Chapter 13 #2
I leaned on the counter, absorbed in the moment. With every sway, she’d open drawers, cupboards, placing every piece of kitchenware exactly where it belonged. Because she was exactly where she belonged. Under my roof. With me.
The lyrics finally registered, the singer’s double l’s and y’s turned sensuous ‘sh’ in the Argentinian dialect. And I understood what he sang about. Every word.
She turned then, catching me staring. A smile tugged at her mouth, knowing, teasing. “What?”
“You’re—” My throat worked. “That song. I know what it means.”
Her brows arched, the grin widening. “You do? Since when do you speak Spanish?”
“I don’t know.” I stepped in, my eyes locked on the curve of her mouth and the way her breath quickened at the closeness. I knew, though. At some point, I’d have heard her, seen her, just like this, beautiful and free. I’d learned for her.
Color rose in her cheeks, high and sudden.
The teasing faltered, and she tugged me into her, and her hand slid up my chest, scorching through the clothing.
She dropped her gaze, but not before I saw the heat there.
Our bodies rocked to the beat of the bass, hers drawing figure eights while the pounding of her heart tethered me to her.
The movement felt unnatural in my muscles—I wasn’t a dancer.
The ache in every line transformed the intimacy of the moment.
The hurt of a heart torn apart, partly by a lover’s choices.
And I knew it wasn’t just the song. It was her.
I stopped swaying. I’d not only ran from her pain, I’d forgotten it. So I wouldn’t now. Her eyes tilted upward, and I didn’t shy away. She pressed into me, the smallest distance vanishing between us, and her tongue darted out …
Then came a knock. She blinked, haziness clearing from her eyes while her arms stayed on my shoulders for a few more seconds. Then the knock escalated to a rapid succession of little taps that wouldn’t stop.
“That’s Lynnie and Carmen. I invited them over. I hope that’s okay,” she whispered.
I nodded. “Of course. This is your home.” For as long as you want.
Her eyes shifted, and I knew the moment had died.
She took a second to glance back into my eyes, a timid, tentative smile on her lips.
Apologetic. She had nothing to be sorry for though, I was the one who’d done whatever bad shit, she’d just momentarily lost track of it.
I’d bask in her touch every time, even if the loss of it left me hollower than everything I failed to remember.
She opened the door, then Carmen’s deep voice fired fast and loose, and her and Lynnie blew through the door in a two-woman stormy hurricane. Each one carried one of those makeup bags that seemed small but somehow Mary Poppins’d their way into stuffing dozens of products in them.
“Let me go get my outfit,” Nina said. “I’ll be right back.”
Carmen pulled out a curling iron as if it were a sword and pointed at me. “What’s your outlet situation?”
“My what?” I asked, knitting my eyebrows.
“Well, I didn’t think you’d be here”—she shrugged—“but since you are, you could be useful and make coffee.” Carmen’s tone was demanding, not even a hello.
Lynnie stepped in from behind Carmen and placed her chin on her shoulder, balancing a bakery box along with the makeup pouch. She gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Linc, we’re here for moral support to get Nina ready. We didn’t realize you’d be here.”
I stepped into the kitchen. “You guys realize I live here, right?”
Lynnie giggled. “Well, of course, but guys don’t usually want to be around for the whole Pretty Woman routine. So I figured you’d make yourself scarce.”
I arched my brow at her, then pulled out four mugs and portioned the coffee grounds onto the basket. “You girls going out?”
Nina hadn’t gone out a single night for the entire time she’d lived with me. This was a great idea. She deserved to have fun, and both Carmen and Lynnie seemed to vibe well with her personality.
Carmen spun, laying her arsenal across my kitchen island: eyeshadows, lipsticks, a bunch of hair stuff I didn’t even know what to call.
“Not all together. Lynnie and I will probably go somewhere too.” She waved her hand toward Nina’s room.
“We’re making your place useful. Nina says you have some fancy milk frother. It makes foam flufflier than clouds.”
“So what’s Nina getting ready for?” My voice was flat, but I knew better than to think she’d miss the edge under it.
Her eyes gleamed. “For her date.”
The word cracked like a knuckle. I didn’t move, didn’t even blink, but my jaw locked. “Date.”
“With my brother,” Carmen added, rifling through a different bag. “Diego’s a sweetheart.” She looked straight into my eyes, teasing. “I’ve been told he’s hot. She’ll thank me later.”
My teeth ground together. “Your brother.”
She gave me one of those smiles of hers, half sweetness, half grit. “It’s just dinner.”
Just dinner. A date. A fucking date. Nina, who’d just danced with and wrapped her arms around me, getting ready in my apartment for another man.
Nina, stepping back into the kitchen in a high-waisted skirt that landed just above mid-thigh.
Nina, in an off-shoulder top that showed a hint of a flowery lace strapless bra.
Nina, gorgeous, kind, and very much not mine.
Carmen flicked her gaze to me. “Relax, Carter. It’s just harmless fun. Especially since you’re spending so much time with Nasty Tasha.”
Carmen’s sly smile shone. As if it wasn’t her idea for me to play buddy-buddy with the viper.
I clenched my jaw. I almost said Nina didn’t need fun.
The poison gathered behind my throat. The words tempting.
She doesn’t get to live with me and date around.
That’d be asshole Lincoln though. I exhaled.
And I poured my stupid heart into making the fluffiest foam I could. Carmen laughed, sharp and amused, as if I’d just confirmed everything she already suspected. Down the hall, the sound of Nina’s laugh slipped under my skin. She was happy.
It took a date. Just not a date with me.