9. Nicolette
Nicolette
A fter swinging by the auto garage to grab the rest of my things from my car, we drove the short distance to Riot’s home, which was located on a sprawling landscape down a dirt road.
The inner, ambitious conniving bitch in me was floating with glee. I had somehow weaseled my way into staying at the house of the subject I was supposed to reel in.
This job should be a walk in the park now.
So why did the thought of my original assignment fill me with dread?
And why did my lie about why I had returned sit like a rock in my gut?
Because he’d been kind to me. Because he was offering me help in a way that didn’t make me feel pathetic. For no other reason than he’d been the one to notice what a tight spot I found myself in and I’d been the one to put together the art he made in his spare time.
My bank sent me an e-mail that my accounts should be unfrozen by tomorrow. But I’d keep that part to myself for now.
Riot’s lanai was small but cozy. It was a simple screened-in porch off the side of his double-wide park model. After he gave me the very short tour and house rules (“Keep the kitchen clean. Don’t ever go into my bedroom.”), I excused myself to take a shower.
An audible sigh escaped my chest when I turned the hot water on. I must have stood under the cleansing water for at least half an hour.
When I emerged, feeling remarkably more human, Riot was sitting at the breakfast bar at the kitchen island.
“You know‘ endless hot water heater’is just an expression, right?” he grumbled, scowling. The apology froze on my lips when I detected a playful lilt in his voice, so I shook out my wet hair and smirked at him instead. His eyes followed the motion of my hair like it was a hypnotist’s watch.
“Who are you?”I turned toward the voice that emerged from the front door. A taller, skinnier, goofier version of Riot stood ramrod straight in the threshold to the kitchen. Riot sucked in a breath and bristled, trying to block my view.
I always knew Riot’s brother was different .
About four years older than me, I remembered catching rare glimpses of him around town.
My conscience ached for the guy. He possessed no social skills whatsoever, and I sometimes wondered if he was an outcast because he was different or if he was different because people treated him that way.
“Brennan, this is Nicolette Parker. She’s renting out the lanai for a little while.”He swiveled his attention from me to his older brother.“Under no circumstances are you to speak to her. Ever.”He shot me a warning look, all levity from his expression vanished.
Shame burned my cheeks and I fought to bite my tongue. He had already made me feel like dirt. Telling me I wasn’t allowed to so much as speak to the only other person living on the property felt like a new low.
I stalked over to him, jutting my chin out and thrusting my shoulders back. My nose was mere inches away from his puffed-up chest.
“If you think so little of me, why did you invite me here? There has to be someone else on the planet who can sell your artwork.”The ensuing silence grew thick between us.
I found myself preoccupied with the muscle that twitched in his jaw, defined even under all that beard.
I was idly aware of Brennan standing a few feet away, head spinning between us like an owl.
Riot’s jaw worked up and down. His breathing picked up and his eyes darted over my face, but he remained silent .
“He finds you attractive,”Brennan stated, leaning toward me. I stammered, caught off guard with his honesty.
Riot blanched. “Brennan!”he growled.“That’s not true, why would you say that?”
“Because you’re grinding your teeth, which isn’t altogether an indication of attraction but coupled with your increased respiratory rate and your notably dilated pupils, particularly when your focus falls to her—”
“Alright! Brennan, that’s enough!”Riot cleared his throat looking wholly uncomfortable. A childish snicker erupted from my chest. I took a step back, assessing the brothers.
“I like him,”I snorted, grinning victoriously, pointing to Brennan before spinning around, swaying my hips, and strutting back to the lanai.
I spent the next hour organizing my little space. When I cracked the sliding door, Riot and Brennan were still in the kitchen, looking through some papers.
“Katie’s bringing over dinner tonight, after service, so don’t go eating an entire bag of chips,”Riot warned Brennan.
“There’s a service tonight?”I asked, interrupting them.“Isn’t church usually in the morning?”
“Both,”Brennan said mono-toned.“Did you know that there are enough people in Godot to warrant two live church services each day? And that Sunday yields the highest data usage from Godot residential properties because the services are also streamed? Makes you wonder if we can’t fit a couple hundred people into a four thousand square foot building, how could they fit two animals of every species on that boat? ”
He looked at me like he expected an answer before breaking out in what I could only guess was supposed to be an amused smile. But he looked crazier than kidding. He bared his teeth in a grin, but it made him look maniacal. I stifled a laugh, realizing it was his attempt at a joke.
I examined him. His demeanor, his stance, his speech. I didn’t know enough about autism to draw a conclusion but if he wasn’t on the spectrum, he was certainly parallel to it.
“You know, I hadn’t drawn that conclusion, Brennan,”I smiled. He beamed with my acknowledgment at his joke.
Riot stepped in between us, pushing that firm, muscled chest in my line of sight.“Did you need something?”He glared at me, clearly agitated and overcompensating for Brennan’s earlier remarks.
“What time are those services, and can I borrow your truck? I’d like to attend to see what the buzz is all about.”
He smirked.“Sorry, I’ve got errands to run tonight.”He started to walk away before adding,“There’s a bicycle in the shed. Maybe you can dust that off.”
His snicker made me growl, and I resisted the urge to kick him in the head.
My dad had taught me to ride a bike when I was young, but it had been years since I’d ridden one. Riot had peeled out minutes earlier, still smirking at the idea of me on a bike. I wasn’t above riding a bike like he probably thought.
Well, I would show him.
Or maybe I wouldn’t.
I pulled the bike out and couldn’t get the pedals to turn. I cried out in frustration.
“The chain fell off the drive train.”
Brennan’s voice startled me, and I dropped the bike, the handlebars landing on my bad foot.
“Shit!”I shouted, hopping on my good foot.
“My apologies, Ms. Parker...”
I rubbed my toe, glowering at him.“Nicolette is fine, thanks, Brennan.”He stood a little too close and leaned over me like a giraffe, craning his neck down .
“Yes, Miss Nicolette. Can I assist you?”
“Can you teach me how to fix and ride a bike in the next thirty minutes?”
Brennan’s weird, maniacal grin stretched across his pale face.
“Of course I can.”
Brennan Asher, in short, was un-fucking-believable. He had handed me the tools and given me very specific instructions on how to realign the chain on the drivetrain and a weird sense of pride lit up in me after I’d gotten the pedals to start turning.
After that, he spent twenty minutes talking about center of gravity, balance, and aerodynamics.
“After you establish a vertical posture, you must maintain static balance with one foot on the pedal and the other on the ground before you can propel the mechanism forward.”
He spoke like an astrophysics textbook, yet I still somehow understood what he was saying and was able to apply it to what my body was doing. I made it up and down the road in front of their house a few times before coming back and dismounting.
“It’s coming back to me now, thank you, Brennan.”I offered him a grateful smile.
“Well, there is a reason for the proverbial saying ‘it’s like riding a bike’. Your muscle memory should retain the information at least until you are too old to manage your faculties.”He looked at my confused expression.“Hah! Hah!”His laugh actually consisted of the two words, hah, hah .
Before I took off, I gave him one last regard,“Do you have another bike? Do you want to come with me?”
He frowned at me.“Oh, Miss Nicolette, I can’t ride a bike.”
With that, he turned around mechanically and shuffled back to his little treehouse in the backyard.
I was half an hour late for the service. I tried sneaking in, but the damn door was heavy and creaked with every motion. I cringed at the sound it made.
The place was huge . Bigger than I remember, and I wondered if they had remodeled. The front lobby was larger than three of Riot’s double-wides and the actual room where Pastor Blackwell stood at the chancel and delivered his sermon was the size of the entire town square.
Every seat in every pew was taken.
I stared back at the eyes that had swiveled toward me. I smiled and wiggled my fingers in a sheepish wave. A few tsks went through the crowd. Pastor Blackwell paused.
“Would someone kindly squeeze in to let our guest join us?”he commanded from the front. Magically, a seat on either side of the aisle opened up.
As he delivered his sermon, I studied Pastor Elias Blackwell.
I had met him plenty of times back in school and he seemed like a nice guy.
He was always busy and surrounded by people, but he had made a point to come to say hello to me, even though I’d never attended his services.
He still knew every single person by name.
Knowing how far his influence reached in this town, I reminded myself to keep a discerning eye.
He was handsome, a better-looking version of Jeremy with dark hair that had a smattering of salt and pepper behind his ears. And, boy, was he charming.