I raised my eyebrows. “Do you always show guys your ass like that?”
“What? It—” she looked herself. “Oh.” She hesitated. “Well, it’s just you, Nickie.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Wow. Don’t I feel special?”
She punched my arm. “You know what I mean. Besides, haven’t you seen a girl’s butt before?”
I sat straighter. “I’ll have you know I’ve seen many women’s butts before.”
“Oh, right.” She nodded in an exaggerated manner. “I suppose you’re some kind of player?”
I smiled. “Some people may say that.”
“Nick Adams? The guy who dated…let’s see…no one in high school.”
I was only interested in a specific one. Who could have known when Zack was finally out of the way, you’d still be stuck on the bastard? “If you haven’t noticed, Zoe, we’re not in high school anymore. Although, granted, from the behavior this evening, one might think otherwise.”
She fluttered a hand to her chest and acted shocked by the accusation. “My behavior?”
“Our behavior.”
“Well I won’t be apologizing. It’s the first fun I’ve had in a long time.” She started what appeared to be a very involved attempt to stand upright. “Whoo.” She wobbled midway up and reached for the couch for support.
I hopped to my feet, grabbing her arm to try to steady her. “Easy there.”
“Whoa.” She swayed, putting her arms out airplane style.
“Zo, maybe you should—” She pitched forward, and I caught her other arm to save her from tumbling over. With her next teetering move I stepped to her side and bent so I could sweep her up into my arms and keep her from bashing her skull open on one of the glass tables surrounding us. “Okay. Up you go.”
“What are you doing?”
“Saving you from having other scars you’ll have to show me later.”
“Oh, Nickie. You’re so sweet.” She put her hand on top of my head and raked her fingers along my scalp.
“Quit messing with my hair.”
“Grouchy.” She pouted, then turned to face forward. “Where are we going?”
“I think it’s bedtime.”
She continued ruffling my hair. “Party pooper.”
“Yes. Yes. I’m no fun. I know.” I entered her inner sanctum. It was like her room at home, only smaller, and with no desk, and no posters gracing the walls with Supernatural hunks on them. She did still have the chalk pictures of Sam and Dean she’d purchased at a craft fair. Framed, they hung above a white painted wooden crate, which stood on end. Apparently, she used it as a bedside table. Her big white metal bed took up most of the rest of the space in the room. “I like what you’ve done with the curtains.” A gray bed sheet was suspended from a rod above the window.
“Oh, yes. You’ll find that sort of window treatment in all your better home and garden magazines.” She giggled at her joke as I set her on the mattress of her unmade bed. I was pretty sure Zoe didn’t know how to make a bed. “Thanks for the ride. It was—” She slapped a hand to her forehead, pushing her hair back off her face. Her other arm crossed in front of her stomach. “Oh.”
She looked sort of…greenish. “Zoe? You okay?”
“Mmm…that shrimp scampi isn’t sitting real good.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re really blaming it on the shrimp? Perhaps it’s the half dozen plus tequila shots you downed.”
She peered up at me with a weak smile. “Could be. Oh.” The hand from her middle came up to cover her mouth.
“Shit. You’re not gonna hurl or anything, are you? Cuz I don’t do hurling.”
She frowned. “What do you mean you don’t ‘do hurling?’ Everybody pukes sometimes. Oh, man.” She bent over her legs, both arms wrapped around her waist now.
“I mean, you can’t lose your cookies or it’ll set off a peristaltic chain reaction, and I’ll blow, too.”
She lifted her gaze. “Ooh. Nice imagery, Adams.”
“And this is a seven-hundred-dollar Italian suit. I can’t ruin it.”
“Are you kidding me? Seven-hundred dollars? All my clothes put together probably aren’t worth seven-hundred dollars. You’ve turned into the male version of my Aunt Sam. And, may I add, your concern for my wellbeing is underwhelming.” She flopped backward, stretched across the bed. The transition from huddled to sprawled was so fast it was like time-lapse photography of a flower bud blooming. I don’t know how the quick movement didn’t tip the scales and have her running to the bathroom.
“Come on, Zo. I am concerned.” She closed her eyes. “Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?” Please, say no.
Her head fell to one side. “I need to sleep a bit.”
“Okay. Do you want me to help move you so you can lie on the bed the right way?” I reached for her, but she slapped my hands away.
“No. Leave me alone.” She rolled over on her side and curled her knees up to her chest. Her dress hid nothing.
I ogled all of that skin and exhaled. “Okay.” Tearing my eyes away, I sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll sit here for a few moments and make sure you’re okay.”
“Mmm.”
She was quiet. Having nothing better to do, I looked around. The chalk pictures were amazing. They seemed like photographs. I’d never understand how artists did that. On top of the crate sat some purple lantern thingie, and a real lamp. Noticing something, I rose and went to the door. On one wall a shadow box hung, made from what I believe was a printer’s drawer at some point, as the bottom was separated into different sizes of boxes. I examined the contents. Two Seether tickets, from different concerts. A tassel—not our school colors, so it must be from her college graduation. A dried up rose. From Zack? And a picture of the three of us, standing on Zack’s driveway, Zoe’s house in the background. We appeared to be—gosh, I don’t know—seven or eight. Zoe stood in the middle, holding a basketball, and Zack and I stood on either side of her, our arms around her shoulders, our opposite hands reaching to touch the ball, too. I remembered it. Mrs. Issaacs posed us for some reason.
“Zo, do you mind if I—” Soft, steady breathing came from her mouth. She was out. I reached up and fingered the picture, then peeled it off the wood box carefully, figuring she wouldn’t mind if I examined it closer. It made me smile. I wore some goofy-assed shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Probably thought I was a big man, but I was skinny as shit. Zack was taller, broader. Zoe wore her classic blue jean cut-offs and a shirt so faded I couldn’t tell what it said. I flipped it over. In her writing it said, “ZNZ—like DDT. 11, 10, 10.” I chuckled. I forgot that’s what we called each other. I studied it again. So Zack was eleven. Zoe and I ten. I was never good at guessing ages. I put it back and smoothed my hand over it reverently.
I glanced over at the bed where my gorgeous counterpart lay. 26, 25, and 25. We’d changed a lot. I made a mental note to check Zoe’s fade-away shot to see if she still had it.
Zoe
Tearing my lips apart was like breaking the seal on the bag in a cereal box.
Shit. What did I do to myself?
I opened my eyes, squinting in the blinding light sneaking in from around the edges of my sheet/curtain. I was lying on my stomach, which I never did, and my neck was sore. I rotated my head and closed my eyes again.
Slowly processing the brief image I caught before closing them, I popped my eyes open and flipped over.
“What. The. Hell?” I screamed, bolting upright. I yanked the blankets with me to cover myself. In so doing, I uncovered most of Nick.
He took in a huge breath, then, in a panic, he clutched at the sheet I’d missed and tugged back, trying to hide the lower half of his body.
“What’s going—” He blinked. “I…. Zoe. What are you…?”
I went with blunt. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed, Nick?”
“What? I—” He twisted his head, searching around the room for something.
I glanced down. I still had my dress on
. Good. Still…. “I can’t believe you!”
He stared. “You were— For Pete’s sake, Zo. You were trashed, and I stuck around to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit like one of those rock stars you idolize.” He reached over the side of the bed, briefly exposing his naked butt.
Whoa. He is really…in shape.
Whatever he’d scooped off the floor, he was working his way into it under the covers.
“Why don’t you have clothes on?”
He froze. “I never sleep with clothes on.”
“So, you were perfectly comfortable with flashing me your goods.”
His face flamed. “What? No.” He sat, keeping the sheet around his waist. But his bare chest….
Holy shit. Is that really Nick? I mean—holy shit. He looks good. Like, really good.
He snatched something else from the other side of the bed. His pants. “You weren’t supposed to wake up first.” He tried to maneuver, but couldn’t get enough sheet to cover his backside. He lifted his gaze. “You need to turn around.”
I swallowed and blinked, fighting the urge to let my gaze wander over him again. I was suddenly tickled by the position we were in. Nick was clearly uncomfortable…and I enjoyed that. “Dude. I’ve seen you in a Speedo in gym.”
He groaned. “OMG. Don’t remind me.” He managed to work his way to his feet, yanking the sheet with him off the bed. “This is different. We’re…grownups.”
“Speak for yourself.” I whipped the covers off and hopped out of bed. “I need caffeine.”
He turned as I passed to prevent that fabulous hind end from being seen, keeping his back to the wall. He gave me a wobbly smile. “Yeah. Coffee sounds great.”
“I don’t do coffee. Diet Pepsi,” I threw over my shoulder.
“You have a coffee maker,” he shouted from the bedroom.
“That’s for show.”
He came out a few seconds later, buttoning his shirt. “Zoe, please. I’m begging you. Without coffee there is only chaos and darkness.”
I popped open a soda and stared at him. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration?”
“Not really.”
I didn’t move.
He fiddled with his tie. “Let me explain it this way—without coffee, everyone is an asshole. With coffee…well, everyone is still an asshole, but I have coffee.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” I opened the freezer. “I may have some coffee in here from the last time Dad and Dani came to visit….”
He grabbed the bar between the kitchen and living room with both hands, arms wide, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
I plucked out two bags and waved them around with a smile.
“Thank. God.”
“Decaf or—”
“Decaf only works if you throw it at people.”
“Well. Someone is definitely not a morning person.” I searched for directions on the bag. “I’m not sure how you make it. How much—”
He came around the counter, snatching the bag from me. “Move it.”
My eyes widened. “Whoa. Take it easy.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t bite.” He studied the coffee maker. “You have a filter?”
I tapped my chin with a finger. “Filter…hmm. Filter….”
“Never mind,” he growled, ripping a paper towel off the roll on the counter and stuffing it in the basket on top of the pot.
I opened a cabinet. “I’m guessing you’ll want a cup? I wonder if I have one of those….”
“Woman!” he roared.
After filling the carafe with water from my sink and pouring it into some secret compartment of the coffee contraption on my counter, he bent—his hands again clamped to the Formica—and watched each drop fall into the pot with an intensity I found frightening.
He stayed to make sure I was okay, risking his morning coffee for me. I had to admit, that was pretty sweet. And different from the old Nick. “So, I guess with the shock of finding you curled up beside me in bed in the buff—”
“Careful, Zo. I am caffeine-deprived.”
“—I forgot to mention I appreciate you sticking around to take care of me last night.”
He held up a hand, palm toward me, then slid out the carafe without waiting for the maker to stop brewing. As he poured a cup, drops hissed on the hotplate. One hit him as he crammed the pot back. “Ouch.” He shook his hand. At the same time, with the other hand, he tipped the cup to his lips and drank deeply. His shoulders, face—heck, even his hair—seemed to relax. “Ahh.” He smiled. “No problem.”
“I should probably make you breakfast.” I reached above the refrigerator, then slammed a box of powdered sugar donuts on the counter. “Here you go.”
“Perfect.” He ate over the sink to keep the crumbs off his designer suit. I hopped up onto the counter, tugged my dress down, and shoved a donut into my mouth. Turning his head, he eyed me, and swallowed. “Wow. I thought you’d be hurting.”
I frowned. “Dude. I may not have a social life, but I’ve kept up my drinking skills. Give me some credit.”
He nodded, selecting another donut. Between the two of us, we wiped out the whole box. I threw the rest of my soda back and slid down to the floor. “Man. That hit the spot. I guess it’s been a while since we ate. My bad. I should have offered you something last night.”
Hitting his hands together to redistribute the powder sugar from them into the sink, he replied, “No biggie.” He grabbed a towel, wiping the rest of the donut residue off before spinning around to lean against the sink. “I feel more human. Coffee used to be just a part of my grownup costume, but after law school it became my lifeblood.”
I snagged the empty donut box off the counter and threw it in the trash. “Not much of a breakfast though.” I opened the fridge and pulled out an egg carton. Judging from the lightness, it was not promising. Nick watched hopefully, but I cracked the lid and only a solo egg lay inside. I looked at him sheepishly and raised my shoulders. “I haven’t been to the store in a while.” I shuffled the few items inside the refrigerator around, but it revealed no hidden treasure.
I straightened, closing the door. “I could take you out for breakfast.”
He pushed off the edge of the sink and headed past me, out of the kitchen. “It’s okay. I need to run off those donuts, and catch a shower.”
I stared at his back as he moved farther away with each step and panic crept up on me. “Lunch, then? Or dinner?” I flinched. My voice came out far louder than I intended. And rushed.
He turned slowly, wearing the same shit-eating grin he would wear if he bested me at basketball. My face heated. The little bastard knew he had me. Knew I needed his company. And I didn’t do desperate well. In fact, I didn’t do desperate at all. I didn’t do it with Zack, so why the hell would I do it for Nick, who I wasn’t even in love with? The pathetic quality of my plea reeked of weakness and my nose disliked the repulsive stench of it, my lips curling in repugnance.
His eyes shone, and every bit of his body language spoke fluent gloating. “Dinner,” he said slowly. Clearly, he wanted me to suffer longer.
“What time?”
He relaxed his stance, picking his car keys up from the end table. “What works for you?”
I thought about it. “Well…” I sighed. “I’ll probably go into school for a bit.” Along with lesson preparation, I wanted to check my laptop and see if Ryker’s mom had gotten back to me. If the damn thing worked. “I’ve got a few things to do. Is six too late?”
“Nah, that’s fine.” He reached for the doorknob, but twisted back. “You know, I’d love to see your classroom.”
I blanched. “You would?”
“Yeah. See what you’re doing. Get to know the grownup side of Zoe McCord.”
“Well, it’s not all that interesting. Or all that grownup, for that matter.”
He raised his eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that. Let’s say I pick you up there around six, you can sho
w me around, and I’ll make reservations for seven.”
“Nah-ah. I make reservations this time. My treat.”
He twisted the knob and pulled, then, realizing it was locked, turned the deadbolt. When he looked back at me, his blue eyes were twinkling. “We’ll see.” He moved through the doorway.
I stepped forward. “Wait. You don’t even know where I teach.”
“Columbian. Right?”
I don’t remember telling him that. Then again, who knows what I said last night? The thought sent my donuts rolling in my stomach. “Yeah. Right.” He started to leave again, and I took another step toward him. “Text me when you get there, and I’ll let you in.”
“You got it. See you at six.”
“Bye,” I yelled as he closed the door behind him.
With him gone the place was quiet. Too quiet. I’d never noticed how silently I lived. I glanced around the room. Looking for what? Company?
I slowly circled the couch and plopped down. Nick. Nick Adams was back in my life. How did I feel about that? My heart beat a little more strongly than it usually did. The ache was still there, but it was different.
No way did I miss him already. And what about that tug in my gut when I got a glimpse of his nude form? Clearly it had been too long since I’d been with a man if the sight of Nick aroused me. I laughed at myself, then continued to sit and think. I reviewed every moment since I first saw him at the park. We’d laughed a lot. When my mini personal slide show got to the part where we’d danced on the sidewalk it seemed to slow down. His hand on my back…pressed against him. He’d certainly changed. He wasn’t a skinny, little loser anymore. The new Nick was successful. Built. Even…attractive. I became aware that I was smiling, a hand wrapped around my middle. My heart beat unreasonably loud.
Why am I smiling? And what’s this queasiness in my stomach?
Too many donuts. I’m almost lightheaded from the sugar rush. That had to be it.
Or the tequila.
I shook it off and got dressed, but, for the rest of the afternoon, my mind kept drifting back to Nick.
Chapter 6
Nick
Pitchfork in the Road Page 5
