I pull back slightly, giving him a shy smile as he reaches behind him, the sound of metal skidding across the surface before he snakes his arms around my waist. He lifts me up, spinning me around and placing me onto the counter in front of him with ease. He pushes between my legs, gazing into my eyes before he caresses the side of my neck. I’m suddenly breathless as he sweeps me up in a kiss that feels like I’ve been waiting too many years to experience.
I don’t hold back the moan this time as he trails his tongue along my bottom lip, his other hand whispering along my side and down to my hip, clutching me tighter and pulling me so I’m flush against him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lock my legs around his waist before opening my mouth and running my tongue along the side of his.
His chest vibrates on a groan and I shuffle closer, feeling the warmth flow through my body along with the slight wetness on the back of my jeans. Wait. Wetness?
Pulling back, I try to break the kiss but he follows me, shaking his head.
“Uh-uh…” He kisses me again. “Not finished.”
“Wa—” He cuts me off, his hand coming down so both are on my hips, pulling me closer and making the wetness spread. What the hell?
“Nate.” I lean back again, planting my hands on either side of his face, the coarse hairs of his stubble scratching against my palms.
He pulls back, a worried expression on his face. “Did I go too far?”
I smile softly, my hand flowing up over his sharp cheekbones and to his forehead before weaving my fingers through his hair. “No.” I shuffle on the counter. “I think I…” I chuckle. “I think I may be sitting in something.”
His eyes widen. “The offending avocado.”
“Damn!” I brace my hands against his chest, pushing him away fully before jumping down and turning my head to see the damage.
“Look on the bright side, it looks better on you than it would’ve done on the sandwich,” he states, checking out my ass with a smirk.
I whip my head up, heat rising in my cheeks. “I—what—you.” I groan in frustration, not knowing how to react or what to say as his eyes stay fixated on my ass.
I just kissed Nathan Cole. Holy. Shit. I kissed Nate and now I don’t even have the perfect sandwich to eat when he surely realizes he made a mistake and leaves because the final ingredient is smushed all over my ass.
What was I thinking? Why did I do that? I shouldn’t have—
When his gaze connects with mine again, all the rampant thoughts running through my head disappear and that’s when it occurs to me: I may have kissed him first, but he kissed me second.
He reaches his hand out and I hesitate to take it so he steps forward, lifting my hand from by my side. “I don’t know what’s going on between us.” I stare into his eyes, his breath skating over my skin as he brings my hand up to his lips. “But I’d like to find out.” He kisses my knuckles. “I want to take you out.”
I expel a stuttering breath, his eyes willing me to answer him the longer I’m silent. Should I do this? With everything that’s been going on, would it be a bad decision to pull him into it all?
“He doesn’t have to find out,” a voice tells me in the back of my mind.
I’m already keeping secrets, will one more really hurt? But what about Tris and the kids?
If I do this then I need to protect them all and the only way I can do that is—
“We can’t tell anyone,” I blurt out, widening my eyes when I realize how that sounded. “What I mean is: I don’t want Tris to be worrying about anything happening between us. He has a lot on his plate at the moment and…” I don’t want them to find out. “I think we should see where it goes first.”
He nods slowly, moving closer to me. “Okay. I kinda like being your dirty little secret anyway.”
“Okay,” I whisper, meeting him halfway before he presses his lips to mine again. This time is different as he takes his time: soaking it all in the same way I do. I don’t think I could ever get tired of this feeling.
The smile on my face hasn’t budged since this afternoon with Amelia. I don’t know why I’ve never seen it before. When I think back now I can see the way I always took notice every time she walked into a room or chose to sit beside her around a table of empty chairs.
Since the beach I’ve been thinking of ways I can get her alone, so when Tris offered the opportunity to find out what was wrong with her, I jumped at the chance. I know I would've found another way, but this worked just fine.
What I wasn't expecting was for her to make the first move, though I'm glad she did. Kissing her was nothing like the other women I've been with. I've never been a serious relationship type of guy. Being tied down isn’t my style, or at least it wasn’t in the past.
In college I dated for a while, but nothing concrete ever formed and I guess I know why now. It never felt like this with any of them.
She says she doesn’t want Tris knowing we’re spending time together, and that works fine for me—for now. I want to get to know her outside of Tris and the kids. I want to be a part of her life that doesn't paint me as the boss’s best friend, and I want her to be able to tell me anything because I know for a fact she was lying when she told me she has a shopping addiction. Her face screamed “help” before she slammed down her walls and covered it up with humor. If she's in trouble or needs my help, I want her to trust me enough to come to me.
I pull up the gravel driveway to my parents’ house, smiling as memories of growing up in the large, white colonial come flooding back to me. A large oak stands tall to the left: it was the tree I fell out of and broke my arm when I was seven.
I park in front of one of the two garages and climb out of my car, taking the few steps and walking in.
“Honey, I'm home!” I call out into the entryway.
“Is that you, Nate? I'm in the kitchen,” Mom shouts back.
“Nate!” I look up at the top of the stairs and see Maya, my younger sister, sitting on the handrail.
My protective side kicks in. “You be careful on there.”
She rolls her eyes and slides down effortlessly, her dark-brown hair flowing behind her. “I think you're getting old. Two years ago you would've come up there and slid down with me.”
I pull her in for a hug and she squeezes me back. “You're getting too cheeky for your own good,” I tell her. “How old are you now? Twenty?”
“Fifteen, loser.”
I let go of her and she smiles, but my gaze scans her face in scrutiny. “What have you got on your face?”
She shies away from me. “What? Nothing.”
“Oh my God. Are you wearing makeup?”
“Leave me alone,” she squeaks, practically running into the kitchen.
I follow her, kissing my mom on the cheek and dipping my finger into the sauce she's stirring.
“Hey! You're a grown man now, you've got to stop dipping your fingers where they're not wanted!” I look at Maya and we both break out into raucous laughter. “What? I—eww, guys! Grow up!”
“What's this about growing up?” I hear Dad say from behind me. I turn and smile at the grin on his face. “Hi, son.”
“Hey, Dad.” We clap each other on the back before I take a seat at the wooden table at the back of the kitchen. He sits down in the place opposite me and I tilt my head toward Maya who is sitting cross-legged on the bench beside me. “Maya's wearing makeup.”
“Shut up!” She slaps me on the arm and I feign hurt.
“She is not,” Mom says, pulling something out of the oven, unaware of the black stuff Maya seems to have painted on her eyelashes and the glossy liquid that's coating her lips.
“She is,” I retort.
“You're no longer my favorite brother,” she whispers under her breath.
“I’ll survive. Besides, I’m your only brother.” I stick my tongue out at her like a child and turn my attention to Dad. I'm the spitting image of him. His eyes are the same shade of green as mine and his hair is a dark brown wi
th salt-and-pepper strands beside his temples. The only thing I got from my mom is her angular cheekbones. She has hazel eyes and dark-blond hair, but both us kids look like Dad, apart from Maya’s softer features.
“How's the firm?” Dad asks, true to form.
“Set to be one of the best in the city, as always.”
He beams with pride and knocks on the table twice. “Hear that, hon? Our boy’s going to give us a run for our money.”
“Hardly. Your old company is still sitting pretty at number one.”
He shrugs. “And I want to see you bypass that old place.”
My dad took some time off from work so he and my mom could spend some well-deserved time together after she had an operation on her knee. She needed help and he wouldn't let her hire someone. That was three years ago and he hasn't gone back since. He retired early and sold his company. Now Mom is healed and the majority of the time pain free, they take regular vacations. Maya stays with me when she doesn't go with them.
“I'm working on it,” I state, smiling as he gets up and helps Mom by slicing the loaf of bread on the counter. I watch as they work effortlessly side-by-side. Being together for over thirty years means you get to know every little thing about one another. They seem to be just as in love now as when they first met when Mom was eighteen and Dad twenty-five.
I turn my attention to Maya who is staring down at the cell in her hands. “Who you talking to?”
She hides the screen and tuts. “None of your business.”
My hackles go up and I lean closer. “Are they the reason you're wearing makeup?”
“Mooommm! Tell Nate to stop ruining my life.”
Mom swivels to face us and gives me her best stern look while pointing her finger. “Nate, stop ruining your sister's life.”
Everyone chuckles but I'm still not done with Maya. I can't help but be protective over her since she's seventeen years my junior.
“Come on, just tell me who you're messaging. I promise I won't make fun.”
She rolls her eyes and pulls her knees up against the table. “It's no one. He's just a friend.”
“Whoa. A ‘he’?” My gaze flicks over to Dad who is leaning against the counter with his arms folded across his chest. “There's a ‘he’?”
“Apparently so, but your sister is pretty tight-lipped about him.”
“There is no ‘he’!” she shouts before storming out of the room.
“Must you tease her so much? Being fifteen is a hard enough age without having your dad and brother on your case.”
“But… she shouldn't even have a ‘he,’” I say, my gaze running between my parents.
Mom sighs but doesn't say another word as she pours the contents of the pot she was stirring into a ceramic dish. Dad starts bringing them over to the table and I stand to help.
“Go and get your sister, please. I know it's hard to get your head around her being at the age where she's interested in boys, but be nice,” he says with a wink.
“Nice. Got it.”
Making a beeline for the stairs, I take them two at a time, walking down the long hallway to the end room before knocking twice. “Maybug?”
“What?”
I chuckle at her grumpy tone. “Can I come in?”
I wait with bated breath before I hear footsteps and the door flings open. I look around the white room. One of the walls is wallpapered with dusky-pink-and-white-striped paper, the accents in the room all white and stylish. I walk onto the plush cream carpet, it reminding me of Amelia's and smile.
She climbs onto her four-poster bed, picking up her acoustic guitar and strumming it absentmindedly. “Dinner’s ready.” She ignores me. “I didn't mean to make fun of you, but we don't keep secrets, we never have.”
“It's not a secret, I just don't want to tell you.”
I chuckle. “That's a secret, Maybug.”
A slight smile curves up the corner of her lips at the nickname I've always used for her. “He's just a friend.”
I nod, clearing my throat. “And does this… friend have a name?”
She looks out of her window that has a beautiful view of the horse stables out the back. “Jake. But that's all I'm telling you.”
I decide to leave it at that because it's how we work: I push a little until she tells me just enough and then I back off, waiting for her to come to me. And she always does. Even though there's a huge age difference between us, we've always been close.
I stand up and walk over to her door. “Dinner’s ready.”
“You already said that,” she states, standing up and setting her guitar into the stand in the corner of the room.
“Yeah, but I didn't know if you heard me over your big love crush on Jake.”
“Nate!” she shouts as she runs after me, her hand raised in the air.
We run all the way to the kitchen, skidding to a stop in front of Mom who is holding out a basket toward us. “You know the drill.”
I reach into my pocket, pulling out my cell and placing it on top of Mom and Dad’s. Maya holds her finger up as she types and then puts hers in reluctantly. I can't remember ever having my cell at the table at home. My mom and dad have always said it's a huge distraction and family dinners are for catching up and not staring at a tiny screen. I completely agree and try to do it everywhere I go. It makes people feel like you're there with them and interested in what they have to say instead of being submerged into a small device.
We all sit down and dish up the delicious-smelling lasagna Mom has made.
“I've been meaning to ask: why are you still in work clothes?” Mom asks.
I shrug. “I finished work early and went to see Amelia because Tris asked me to. And then I had to run errands so I didn't have a chance to go home and change.”
“Amelia?”
“Yeah. You know her.” I take a mouthful of the lasagna from my plate. “She looks after Izzie and Clay.”
“Oh, yes. Lovely girl.”
Mom and Dad share looks before gazing back at me.
“So why would Tristan ask you to go and see her?” Mom asks again, curiously.
“He asked me to go and check on her. Something about her being upset this morning.”
I brush it off as nothing but I can't help the smile plastered to my face just thinking about her.
Dad continues eating but shoots me a knowing look as Mom wars with herself over saying something.
“Just say it.”
“Do you like her?” She almost spits out like she's been holding it back for days and not mere seconds.
Maya raises a brow at me when I look at her. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I shake my head. “No, I do not have a girlfriend. But yes, as a matter of fact, I do like her.”
Mom puts down her fork. “But she's Tristan's nanny.”
I wince at that word. “Technically, yes.”
“And he’s okay with you two being together?”
“We're not together, Mom. We haven't even been out on a date... yet.”
She picks up her fork and takes a bite of her food, contemplating what she wants to say. She swallows and smiles. “I'm happy for you, sweetheart.”
“Me too, son. If you're happy, we're happy.”
They don't bring Amelia up again for the rest of the dinner, which is unusual. Normally Maya would be all over this new piece of information like a rash, but she's been distracted all night.
“Maya?” Her head snaps up from the notebook she’s been writing songs in on her lap.
“Mmmhmm?”
“I asked how school was.”
She shrugs. “Same as last week.”
“Still playing volleyball?”
“Yup.”
Trying to talk to her is like pulling teeth, so I turn my attention on my parents. “I'm thinking of having a playhouse built for Izzie and Clay in the yard.”
“You are?” My mom's eyes light up. “They'd love that.”
“I'm not sure about Clay, but Izzie wi
ll. Although he has seemed a lot chattier lately since he started going to an art class.”
“That's fantastic to hear. Any other news to tell us oldies?”
Dad scoffs. “Hey, speak for yourself. I'm in my prime.”
“You're fifty-nine, dear. It's time to face the music.” Dad creates circles with his fingers by his head, laughing when she swats at him. “Fifty-nine yet you still act like a child sometimes.”
I chuckle before telling them about mine and Charlotte’s disastrous cookout fail. “I think we're getting back on good terms though, well…” I think back to earlier today and setting up Tris and Harmony. “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?” Dad asks, leaning forward on the sofa.
“I, erm… I set him and Harmony up on a lunch date today.”
Mom’s eyes widen as big as saucers and Dad scoffs. “You did what?”
I shrug. “It's no big deal. Harmony is Izzie and Clay’s art teacher.”
“But it's Harmony, Nate. You seriously must've lost your mind.”
They met Harmony when I was in college and we were all friends with each other. I never keep anything from my parents and since my dad’s sister is Natalia’s mom, they knew all about how things went down all those years ago.
“We'll see,” I say dismissively.
I want to know how today went, but if I'm honest with myself, I don't want to message either of them in case my mom is right. I think I’ll be a chicken shit for a little while longer and leave them to contact me.
Taking a look at my watch, I decide it's time to head home. I want to say it's because I'm tired, but it's not. I can't stop thinking about my pending date with Amelia and where I want to take her.
I'm not taking her out to dinner: that's too common. She deserves somewhere better.
Sitting up from the rug I'm lying down on and stretching out my arms, I say, “I'm going to head out now, but thanks for dinner, Mom. It was delicious as always.”
I stand and they follow suit, my gaze skirting over to Maya and shaking my head. She's still in the same position she was in when I last looked at her: writing in her notebook while simultaneously staring at her cell.
Fighting Our Way Page 11
