The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  The refrigerator kicked on, humming right along with her hyperaware nerves. He placed his big, warm hand over hers and she realized she was trembling.

  “Want me to do that?”

  Do what? Lick me up one side and down the other? Show me exactly what you had in mind, or more specifically in your pants, that day I straddled you on the couch?

  He inclined his head to the pie slicer, now dangling helplessly from her fingertips. Oh, right. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” She turned away before he could see what she was thinking as it broadcast across her face.

  “Thanks for having me over tonight.” His deep voice rolled across her skin like a caress. Where was Tristan when she needed the diversion?

  She nodded. “Of course.” She glanced up into his midnight eyes. There was something she needed to talk to him about, wasn’t there?

  All of a sudden, the heady scent of his soap, of him, was infiltrating her brain as he leaned into her personal space. His breath puffed across the skin of her jaw a moment before his lips.

  Oh, God.

  The pie slicer clanged to the floor, useless.

  She felt his lips curl into a smile against her neck as he nibbled down the column of her throat. “You taste so good,” he whispered.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she needed to say something, anything. But what? Her brain went on hiatus as his lips did the mambo in the dip of her collarbone. She sucked in a breath when his tongue joined the party.

  Her fingers wound themselves into his hair, supposedly to urge him away, but they ended up disobeying orders and drew him closer instead. He growled his pleasure against her chest as he nipped and kissed the exposed flesh.

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “I . . .” she started, her mind revolting against the thought. She was in jeans and a thermal. Definitely nothing sexy.

  “But,” he interrupted her, “I like the Tinkerbell PJs better.”

  She yanked back and stared into his laughing eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Never.” He eyed her up and down. “I happen to find Tinkerbell very sexy.”

  She shoved him back. Time to get a handle on the situation. She eyeballed him in return. No doubt about it, he was one fine specimen. Still, he was off limits.

  But, why?

  Damage control, she firmly reminded her heart.

  She turned to the sink to catch her breath and studied the tiny drip, drip, drip of the ancient faucet. Just another thing to add to her list of things to fix.

  “So, what happened to your ‘we’re just friends’ thing?” she asked as some stupid part of her wanted him to profess to something deeper than friendship. She quickly squelched that foolish notion and shoved it aside.

  Friends. Period.

  His ragged breath filled the kitchen. “You offered up the friends with benefits deal. We held off while I thought on it.” He paused. “I thought on it.”

  She turned around, her arms crossed below her breasts. “So now you want the benefits part?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  “I thought you turning me down had more to do with me than with you. Isn’t that what you said?”

  His eyes gave him away as his gaze skittered about the room. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “So, you’re changing your mind?” She wasn’t sure why she was pushing him. She just needed him to say what he meant and mean what he said. He either wanted her or he didn’t. God, if only he cared. But she damn sure didn’t want to be used as some sort of crutch because he was emotionally needy.

  “I guess.” He met her gaze. “Yes. If the offer still stands, I’m changing my mind.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat. It was clear as day that this wasn’t about her and it wasn’t about a physical connection. It was about his need for an emotional outlet. And she wasn’t it. Pain lanced her reckless heart. “I’m sorry, Noble. You were right. I’m better than that offer I made you. I’m looking for more.” She smiled sadly, realizing that she just might’ve been a fool with her heart again. “Looks like I want those strings after all.”

  Chapter 34

  What a fuckin’ idiot he was, Noble thought. Of course she wanted strings. Sweet Cheeks was the kind of woman who collected strings like a seamstress. You just had to look at her cozy little house, with her neat little yard and her sunflower yellow curtains to know. She was all about the strings.

  She turned from him and cut into the gooey pie. “I’m sorry, Noble,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

  “You have every right to change your mind.”

  She spared him a disbelieving glance.

  “What? I changed my mind. You could say I led you on first. So we’re even.” He grabbed a plate. “Let’s just forget about it and enjoy Christmas, okay?”

  She sighed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, hoping some of the tension would leave his groin soon and took a bite of her pie. “No big deal.” Time to cut this night short before he made a bigger ass of himself and let her and the kid get back to their family time while he got back to his, well, back to his alone time.

  It was just another normal day for him, especially since he wouldn’t be going to see Jed and his folks this year. It was their first official “married” Christmas and they were making a big deal. Kyle had put up a big tree and decorated the house to rival the studio. He was sure there would be Christmas carols and gingerbread and all sorts of goodies. He wondered if Jed had opened his gift yet. Kyle had confided, more like made him slit his wrist and give a blood oath of secrecy, that she’d gift wrapped a piece of paper telling him the sex of their baby. The poor sap didn’t stand a chance when he found out he was having a little girl.

  Something pinged in Noble’s empty heart and tumbled down painfully as he realized he’d never have those things.

  He set down his half-eaten dessert. “So, thanks for dinner. And the pie.” He shuffled toward the kitchen door. “I think I’ll split now.”

  “So soon?” He didn’t have to turn around to see the disappointment on her face. He could picture her petite brows furrowed, her amber eyes filled with concern. “Tristan hasn’t given you your gift yet.”

  Ah, Christ. His heart did a freefall dive. A gift? He paused, his palm pressed to the cool kitchen door. “There was no need to get me anything.” He still couldn’t bear to look at her.

  “I didn’t. Tristan did.”

  Above his head her stupid rooster clock crowed seven times. He finally glanced over his shoulder. She was waiting, staring at him with her wide, gorgeous eyes.

  “Don’t be a chicken,” she said. “It’s no big deal. He did it because you’re his friend.”

  “But I don’t have anything for him.”

  She smiled. “Of course you do.”

  At his puzzled expression, she tilted her head and made a face like she couldn’t believe she was about to say it. “Tell him you’ll give him a riding lesson or something. When he’s ready,” she added hastily.

  He nodded and headed to the living room like a man marching to his death. He found the kid playing his video games, his dinner plate forgotten on the table. A few steps behind him, Braelyn shuffled the plates and cleaned up after fussing at Tristan to pick up after himself.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the boy murmured after zapping about fifteen of the undead with some sort of laser gun. “Sorry, Mom.”

  Noble sat down next to him on the couch, wondering how to get this over with and make his escape as quickly as possible. A Christmas alone was bad enough. Having to do the whole gift thing made it that much more uncomfortable.

  “Tristan!” Braelyn called from the kitchen. “Shut that racket off and give Noble his present. I think he wa
nts to go home, and I’d like to get to the nursing home before midnight.”

  Tristan sighed dramatically, blasted his way through several dozen more zombies, then finally shut off the game. “Sweet, huh?” he said. “Midnight Apocalypse. Nate let me borrow it. He waited in line for the midnight release and got it brand new. Mom wouldn’t let me go.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Nate must be a good friend.”

  Tristan grinned. “Yeah.” He glanced at their Christmas tree. It was as homey as the rest of the place. White lights, tons of ornaments, popcorn on a string. “So, I got you a Christmas present.” A flush rose high on his cheekbones.

  Noble waited until he returned and dropped the package onto his lap. It was oddly shaped and awkwardly wrapped, obviously done by a man or a child, in this case a little of both.

  A sudden sense of déjà vu overcame Noble as he was yanked back in time to the Christmas he was eight years old. His mother was pretty much a distant memory, but the pain of his father’s death was still raw from the year before. Emotional, confused, and looking for love from the only personal available, he’d carefully crafted a ceramic dish at school to present to his grandfather for Christmas. He was so proud of it. He’d colored it blue and painted tiny red daisies on it.

  That morning, he’d wrapped it up and laid it on his grandfather’s lap. He waited eagerly while he opened it, bouncing from foot-to-foot. But the look on that man’s face . . .

  “What the hell is this, Baptiste? Boys don’t paint flowers! What, you queer or something?”

  He hadn’t even known what ‘queer’ meant, but he’d sure known what the whiskey on his grandfather’s breath meant. He hid in his room for the rest of the day and Santa never came.

  “You gonna open it?” Tristan prodded, forcing him out of the memory.

  He glanced up. “Sure. Just enjoying the wrap job.”

  Tristan’s flush deepened.

  He ripped into the package and uncovered a brand new basketball.

  “It’s for, you know, at the park. That one you have there is pretty old.”

  Noble didn’t know what to say. He’d never had someone put such thought into a gift for him. So he settled for, “Thanks. It’s great.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Tristan sat back down, his hands twisted in his lap. Braelyn entered the room, a soft smile on her face. She looked like an angel.

  “So,” Noble started, wondering if they noticed the emotional hitch in his voice, “I didn’t exactly bring a gift for you.”

  “That’s okay, dude.”

  “No.” He glanced again at Braelyn, who gave him an encouraging nod of go-ahead. “What I mean is, instead of a gift, I was thinking that when your bike is ready maybe I could give you some riding lessons. If you want.”

  The kid’s face lit up brighter than the Christmas tree. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Awesome! That’d be sweet.”

  “It’s settled then.” He stood. “I should go. I think y’all have somewhere to be?”

  Braelyn stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Wait. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Join you where?”

  “I volunteer at a nursing home. We were going to go visit for Christmas. They sing carols and have goodies. Tristan visits a special friend. It’s fun. Then we could come back here and play games or watch a movie. There’s no reason for you to be alone on Christmas Eve, Noble.”

  “Yeah, it’s only slightly lame,” Tristan piped up behind him. “Plus, they’ll have hot chocolate and cake.”

  Nursing home? That meant old people. And old people meant death. No, thanks.

  She must’ve seen retreat in his eyes. Her voice softened. “Come on, Noble. It’s not a scary place. I go there because it reminds me of my grandma and it makes me happy.” Her eyes dipped as obviously good memories filled her mind. “Let me show you. Please.”

  Tristan tried to keep it cool as Noble strolled next to him into Angelic Shores. But, seriously, it was totally righteous to have him there. They’d even ridden together in his truck. He could hardly believe Noble had offered to give him riding lessons. Sweeeeet! That was more than a fair trade for a lousy basketball. Now he could hardly wait until he got his license and his bike running.

  He glanced over and up into Noble’s stone-like face. He was probably holding his breath against the onslaught of eau de old person and piss. He understood perfectly. He shoulder-checked him in the ribs and offered him a goofy grin. “It gets better. I promise. Just breathe through your mouth.”

  Mom walked ahead and bent over to kiss Mrs. Roth on the cheek.

  Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. “Shit,” he mumbled when she turned her hawk-like eyes in his direction.

  “What?” Noble asked.

  He sighed. “Oh, nothing. My cheeks are just about to get it from the amazing human pincher there, that’s all.” He waited until the wheelchair bumped his shins sharply. Ouch. “Hello, Mrs. Roth. Merry Christmas.”

  Here it came. Luckily she smelled like baby powder and peppermint sticks instead of her usual dirty undergarments. “Hello, young man. My, aren’t you a handsome one!”

  Tristan closed his eyes just as her bright red fingernails came into view. He smiled politely as he’d swear razors sliced through the flesh of his cheek. Noble just laughed.

  “Mrs. Roth.” Mom’s voice cut in and he opened his eyes just as she yanked the wheelchair back, rescuing his cheeks from further maiming. “Why don’t we get to the rec hall for the carols?” She shot Tristan a glance and left them alone. “You owe me,” she mouthed as the two women moved away.

  “Holy crap, dude,” Noble said, barely suppressing his grin. “You have claw marks on your face.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Let’s go.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “I have someone I want you to meet.”

  Tristan all but ran down the hall to Mr. Myers’ room, hoping his old friend was still awake.

  He peeked his head in. Watery, white-blue eyes peered back from his too big hospital grade bed with crisp white sheets. The room smelled freshly cleaned but like someone had put an evergreen room freshener in the corner to make it smell Christmassy.

  “Mr. Myers?”

  “Sonny!” he called, sounding more alert and chipper than he had last time. “Come in, come in. I’m so happy to see you.”

  Tristan entered and pulled Noble behind him. He could sense the hesitation in the big man, as if the tiny confines of the room would suffocate him somehow. He watched him take in the old man in the bed, the cluttered bedside table with all the bits and pieces of an old man’s life; a box of Kleenex, fingerprint-smudged glasses, an empty medicine cup, a Bible, framed photographs of his days in the service, his dead wife, his grandchildren.

  The two men studied each other for a moment.

  Tristan had so wanted this to be cool. A time to share some of Mr. Myers’ awesome war stories. Talk about Noble’s bikes. Guy stuff. Instead, there was an undercurrent of something strange charging through the room and he had no idea what it was.

  Noble shifted his weight, then tucked a loose hair behind his ear.

  Mr. Myers finally spoke, his eyes never leaving Noble’s face. “Young man, would you mind giving us a moment to speak alone?”

  Tristan waited a beat, not at all clear on what the heck was going on. Did they know each other?

  Noble finally nodded. “It’s okay.”

  He eventually ducked out when neither man moved a muscle or explained their crazy little showdown.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t eavesdrop.

  Tristan was so relieved later that night that Noble didn’t let the nursing home scare him off and came over to watch a movie. After all, what was Christmas Eve wit
hout A Christmas Story? As the three of them crowded onto the couch with a bowl of buttery popcorn, Tristan couldn’t remember feeling happier.

  He’d asked Noble about what Mr. Myers said, pretending he hadn’t heard every word. Noble blew it off as the ramblings of a dying old man. And, considering what he’d said, maybe that was true. Then why wouldn’t he just tell him?

  He glanced over at Noble’s dark profile. Something about the whole thing made him uneasy. He knew Mr. Myers was old, but he’d seemed pretty lucid today. So why would he ask to speak to Noble alone, and why would he spout off all that nonsense? And Noble must’ve felt the same way, if the way he beat a path outta there was any indication.

  Luckily, Tristan’s mom had intercepted him for Christmas carols and sweets, which seemed to mellow him a bit. But, he still seemed a bit distracted. Disturbed, even.

  The shrill cry of the phone interrupted the movie. Man. Ralphie was just about to beat the shit outta that redheaded kid.

  Mom jumped up to answer, but didn’t pause the movie, so the fight continued until Ralphie’s mom showed up.

  “Hello?”

  Tristan half-listened to the movie, half-listened to his mom, wondering who’d be calling so late on Christmas Eve. He hoped it wasn’t his dad, trying to act like he gave a crap.

  “Oh, hi, Christie.”

  Silence.

  “Mmm hmmm. Oh. Oh.”

  It was the second ‘oh’ that caught his attention. Something in her tone made him stiffen. Noble glanced over. Tristan turned, and his mom caught his eye. She bit her lip in that way that said something bad had happened.

  “Right,” she continued. “I understand. That’s too bad. Thank you for calling.” She hung up slowly, obviously hesitating having to tell him whatever it was she’d heard.

  He reached out and paused the movie, Ralphie’s little brother frozen in place under the sink. “What is it, Mom?”

  When she turned, her eyes were shimmery with unshed tears. Noble must’ve noticed too, because he was immediately on his feet and headed her way. “What’s wrong?” he asked.