Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zac
I step around her and pause, looking throughout the room to make sure no one is watching. Not that I care, everyone already knows we’ve been spending time together. I don’t care if everyone knows every last detail, but I know how Presley is. She values her independence and I’ll give that to her. I’ll play things her way, for now.
“You look incredible.” I can visibly see her shiver at my words, chills covering her arms, and she takes a slow calming breath.
"Thank you.” She doesn’t turn around to look at me, instead she too scans the room.
“You gonna stick around after everyone else leaves?”
“Do you want me to stick around?” I can see the corner of her mouth tipping up into a smile.
“I do.” I can’t help smiling myself. Truth is I’d enjoy her and Grayson here every night. I like their company and maybe it is a disaster in the making, but I’ve found I look forward to any chance that I can get time with them. “You can crash here and tomorrow we can go get Gray and go to breakfast.”
She looks back over her shoulder and for a moment we only stare at one another. The sound of someone clearing their throat triggers us both to jerk in reaction. Aurora stands a few feet away with her arms crossed over her chest with one brow arched and a smirk on her face.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Presley says no at the same time that I say yes, then she elbows me in the stomach.
“What?” I ask, rubbing the spot and she glares at me.
“We were talking.”
“Scheduling a booty call.” Aurora laughs and sits down on the chair on the opposite side of the bar. Grabbing a chip out of the bowl, she dips it in the salsa and pops it into her mouth, the smile still holding strong on her face.
I am looking between the two of them, trying to decipher this weird hidden girl code they are sharing with only their facial expressions.
“Booty call?” I ask again getting no response. “Does one of you feel like bringing me up to speed?”
“Sounds like speed isn’t the issue.” Aurora grabs another chip, stands and dips before turning around and walking away.
“What was that about?”
“She’s mother hen-ing me.” Presley rolls her eyes and starts to walk away, when I reach out and touch her arm, keeping her close.
“Mother what?”
“Nothing,” she says, waving her hand. Without giving me the chance to ask anything more she walks away toward the area where the girls are sitting.
Hours later we are deep into a dart game stand-off, with a pool tournament simultaneously taking place. If I wasn’t doing one, I was doing the other. But never once was my focus not partially on her. I could pick out her laugh in the group, her voice in the various conversations. I always knew where she was in the room, even without looking.
I’ve never felt the kind of pull I was experiencing now. Never cared to, because in my experience attachments only made things complicated and messy.
* * *
Laying in my bed, both completely relaxed and naked, Presley and I stare up at the skylights above. Her breath fans out over my chest, tickling me with each exhale.
The minute the doors closed, and there was no one left but her and I, it was almost like a repeat of our first night. She turned around to face me, and moved in.
Clothes were shed, no words were spoken and two hours later, I could barely feel my legs.
Presley gives as good as she gets, fuck maybe more. The woman is a goddess that knows what she wants and takes it. Fuck waiting for someone to give it to her. She was wild and each time I’m left feeling like I fought an F5 tornado and a Cat 5 hurricane simultaneously and lived to talk about it.
The silence of my place was deafening and my mind kept going back to the booty call comment that Aurora brought up earlier. The battle I was having was bringing it up could force a shift in the current mood.
Shifts weren’t good for Presley. I’ve picked up quickly on her inability to talk things out. She is defensive, and emotional, and I’m not sure if that is all pregnancy related or if it’s just who she is.
I want to know everything about her, but treading lightly is the key.
“When you were younger, before adult life kicked in, what did you want to be?” She is silent for a little too long and I’m starting to think she fell asleep when she finally speaks.
“Before I realized dreams were a waste of time I wanted to be a ballerina.” I smile picturing her dancing around in a pink tutu. The way she mentions how dreams are a waste hits deep. I remember feeling the same things before life crushed my hopes.
“Then as I got older I wanted to be a makeup artist, a hairdresser, a chef, you get the idea,” she adds with a laugh. “Then all I truly wanted to be was the owner of the company my father worked for. So I could belittle him daily until he felt like he was worth nothing, then fire him.” She shrugs like it is no big deal and my chest aches for her.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that I’m guessing your father was a real ass.”
“Judgmental, cruel, an adulterer, a liar, a narcissistic prick.” She says this all so casually. “But one thing he never was, was a father.”
I may have lost my dad young, but when I did have him in my life he was the most amazing man I ever knew. Even to this day he is my hero.
“But in reality he was right, because I didn’t amount to much and I didn’t even finish school.”
“What were you going to school for?”
“I was taking a business course when I found out I was pregnant.” We continue to lay in my bedroom in the darkened space, still staring up at the sky above and I let her go on and on, loving to hear her talk about a dream. Even if that dream was one she no longer thought could come true, I was in awe of the vision she had and the joy in her voice as she shared it. She wasn’t this way often, so open and willing to share.
“Grant wasn’t any help with the bills, he lost his job and I had to take extra shifts at the cafe.” Again I feel like I’m kicked in the nuts because the situation is different now, I am here to help but she convinced herself she needs to work more. It’s like history is repeating itself in her mind. “I had dreamed of opening up my own bakery with specialty coffees and drinks. I had these plans drawn out of what I wanted it all to look like inside, the decor, the tables made out of reclaimed wood. I even had a logo made that I wanted stamped into the chairs, on every sleeve for every drink. I had this book with all my plans and ideas but somewhere along the way it disappeared. To be honest I think Grant threw it away, he always thought the idea was ridiculous. Eventually I had to make a choice. Take care of my child or pursue my dream.”
“Why not both?” The question is instinctual. To me no one should have to decide to let their dreams go.
“Because being a single mom is hard enough with a full-time job. Doing that plus taking classes was too much. I barely made it most days.”
“Well, I think maybe it’s time to revisit those dreams.” I refuse to be part of a reason she feels like she can’t.
“Zac I can’t?—”
“You can,” I tell her even when she attempts to argue. I roll over and cover her body with my own and press my lips to hers. I was going to help her, whether she wanted me to or not.