Leah #3
“Hey! Dinner and a show!” We giggle with one another as she nudges me with her elbow. “Alright, preacher’s kid, let's grab the cokes, and we'll move them into the garage fridge.”
We load our arms with packs of soft drinks and hobble to the garage. We play a game of Tetris with the drinks, and after a few failed attempts, we manage to get everything to fit.
A knock at the door interrupts us.
“Hey,” Nick starts, a sleepy Grady at his side. “We're going to head out. I just wanted to say g'night.”
“Drive safe,” I reply politely before turning my attention to the refrigerator, suddenly finding the arrangement of cans absolutely fascinating.
It's childish—I know it is, but what is the alternative? I'm not okay with this push and pull.
Silence settles in the room, and I can tell Nick hasn't left yet. When I finally glance up, Chelsea is contorting her face in various expressions like a secret code.
“Hey, Grady,” she chirps. “Let's get you a parry favor before you leave.”
Grady eagerly slips his hand into hers, and the two disappear around the corner, leaving Nick and me alone in the garage.
He steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I've upset you.”
My eyes meet his. “Is that a question or a statement?”
He smirks. “Either way, I know you're not happy with me.”
I chuff, shutting the fridge door. “Nick, I … don't know what I am with you. Maybe because I literally don't know who I am to you.”
“Leah—”
I hold up a hand. “Give me a second before I lose my nerve.” I take a steadying breath. “I'm not one to get obsessive if a man looks at me twice. I actually don't even notice anything at all—except now.” I start to pick at my thumb nail. “I just want to know … what the heck are we even doing?”
Nick slumps his shoulders looking away. He rubs his hand over his chin.
“You have Grady—” I smile with the mention of his name—“and he should be your absolute top priority right now.
So if it's bad timing, or if you think getting involved with his teacher would compromise him in any way, believe me, I understand that.” I exhale heavily.
“But then I need you to stop. Stop flirting. Stop coming to the bar. Stop with the gifts and the …” I lick my lips.
A memory of his mouth nearly touching mine flashes through my mind. My voice softens. “Please, just stop.”
“If only I could,” he murmurs. He stalks closer to me, narrowing the space between us. “Have you thought of that, huh? That maybe I can't quit you? God, Leah … I need to stop—I know I need to stop …” He trails off.
“But …?” I ask quietly. “Tell me.”
He considers me for a moment, his eyes darkening.
Then he backs me up against the wall, his chest pressing against mine.
“Tell you?” he growls. “You want me to tell you how I crave the scent of your hair?
Or how I want to kiss you until you're completely ravaged and breathless?” He brushes his hand across my cheek, his fingers gliding down the curve of my neck.
“Every decent instinct I have disappears the second you're close enough to touch.” His thumb traces along the chain of my necklace until he finds the tiny, silver cross.
A mischievous smirk crawls across his face as he gently strokes it between his fingers.
“I wish I could blame it on bad timing ...
or the fact that I'm a dad. But the truth?” His voice drops to a whisper.
“Darlin’, I will defile you. Everything in me wants to take this somewhere, but I can't because you deserve so much better than me. You are so much better than me.”
I look away. Quietly shrugging off his touch, I sidestep away from him, needing the extra space to catch my breath, to catch my balance, to catch up with my racing thoughts.
My connection with Nick is unexpected—very unusual given both of our histories, so it was easy to write off his interest as a misunderstanding. It was simpler to believe I'd imagined the spark between us than admit he might've felt it too.
For the past several years, people look at me like I need to be saved; Nick is the first man who wants to save me from himself. And I hate that he's somehow convinced himself that he's not good enough.
I stop and pivot toward him, his eyes already fixed on me.
“I don't know who you're trying to convince.
Or maybe someone has already convinced you that you're not worthy of good things.
Or—I don't know—maybe you're struggling to forgive yourself from something in the past.” I step cautiously forward.
“But I see good in you, Nick Crawford. I see kindness. I see selflessness. I see a gentleness that only exists from a tender heart.” I shrug.
“I'm not going to beg you … but apart from you and me, I hope you stop believing those lies you tell yourself.” I breathe out a heavy sigh before turning toward the door.
I glance over my shoulder one last time, but he hasn't moved an inch.
Gosh, just chase after me …
But he won't. Not until he decides he's worthy of a chance for more.
I open the door and leave.