Chapter 25
Nate
When she opens the door, my mouth goes dry.
A blue dress wraps around her, the color so deep it’s almost navy.
The fabric clings to every curve, and dips low in the front to give me a tantalizing hint of cleavage.
The skirt flares out slightly and stops just above her knees.
A pair of tan heels lengthens her legs, and her calves beg for me to run my hands over them.
“Nate?” Rory says, dragging my attention from her shapely legs and back to her face, where my stomach flips again.
She’s wearing makeup. That has to be the reason for the subtle color around her eyes, the impossible length of her eyelashes, somehow even longer than usual.
As I study her face, her tongue peeks out to run across the lips that are stained a deep berry color, and I hold back a groan as my cock presses against the front of my pants.
“You look amazing, Rory,” I say, finding my voice. “You’re gorgeous all the time, but…hell.” I run a hand over my jaw. “It’s going to be hard as fuck keeping my hands off of you tonight.” That’s an understatement. I want to push her against the wall, lift her dress, and sink into her.
But the reunion is important to her, so I can keep it in my pants. For now.
Her lips turn up in a smile as her chin dips slightly. “Thanks,” she says softly. “Should we go?”
Most people would miss that move, the downward tilt of her face that says she’s self-conscious, but not me.
I use one finger to lift her chin so her face tilts upward and she meets my eye. “Seriously, Rory. You’re stunning.”
Her pupils dilate, and she swallows hard just before her lips part, and fuck. I’m such a goner.
When we get home this evening, I’m going to take her straight up the stairs and into the bedroom, then push her onto the bed and see exactly what she has going on under that skirt.
I can manage to wait a few hours, though. I’m not a horny teenager who lacks patience, even if that’s what I feel like when she’s around.
“Ready?” I take my hand from under her chin and hold it out to her.
She places her hand in mine, and I close my fingers around hers, delicate and small against my large palm. We walk together down the stairs and to my car, pausing so I can put Ollie in his crate while Rory corrals Spam into the crate I bought for him the other day.
Unlike Ollie, who happily settles into his safe space, Spam voices his displeasure with a series of yips.
I point a finger at the pipsqueak. “Silence. We’ll be back in a little while.”
He quiets to a whine, which is progress.
At the front door, Rory has a frown on her face. “I still feel bad leaving him in a crate, but it seems like he’s getting used to it.”
I pull the door open and hold it for her. “Don’t feel bad. He’s learning to see it as his safe space.”
“I know. It’s just the whining. It gets to me. You know? He was stuck behind bars in the shelter for so long.”
I reach over and give her a squeeze. “That makes sense, babe. I can see how that would bother you.”
She relaxes against me as we walk.
“If it helps, I saw him go in there voluntarily the other day, when you were at Lone Brews. He walked right into the crate and took a nap.”
Rory’s brows lift. “Really? That does make me feel better.”
“I think he just doesn’t like you leaving. He really seems to love you.” Unbidden, the thought that makes two of us comes to mind, but I push it down.
Rory and I are finally at a point where we’re talking, maybe even verging on being back in a relationship. It’s too early to be thinking about love.
Isn’t it?
I let her go while I quicken my steps to reach the car before her, and then I pull open the passenger door.
“Ooh, chivalry, huh?” she teases, sliding into the seat.
I shut her door and round the car to the driver’s side. “Always, babe. Get used to it. You ready?”
She considers, her brow creasing, then nods. “I am. I’ve been nervous about the reunion—about everything, really. Coming up here, seeing you again, telling my parents about how my life has gone to hell. But things feel…right.”
It’s the same feeling I’ve had since I saw her on my doorstep. That having her back in my life feels like it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. Hearing her verbalize it has hope rising in my chest that maybe, this time, we’re on the same page.
We drive the few blocks to the high school. The main entrance doors are propped open, the parking lot half full. I park in an open spot and round the car to open Rory’s door.
She steps out, smoothing her dress with a nervous laugh. “It seems like only yesterday we were parking here for prom.”
I know what she means. That’s the funny thing about time—the same event can seem like it was last week, and at the same time, forever ago.
The mention of prom makes me think of prom dates, and something occurs to me.
“When you decided to come up, I said I’d be your date.”
Rory nods slowly, her gaze fixed on mine. “Is that still okay?”
I take her hand. “Of course. When you asked, I figured we’d tell people we were together. That we were in a relationship again.”
She chews on the side of her lip. “That’s what I was thinking. If that’s okay.”
I take a deep breath and then let it out. “It’s okay. But I wanted to ask…”
Rory’s brows draw together as she swallows hard.
“I wanted to ask if when we say that…it’s real. We’ve been sleeping together for over a week now, but we haven’t talked about what it means for us.”
The corners of her lips lift. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
“Seems appropriate for the high school parking lot.” I grin at the memory of what being boyfriend and girlfriend used to mean when we were kids.
Usually, it just meant you held hands between classes and went to the prom together. Maybe gave each other gifts on Valentine’s Day.
Her smile fades, and my stomach drops. “I don’t know, Nate. I’m really happy with how things are. I am, more than I ever dreamed of. But I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’m kind of in limbo right now, between jobs and places to live and everything. I need to figure all of that out.”
From where I’m standing, she has a job at the barn. And she has a place to live with me. But if it’s not what she wants, I understand that.
Or maybe it’s me she doesn’t want long-term.
I swallow down the bitter taste and squeeze her hand. “Okay, then. For tonight, we’re together, as far as anyone in there asks. We’ll figure out the rest of it later.”
I kiss her on the forehead. As we start to walk toward the open double doors, her grateful smile dulls the pain of my heart starting to break all over again.
“Nate Patterson. How are you?”
The sultry voice can only be one person, and the bloodred nails on my forearm confirm it.
I take a sip of my drink as I turn, my facial muscles straining as I hold back an eye roll. “Hi, Yvonne. I’m good. How are you?”
There will always be people who loudly proclaim that the high school years are the best years of your life.
Yvonne is the epitome of that type, and in her case, it’s probably true.
She was the homecoming queen, prom queen, and ruled the school with her collection of queen bees as she dated the quarterback.
Since that time, she’s divorced the quarterback and split her time between peddling products for a string of MLM companies and talking loudly about her high school accomplishments.
I imagine she also spends a bit of time hitting on men who aren’t interested, but I’m extrapolating from my own experience here.
“Oh, fabulous as always. I’m living my best life as my own boss, climbing that ladder. Hashtag boss babe,” she says, throwing her head back with a laugh that sounds more like a hyena than a woman.
I nod politely, looking around for Rory.
“I heard you’re spending time with that Aurora Kelley again,” she says, flicking her bleach-blonde hair over her shoulder. “Does she know?”
I tighten my hand on my drink and take a step toward her, my jaw set. I’m not sure what she’s playing at, but I’m not taking any chances. Yvonne will do anything to get ahead.
“Leave Rory alone, Yvonne. I mean it.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m just making conversation.”
Making trouble, more like. Those of us who had the displeasure of growing up with Yvonne know that she’s never just making conversation or being nice or anything else benign. She’s always looking for ammunition, trying to find something she can twist to fit her own purposes.
“Is Rob here?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
I know damn well her ex-husband isn’t here. After the divorce, he moved out of town—to another country, if he was smart—and he hasn’t been back, although I hear his alimony checks keep showing up every month. But I, too, can make conversation.
“Oh, there’s Kaitlyn!” Yvonne says, spinning away from me while she raises her hand in a wave. “I need to go say hi. It’s been good talking to you, Nate. Let me know if you’re ever up for talking more. Maybe over dinner.”
I don’t reply as she hurries off.
Rory walks up just as Yvonne leaves. I’m not sure if she planned it that way, but if she did, I’m impressed.
“Wow. Yvonne Parish. She looks exactly the same.” She sets a plate of finger foods on the table next to us, then brings a wineglass to her lips and takes a slow sip.
“Yeah, too bad you missed her,” I deadpan. “She’s always such a pleasure.”
Rory runs her finger over the edge of her glass as she looks at Yvonne’s retreating form. “Yeah, too bad. How’d you get rid of her?”
“Mentioned Rob’s name. Ex-husband.”
She covers her mouth as she giggles. “Wait, did she marry Rob Pinkton? That makes so much sense.”
“Everyone knew it was her dream to marry the quarterback. Too bad it didn’t last, right?” I motion to the plate of food. “May I?”
Pigs in a blanket, mini spinach quiches, some kind of fancy-looking shrimp. Not bad for a reunion that I’m pretty sure was set up last minute.