Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
NATALIE
Gabe folds down the seat next to me and sits in it.
Because he’s not the size of the mere mortals the seats were designed for, it’s inevitable that his upper arm rests against mine. The power of it seeps out of his puffer jacket and through my thick sweatshirt.
And we sit here, next to each other, staring straight ahead at the painting projects we still haven’t started.
Just his presence next to me accelerates my heart rate and makes me aware again of the dampness in my underwear.
“That was a nice thing you did.” I keep my eyes fixed on the mayor’s house.
“Which one?” he asks.
Bastard.
“Giving Grayson your gloves, of course. What else could I possibly have been talking about?”
“Right,” he says. “Not the other, er, thing then? That wasn’t nice? ”
How the hell am I supposed to answer that? Yes, it was nice. It was nicer than nice. It was the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me.
Shit.
I can’t think that.
I can’t allow myself to believe that a man I’ll be around for, at most, three weeks of my life has just been responsible for the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me.
That would be too tragic a waste to contemplate.
And possibly make the rest of my life a disappointment in waiting.
But it’s impossible not to admit that on a scale of niceness, it was definitely at the extremely nice end of nice.
Anyway, his mouth might be amazing, but it’s attached to an incredibly annoying human. An incredibly annoying human with the most phenomenal body I have ever been this close to.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
He shakes a little with a silent chuckle. But I refuse to turn my head to look in case I lose all control and grab him again. Because while giving his gloves to Grayson was panty-meltingly adorable, after what I read online, it’s impossible to be sure that he really is that good of a person when it comes to women.
Last night I remembered what Aunt Lou had said about stories in the papers about him a few years ago, so I did some more thorough research.
Turns out he cheated on an ex-girlfriend with her best friend.
What kind of a total shit does that? A really shitty total shit, that’s what kind.
There was a ton of photos of the betrayed ex, Madison Shaw, who was basically everything I’m not .
A model.
It happened just over two years ago, a year after he joined the Apollos, and of course the media has picked probably the most salacious and outrageous pictures of her they could find. In one she’s lying on a sofa draped in nothing but the strategically placed towels she was advertising. Another has her wearing one of those outrageous runway outfits that you couldn’t wear in normal life because you wouldn’t fit through any reasonably-sized door.
But there was one more “normal” paparazzi-style shot of her with Gabe where they’re heading out to breakfast and she’s wearing a T-shirt, sweatpants, baseball cap and no makeup. She looked way more beautiful in this one. And they’re both smiling and happy.
She, and her life, are the exact opposite of me.
Not that I’d ever have thought someone like Gabe would be interested in someone like me.
It’s just another item on the giant scroll of reasons why kissing him was a bad idea.
Along with the fact that he and his life are everything I am not. He’s a grumpy Christmas-hating famous sports person with a massive salary who lives in New York City, probably in a glamorous penthouse, with more women throwing themselves at him than he can shake a hockey stick at.
And I’m a teacher who loves close-knit communities but am forcing myself to move to a big city to prove I’m not scared of it—even though it fills me with dread.
“When do you go back to New York?” I ask with as much sarcasm as I can muster.
“Depends on my shoulder. You might end up leaving town before me.”
I snort a little. “I never leave town before anyone.”
His body shifts against mine, sending a shiver down my side as he turns his head to look at me.
“But it’s good you’ve stayed to see the play through,” he says. “It obviously makes the kids happy.”
That’s observant. And kind of…sweet?
“Thank you. I love seeing them happy.” I let out a deep sigh and stare down at my fingers as I lace them together.
“It sounds like that makes you sad. Why would making them happy make you sad?”
Jesus. Is he being sweet? Are the tabloid stories bullshit?
“My aunt says I try too hard to make people happy.” I wouldn’t usually share something like that with someone I’ve known for such a short time—or who’d thrown me to the ground—but hey, I just pounced on him and smashed my lips against his, so I guess I’m not feeling myself today.
“Is that possible?” He sounds surprised. And a little concerned. And twists more, so as much of his body as the theater seat allows is facing me. “For it to be a bad thing to make people happy, I mean.”
Fuck. He needs to stop being kind and thoughtful. He needs to stay irritating. Irritating is way easier to cope with.
Maybe I should just leave. This is a pointless conversation.
But not one cell of my body wants to move.
So instead, I stay where I am and focus on rubbing my thumbs together. “Why do you want to know?”
There’s a slight pause before he replies.
“I’m not entirely sure.” His tone suggests he’s as baffled as to why we’re having this conversation as I am. “You’re kind of interesting though. Like a newly discovered rainforest species that scientists are studying to try to figure out why it’s moving leaves from one side of the forest to the other for no apparent reason.”
“Thank you for likening me to a dung beetle.”
“Actually more likely to be some kind of monkey.”
“How would you know that?”
He’s silent for a moment and, out of the corner of my eye, I catch him tugging on his top lip with his teeth, like one of the kids would do if they were weighing whether to tell me a deep dark secret.
“I watch a lot of National Geographic,” he says.
“Oh.” That’s what he treats like a deep, dark secret? Are big, manly hockey players not allowed to like the animals without seeming too soft? “Any particular reason?”
“Long story.” He rests his forearm along the back of his seat. If he moved his hand about two inches, it would be resting on my shoulder. And that would be nice. “I’d prefer to know why your aunt would say you try too hard to make people happy.”
There he goes. Doing that sweet thing again.
Which kind of makes me want to tell him.
And we did just kiss. Which makes us not strangers anymore.
So maybe it’s okay for me to want to respond to his seeming interest in me.
My heart quickens with the unexpected eagerness to share a part of myself with him.
“She says I do it at the expense of my own happiness because I’m so desperate for approval and to be liked.” Actually, that makes my aunt sound bad. “She says it in a good way. I mean, I know she loves me and just wants the best for me.”
Now his hand does touch my shoulder. Gently. The barest of touches. Almost like his fingers are hovering over it, their warmth radiating through my sweatshirt, sending a tingle racing down my side to my fingertips.
“You know she loves you?” He sounds shocked. “But you don’t know if anyone else does?” And appalled.
I glance up at him and have little choice but to sink into the deep green eyes that sit under his furrowed brow.
I shrug the shoulder he’s touching, pressing it up into his hand. His hand accepts the invitation and comes to rest on it fully.
“What about your parents?” He sounds baffled that anyone might not be as close to their mom and dad as he is.
“Aunt Lou says it’s because of them that I’m desperate to please everyone. That when I was a kid I thought if I could make them happy, they wouldn’t have left me so often.”
“They left you?”
“Only for work reasons.” His surprise puts me on the defensive. “Mom is a flight attendant. Dad is a drug rep for a chemotherapy company. They travel a lot. And when they were away at the same time, I’d go to stay with Aunt Lou.”
“Couldn’t they take you with them? Like during school holidays or something?”
“Mom always said she would. But there was never enough time or money or some other reason.”
Gabe scowls.
“Mom would bring me lots of things back from where she’d visit though,” I say. “There was a toy kangaroo from Australia, a mini red phone box from London, stuff like that. And she would always tell me about this amazing strawberry ice cream she had in Italy. ”
My lips instinctively curl into a smile at the memory. “I was only a kid, but the way she described it, saying it was the creamiest, most delicious, melt-on-your-tongue thing that anyone could ever hope to taste, really stuck with me. And I’ve always remembered the shop was in Florence and called Amoroso Gelati. That stuck with me too, because I was fascinated when Mom explained that gelato is Italian for ice cream. And I felt smart for knowing a word from another language.” I shake my head a little at my childish naivety. “I still look at the shop online sometimes.”
A darkness behind Gabe’s eyes says that if he ever met my mother, he might have some stern words for her.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’ll go there one day and taste it. I just haven’t had a chance to yet.” Like I haven’t had the chance to go anywhere else either. “But, yes, Aunt Lou’s theory is that it’s because of all that that I’m such a people pleaser.”
“Jesus, Natalie.” His voice is quieter now, more rasping.
I shiver under the unexpected touch of his fingers grazing up the side of my neck, sending goose bumps skittering across my chest, directly to my nipples.
He strokes higher and lightly scoops up a piece of hair that’s fallen from my ponytail and tucks it behind my ear.
Is he going to kiss me?
Christ, I want him to kiss me. I can’t let myself jump on him again. It has to come from him this time.
“You don’t have to earn anyone’s affection.” He leans in closer, his thumb on my cheek, fingers sliding under my chin, cupping it, easing my face toward his as he moves closer, so close that I can smell that spiced orange scent again.
His gaze slides to my mouth along with his thumb and he traces the outline of my lower lip.
It’s all I can do not to suck his thumb into my mouth.
But I’m waiting for him, waiting for him to put his mouth on mine. Not the other way around.
There’s only about two inches between us, the varying shades in his beard visible. His body heat wraps around me, draws me in.
Why are his eyes so gorgeous? They aren’t just green. They’re that hazel green with brown bits in the middle and lighter flecks around them.
“I hate that anyone would ever make you feel you had to earn their affection.” The breath from those kind words tickles my face, filling me with desire for the man who’s obviously a lot more thoughtful than he first seemed.
His beard brushes my chin, his lips are about to be on mine again, and every part of my body is excited about that.
I jump at the buzz of my phone in my back pocket, my ass virtually leaving the seat.
Gabe jumps because me being startled has startled him.
“Sorry.” I pull out my phone.
AUNT LOU
Could you pick up more nachos on your way back? Elsie’s grandson brought his dog in, and…long story…there’s none left for movie night.
“Shit. Movie night.” I leap to my feet.
“What?” He looks up at me.
“Movie night. At Senior Central. I volunteer at the concession stand. I have to get back and set up. ”
Did the universe just send a buzz to my ass to save me from myself?
Possibly.
I mean, this isn’t me. I don’t behave like this with men. I don’t throw myself at them and confess my personality flaws all in the space of less than an hour.
What strange spell has this man cast over me that I did that?
Thank you, universe. Thank you, buzz in the ass, for waking me up.
Now to extricate myself from this ridiculous kissing situation I’ve gotten myself into.
“It’s every Sunday night.” I jog up the steps onto the stage to retrieve my coat and bag. “We’re doing Christmas classics for all of December. And tonight is Miracle on 34th Street .”
If I keep filling the void with chatter until I’m out of here, it’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. I can leave and it will all be forgotten, and we won’t ever mention the unfortunate— phenomenal but unfortunate—incident ever again.
I shove one arm into my coat. “Last week it was The Shop Around the Corner .” I flail around, trying to find the other sleeve. “It’s the original film that You’ve Got Mail was based on. You could see the similarities.”
The other sleeve isn’t happening, so I grab my bag, fling it onto my non-coated shoulder and fish around for my car keys. “The week before that it was Love Actually .”
I move across the stage as I rummage, eyes firmly focused in my bag. “Some of the residents thought it was too new to be considered a classic.” There they are. Finally.
“It was all a bit controversial.” I trot toward the wings, waving without looking back. “Gotta go. Thanks. Bye.”
The relief of reaching the wings and getting out of his sight is akin to holding my breath underwater and finally coming up for air.
I race along the back hallway toward the stage door, dodging a spool of cable, a precariously propped ladder, and a box of props from a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that’s been sitting there since the summer.
I pull open the door and almost slam straight into Ralph, the theater custodian, who’s on his way in.
“Whoa, Nat.” He takes a couple of steps back. “Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry, in a hurry.” I dash past him toward the street.
“You done? Can I lock up?” he calls after me.
“There’s a volunteer still inside. Not sure if he’s staying to work. You’ll need to check. Sorry, I have to dash.”
When I get to my old Jeep Wrangler, I pull off my half-on coat, throw it and my bag onto the passenger seat, clamber behind the steering wheel, and slam the door shut.
Phew.
My heart thumps against my ribs, as if I’ve just stepped onto a Broadway stage to stand in for Meryl Streep and forgotten all my lines.
I can’t believe I kissed him.
The man was walking away from me, apologizing for almost kissing me, and I grabbed him and actually kissed him.
That’ll serve him right for telling me I don’t take charge of things or stand up for myself and take what I want.
That showed him.
It showed me too.
I was brave. And I did it.
So I’m not only proving I can do exciting things by moving away from Warm Springs to start a new life in a big city all by myself, I also grabbed a sports star and kissed him.
And it was fucking incredible.
And incredibly fucking stupid.
If the tabloids are to be believed, he’s a jerk who treats women like total shit.
But just now, not only did he show no sign of any shit-treating tendencies, he exhibited the exact opposite—he was kind, thoughtful, and really… sweet .
Argh.
Whatever the case, I need to pull myself together and go get some nachos for the old folks.