re not a bad philosopher, Nate Hughes.”
I laugh. “I think I’ll stick to running a bar and grill, but thanks.”
“I didn’t say you should quit your day job.”
Our laughter flows together so easily that it disarms me, tugging down the guard I keep between us for good measure.
Paige sticks her finger in the pudding cup and rolls it around the rim. “Speaking of your day job, who is closing tonight?”
“Murray,” I say, watching her lift her finger from the container.
Her eyes flip to mine as she brings her finger to her lips.
Dammit. Don’t you do it.
She does it.
Paige parts her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief.
She knows what she’s doing.
“Be careful,” I say, warning her not to push me too far. I can only take so much of this.
Then she sticks the butterscotch-coated finger between her lips and wraps them around her finger before sliding it back out ever so slowly.
A lump wedges itself in my throat. My cock stretches the fabric of my joggers. The temperature in the kitchen increases twofold as this vixen fucks with me.
Ryder isn’t here to save me this time.
I exhale sharply, gathering myself before she causes me to blow.
“Do you want me to pay rent or help with groceries? We really didn’t go over any of that,” she says, licking her lips.
My gaze settles on her finger approaching the pudding container again. “You’re a college student with a part-time job. You don’t have any money.”
“That’s true.” She smiles smugly before lifting her eyes to mine. “I’m sure we could come up with something.”
She trails her finger around the walls of the plastic before bringing it to her lips again. With her hand poised in front of her face, she smiles at me.
Nope. Not letting that happen.
I clamp her wrist with my hand and suspend it in midair. Her eyes go wide, her breath halting in her throat as she waits for my reaction.
Her skin is warm in my palm. Her wrist is so small, so delicate, that I ease my grip so I don’t accidentally hurt her.
I’m not sure why I touched her, but it’s either because I’m sleep-deprived and it’s late or I want to teach her a lesson. Or maybe I just want to see her reaction.
I stare at her as deeply as I can. She holds her breath as she considers—hopes? fears?—what I’m going to do.
I twist her wrist and bring her hand to my face. A smirk settles on my lips as her entire body stills.
Then with the most deliberate move I’ve ever made, I bring her finger to my mouth.
My heart thunders in my chest as my self-restraint shatters into a million pieces.
I suck her finger between my lips. She gasps, her body shaking in response. I run my tongue around the pudding before biting lightly against her skin as I remove her digit from my mouth.
Every muscle in my body tightens. My blood heats to a dangerous degree. My hand trembles as I hold her hand in mine and try desperately not to tug her whole body into me.
Her chest heaves. She forces a swallow as she leans back against the counter. Her breath is loud and quick, breaking the silence of the room.
“Shit,” she says, a mixture of a plea and a promise.
I just look at her and smile. “Is that what you wanted?”
She swallows again.
I release her wrist from my palm. Then I lean in until we’re only inches apart—until I’m so close that I can smell the sweetness of her breath—and grin.
“That’s the only time my mouth will get anywhere near you.” I turn toward the doorway, ignoring the protest of every cell in my body. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Nate?” she asks just before I round the corner.
Against my better judgment, I stop and turn around.
“Was that a challenge?” She grins. “Because it sure as hell sounded like one.”
The woman looking back at me is the Paige I know. The one full of spunk. The girl who’s filled with every damn thing that makes me want to break my resolve.
I grip the doorframe and meet her stare.
“Don’t take challenges you can’t win,” I say.
I give her a wink and retreat to my bedroom. Alone.