Chapter 18
TATE
Tate was sitting on the couch, teasing Mulligan with a new cat toy that he stopped and picked up, trying to avoid the house.
He grabbed a coffee, picked up a few donuts for breakfast tomorrow morning, and then piddled around Petco for a while before settling on some fur-lined fake mouse on a rainbow string, and Mulligan was losing his darn mind over it.
He was avoiding going home because he didn’t want Nettie to confront him about the car, knowing she was upset.
He’d said enough today already, and things needed to calm down besides, he had a therapy appointment in a few hours.
The last thing he needed was Emil giving him crap about being nice and how ‘good’ it felt.
“You know, Mulligan,” Tate began talking to the kitten who was kicking at the fake mouse furiously with his back claws and biting at it like he was trying to draw blood.
It was actually funny because the stupid toy was almost the same size as him.
“Meeting with Emil isn’t half bad, but it’s that smarmy attitude when I realize that he’s right just chaps my…
” his voice faded away as he heard his garage door opening in the distance – and cussed.
Shooting to his feet, he glared at the hallway, almost like he could mentally stop whatever was coming his way. He hadn’t ordered anything from , and his grocery order was scheduled for Wednesday, which meant that this was one of four people.
His parents.
Gina.
Or Nettie… and he already knew who it was deep down.
“She had better not be coming over to complain,” Tate snarled at Mulligan, who hissed back at him in answer. “Exactly,” he huffed and marched barefoot toward the garage door to confront the woman… and paused as he heard a faint knock.
On his garage door.
“Nobody’s home!” he barked out… and his eyes nearly popped out of his head as the door opened regardless, and Nettie stood there, looking at him.
“If you aren’t home, then why are you answering?”
“Why are you here?”
“Why did you leave?”
“My part was done, and you didn’t need me there to hold your hand. You’re an adult.”
“We made a bargain.”
“What are you talking about?” he snarled, trying to run her off so they didn’t have to talk about the extravagant gift… only to see her roll her eyes as she pushed past him.
“Whatever, Cujo… get over yourself,” Nettie muttered, walking past him like she owned the place.
He got a whiff of her perfume, breathing it in and trying not to react at the thrill of her aggressive behavior in his home was doing to him.
“Hey Mulligan…” she crooned, walking past the couch, and the kitten hissed at her – making her laugh… as she kept going.
“Where are you going? Get out…” Tate began, panicking that she’d see the photo of them on his desk or that she’d spot something else that was personal.
“Oh my gosh, would you stop?” she retorted and sighed heavily, opening his fridge. “Seriously, do you even have any groceries or a different tone other than snarling?”
“I have groceries,” he snapped, marching toward her and shutting the refrigerator door. “And quit being nosy.”
“Quit being rude,” she shot back – and then sniffed, looking away. “Thank you for the car, Tate.”
And his lips parted at the unexpected about-face.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, jerking the door open once more despite his hand resting on the handle. “Move over.”
And he stepped to the side, completely taken aback and mesmerized. It was enough to see her in his house, to know she was within these walls, but to see her bossing him around, giving him sass back, and casually handling him like she wasn’t afraid of him, was everything.
“Do you like pasta?” she said, peering in his fridge and leaning over… and, being the man he was, he couldn’t help but lean to the side to admire the curve of her butt.
Oh man, he was gonna dream about that curve and those dimples at her hips. Why was she wearing leggings over here and not jeans? Those things ought to be outlawed in public when you have such a fine…
“Are you staring at my butt?”
“What?” Tate did a double-take as his eyes shot up and met hers.
“You are checking out my butt – aren’t you?”
“I thought it was your face,” he blurted out – and winced as he slapped his forehead at his sheer stupidity and quick attempt to cover himself because he’d been caught… and the unbelievable happened.
Nettie laughed.
He stared as she leaned toward him in a full-blown laugh that was utterly enchanting. She laughed hysterically for several seconds before shaking her head at him, still chuckling, and started pulling items out of the fridge – like this was an everyday thing between them.
Nobody came over.
He never invited anyone here – except his sister once to feed Mulligan. This was his home, his domain, and Nettie was taking over in so many, many ways he realized – and panicked.
Grabbing the container of tomatoes and spinach, he started to shove them back inside the fridge above her head as she leaned over to fish out a few potatoes from the crisper drawer… only to straighten up and smile at him.
Oh gosh— that smile.
“What are you doing?” she asked, smirking – and then put a finger on his chest, lowering her voice as she whispered to him breathlessly. “You said you wanted deeds, so here I am - performing a deed in exchange for the car…”
His breath hitched.
His heart staggered.
His brain exploded.
And his body – his treacherous body was reacting to the implication of her words, only to see her smile again as she arched an eyebrow at him, chuckling.
She was laughing at him… again.
“It sounds bad – doesn’t it?” she taunted, rolling her eyes and turning away from him. “Friends don’t say crap like that to each other because it makes things weird… and this is just what you requested. A quick dinner recipe and that’s it.”
“You’re making dinner?”
“We are,” she corrected – and plucked the tomatoes and spinach out of the fridge, smirking. “Your mom would be so proud to know you’ve got veggies in your fridge.”
“I use it in smoothies,” he said numbly, his mind and body still catching up with the fact that Nettie was in his kitchen and had actually addressed him in the sexiest voice he’d ever heard in his life… like it was nothing. “Wait, what? We’re having dinner together?”
“Oh my gosh, pronouns are not your thing – are they? We,” she stressed, “We are making dinner together – not having. You did a thing for me, so I’m about to do things for you…
” she said, sliding a look to him – before bursting out laughing again as he physically twitched because his brain shorted out.
“You should see your face. Sheesh, ya’ big seven-foot-freak. Seriously? You and me?”
“Six foot two inches.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes. It is.”
“Not when you are five foot four,” she sang out, picking up a massive deep skillet that he didn’t even realize he owned.
“You’re short,” he retorted and paused. And curvy. Short and curvy just like I like my women.
“You’ve got to chill out, Tate,” Nettie chuckled, but her face was flushed with embarrassment as she went off on him.
“You bought me a car, so I’m trying to ‘speak Tate’ and be nice back to you - at the same time.
You take control of everything, bark orders, and you’re evasive all the time because you think no one is your equal, and I know you,” she stressed, pointing a spatula at him and shaking it.
The fun, light-hearted playfulness was fading before his eyes, and a wave of caution rolled over him. They were in very dangerous territory if Nettie was losing her temper.
“I’ve known you for years, so just shut up, listen, and learn something about yourself, about me, about how this is going to work, and recognize that you aren't in control of everyone in this world.”
“I know that…”
“You think you can just step in?” she said bluntly, cutting him off and refusing to look at him. “Butter, garlic, salt, and pepper go in the skillet.”
“Wait…”
“But you can’t because you should try talking to people instead of at them,” she continued, like they were blending two different conversations into one. “Put a second pot of water on another burner so we can make the pasta… and what are you waiting for? Move! Get another pot, right now!”
Heaven help him, Tate dropped into a squat, opening a cabinet and standing up with a pot in hand, only to see her eyes sparkling with hidden fire and a touch of amusement.
“Where’s my water?”
“Hang on,” he said quickly and filled the pot, putting it on a burner and turning it on, and caught Nettie’s nod of approval as her smile faded.
“You show up, make your presence known, and then you leave before anyone has a chance to argue, say something, or reach you – but now I’m on your turf, so we’re gonna talk about this.”
“Talk about what, Sticks?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it implies that we’re something – and we’re not,” Nettie said without looking at him. He stared at her profile, waiting and watching, processing what was happening right now between them. “When you brown the garlic, you’re going to toss in the mushrooms, tomatoes, and spinach…”
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
“No,” she said flatly, dumping something else in the skillet – but he was beyond caring right now.
He felt like someone standing on the edge, about to cross a line that couldn’t come back from all because he was trying to help her, trying to be nice, trying to make an impression on the woman he wanted to know better.
“I want you to look at me…”
“You aren’t going to get what you want all the time,” she said in a rushed voice, shoving the contents of the skillet around.
“You push and push, but you never ask, you never talk, you never inquire what other people want, but that is going to stop now. It stops today because I’m not doing this anymore. ”
“Doing what?”
“I’m not hiding from you,” she snapped, shoving the spatula on the counter and sending a small cherry tomato that had stuck to it flying.
Mulligan was on it in a heartbeat, hissing at it and batting it around on the floor, leaving a mess.
Her shiny eyes met his as she glared at him, obviously angry and at her limit.
Gone was the laughter, the casualness, the playfulness, and now the wound was visible, open, and there between them.
“I’m going to live my life, enjoy my life, and you need to quit screwing with my sanity because this is not happening,” she railed at him as he stood there quietly.
“You can’t call me Sticks. You can’t do things to single me out, and heaven help me – while I love the car, you can’t do things that cross the boundary of friendship and muddy the water between us. We’re nothing, Tate – nothing!”
“Stir,” he said quietly, his eyes holding hers.
“What?” she yelped, her face clouded in confusion.
“It’s going to burn,” he offered gently and plucked up a wooden spoon from the utensil caddy, stirring it blindly as he held her gaze.
“We’re nothing,” she repeated thickly, almost mulishly, as if she needed to say it again to make herself believe that.
“We’re not nothing,” he replied softly, “But we do need to figure some things out between us.”
“There’s nothing to figure out because you were pretty clear about things the last time I ever gave any of this a chance, a possibility.”
“We were kids…”
“We were kids,” she corrected bitterly, her eyes shining. “And those foolish kids are now the same stupid adults - but with scars.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he began, realizing what was wrong. “I was leaving, you were so young, and we each had our whole lives ahead of us.”
“Yup,” she snapped emotionally and looked away from him. “And we still do, which is why I’m not doing this.”
He dropped the spoon in the skillet, caught her arm, and turned her to him.
“Don’t touch me,” Nettie hissed at him, trying to jerk her arm free of his hand where he held her.
“I’m gonna touch you,” he hissed back. “Because while you think this isn’t happening. I’ve got news for you. It is, because I let you go once, trying to be noble, to do the right thing… and ended up hurting you. I see that now. I’m not making that stupid mistake twice.”
“Get your hands off of me,” she growled out between clenched teeth, staring him down, and gosh, he craved that fire within her that he knew without a doubt could burn hotter than the sun… and released her.
He held up his hand, took a step back, and looked at the skillet that was crackling because he knew when she’d been pushed far enough. Oh yes, he knew her better than she ever wanted to admit or realize.
“What’s next?” he said simply.
“Between us – nothing,” she muttered, looking away from him.
“In the recipe,” he prompted as a reminder, letting her know he was changing the subject. “What’s next in the recipe?”
“Oh,” she hesitated, looking flustered and turned away to grab a box of dried rotini pasta – and shoved it at his chest. He caught it and almost reached for her again, but he knew he’d already pushed too hard. “Boil it for ten minutes, strain it, dump it in the skillet, and stir.”
She let go of the box, moved away, and scooped up her purse.
“Where are you going?” he said, startled.
“Dinner is done,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“Stay and eat with me.”
“I’d rather starve,” she muttered – and slammed the garage door behind her, leaving him standing there alone in the kitchen… speechless.