by Lane Hart
"Sorry," Nathan says once we're on the road. "I had hoped we could be stealthy as ninjas and get in and out without them noticing."
"It's okay," I reply.
"You sure?" he asks, shooting me a quick look before his eyes go back to the road.
"Yeah, it was fine," I assure him.
When we pull up in the Dave & Buster’s parking lot, I realize what his mom meant.
"You mind eating here?" he asks. "'Cause I could take you somewhere else."
I let out a sigh as I stare out the windshield at the logo. "My son doesn't like this place," I admit.
"What? Why not?" he asks.
"He says it's too loud and bright."
"Is he seven or seventy?" Nathan asks before apologizing.
"It's okay. I just want Grayson to be a normal kid, you know? It's great that he's smart and mature for his age, but sometimes I just wish he'd have fun."
"Well," Nathan starts as I watch him twirl his keyring around his finger. "I don't know anything about raising kids, but maybe you need to set an example and have some fun yourself. See if he might follow your lead."
"Why not," I agree. "I've tried everything else I can think of."
"Good. Now let's go eat, drink and play."
Nathan gets out and comes around to open the door for me. I take his offered hand, but he doesn't let it go once my two feet are safely on the ground. It's funny how something as simple and innocent as having a man hold my hand makes me feel like a teenager. Back when just having a boy touch you made you giddy. Even though I'm a grown woman, Nathan somehow manages to invoke that same heartwarming feeling inside me.
After the hostess greets Nathan by his first name and leads him to his "usual" booth, I start to wonder how many women he brings here. He's a young athlete, definitely hot in a very unique way. Girls probably throw themselves at him all the time. That insight sobers me up quite a bit from the giddiness.
"Nate!" a bubbly looking blonde exclaims. She's a waitress based on the black V-neck logo shirt. Her bosom is straining to escape the top thanks to the bright pink push-up bra that’s on display. My first thought is I really don't like her. When she presses her chest against Nathan to actually hug him, I decide I hate her.
Jeez, why do I even care? This isn't a date, and I have no claim to him. She's just being...unprofessional. Yeah, that's it.
"Natalie, this is Alyssa," he tells the bimbo, and her smile falters when she looks at me.
"What can I get you to drink?" she asks. "Your usual?"
"Um, sure," Nathan replies. "Alyssa, what would you like?"
"Water with lemon?" I ask and get no response from the waitress.
"Do you want to start off with wings or nachos?" she asks him.
"No, thanks, unless you want some?" he asks me. And after I shake my head in the negative, she finally saunters off.
Nathan leans forward, his elbows on the table, and says, “You know, you look like cameras should be on you when you do that."
"Do what?" I ask, taken aback.
"Toss your hair. You’re beautiful," he says softly.
"Oh. Um, thanks," I stammer.
Where’s my notepad when I need it? This guy has lines like the ones that would come right out of my characters’ mouths. The kind that make the heroine blush and feel all special before she finds herself falling into bed with the hero and letting him ravage her…
"Here's your water," the waitress practically shouts as she slides the glass between us on the table. "I'll be right back with your beer."
"Thanks," Nathan says to her. "Can you please grab her a lemon on the way back?"
I glance down and notice for the first time that it's missing.
"Sure," the waitress says shortly before leaving.
"Thank you," I tell him for speaking up for me.
"Welcome," he replies with a smile. "So since you know all about my youth, I think you should answer a few questions about yourself."
"Oh really?" I ask. "There's not much to know."
"Uh-huh. Let’s start from the beginning. You're not from around here are you?"
"Ah, no," I laugh since it’s that obvious. "My family moved down here when I was in middle school after my dad's job at Cisco got transferred to this area from our hometown of Portland."
"And you obviously stuck around."
"I did.”
“You’ve never told me what you do. Are you a stay-at-home mom, or do you work?” Nathan asks.
“Oh, um, well I’m actually the person who types up obituaries at the Cary Journal.”
“Obituaries?” he asks with a wrinkled nose. “That sounds…depressing.”
“Oh, it is,” I admit and then try to think of something to steer us away from talk of the newspaper. “In my free time, my hobby is writing. I’m actually working on a few novels, you know, romances? Maybe one day I’ll try to self-publish them or submit them to an agency.”
“Romances? Do they have like the hot bow chica wow wow scenes, or are they tame, sweep-her-off-her-feet with flowers, poetry and fancy dinner stories?” he asks with a smirk, and I’m unable to hold back my laughter at his silly phrasing.
“Why can’t they be both? Don’t real relationships have the steamy sex and the sweet romance?”
“I…I wouldn’t know,” he answers before lowering his eyes to the table.
“I wouldn’t either,” I confess. “In the beginning, Austin and I were all about the steamy, but he wasn’t the kind of man to make romantic gestures. Then after we were married, he went into the Marines…”
“So exactly how young were you when you got married?” Nathan asks. “Because the math in my head is not really adding up."
I avoid his probing eyes when I lie. "Eighteen."
"So you're…how old now?"
"Twenty-six."
"Really?" he asks. "I wouldn’t have guessed that you’re older than twenty-four."
"Everyone says I look younger than I am," I reply, taking a sip of my water to wash away the taste of the deception. Which, of course, reminds me of my ultimate purpose for having dinner with Nathan tonight. And he just gave me the perfect opening…
“So how old are you?” I ask him, trying to sound casual instead of like an eager reporter.
“Twenty-two.”
“Oh really? You seem older,” I tell him honestly. “When’s your birthday?”
And here we go. Is he the Nathan Lewis that’s a hero, or was Candice wrong about him?
“July ninth. When’s yours?” he asks, while I try to hold in my gasp.
So it’s definitely him. The man sitting across from me saved dozens of lives by selflessly putting himself in imminent danger. He’s a real-life hero, not a made up one from one of my books. So why doesn’t he want anyone to know? Oooh, and that would make a great twist in the story I’m writing about the sexy ginger who saves the day and then thoroughly screws the heroine’s brains out when he realizes life is too short to not seize the moment…
"Alyssa?” Nathan calls out my name, sending a jolt of warmth through my body and making me realize that I must have missed part of the conversation while my imagination was running wild.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I ask before taking a sip of my water as a blush spreads across my cheeks and my nose. Ugh, that’s always been my tell. When I’m embarrassed or aroused, I turn into freaking Rudolph.
“So, when's your birthday?" Nate asks with a grin.
"Oh, um, August fourth, nineteen eighty-nine," I say automatically before guzzling down half the glass of clear liquid because my lying throat is suddenly as parched as the Sahara desert. When Nate remains quiet, I glance up at his face. His forehead is creased like he’s confused.
"Why did you say the year?" he cocks his head and asks. Dammit.
"Just habit," I reply, pretending to read the menu in front of me.
"Here you go, Nate," the waitress says with a flourish when she sits a tall glass of beer down on the table.
"Thanks,
hon," he tells her. "But you forgot her lemon again."
"Oh, yeah. I'll be right back."
"It's not a big deal," I say to him once the ditzy waitress is out of earshot.
"Yes, it is. I know what she's doing. She's ignoring you on purpose," he says, tipping his beer to his lips. "Shit's about to piss me off."
I can't help but laugh at the narrow-eyed, grumpy expression on his handsome face. This is the first time the easygoing man has seemed annoyed. It's sweet that it’s such a minor slight against me that bothers him.
"She won't like me when I'm angry," he then teases with a grin.
"Do you turn neon blue?" I joke because of the color of his truck.
"Uh-huh," he answers. "The blinding brightness is a defense mechanism."
"Right," I say.
"Sorry about that," the waitress returns with a plate of lemons. I instantly worry that she spat on them or licked them. "You ready to order?"
"Maybe you should write it down so you don't forget," Nathan offers, and I wonder if the blonde picked up on his snippiness.
"Oh yeah. Good idea," she says before brandishing a notepad and pen. I order the pretzel dogs and Nathan asks for a burger.
“So tell me about what you do for a living,” I say, trying to see if he’ll open up about how he can easily kick a gunman’s ass. Even though the pacifist in me screams indignantly, I have to admit that I’m turned on by his apparent hero-complex. There’s something about knowing a man can provide safety and protection that makes me hot.
“Well, my teammates have a lot of fights up in Atlantic City and Vegas…” Nathan starts, and then a blush matching mine spreads over his ivory cheeks.
“You count cards?” I ask since he said he basically has a photographic memory.
“I don’t gamble much,” he answers. “Just enough to win big and go home.”
“That’s how you earn a living?” I ask. “Gambling? What about the fighting?”
“I’m really nothing more than a training partner, mostly for Linc, and sometimes Jude since we’re all the same size. I teach a few classes but won’t let them pay me a salary since they won’t let me pay membership fees.”
“Oh, so you don’t…cage fight or whatever it’s called?”
“Only for training now. I used to fight, had a decent record thanks to my wrestling championships in college, but lately my heart just hasn’t been in it,” he says sounding almost…sad. I make a mental note to do more research on his career.
“You don’t miss beating up other men?” I ask, fishing for information.
“I beat up plenty of men,” he jokes, flashing me a grin. “But I don’t do it for an audience or for money.”
So maybe I was wrong about him, and he’s not the blood-thirsty barbarian I originally thought he was.
Why does that make me so damn happy?
…
Half an hour later, after we both finish eating while continuing our light, small talk, it's time to play.
Nathan challenges me to a skeeball competition, which I win, and then a basketball shootout, which I score the most points on. We play on a few other classic arcade and racing games before he wins me a stuffed frog from the claw machine.
"If I kiss him, will he turn into prince charming?" I joke.
"I'm gonna be jealous if he gets a kiss and I don't after all my hard work winning him for you," Nathan replies, bracing his palm against the wall next to my head to lean in toward me. His much larger frame is so close I can feel the heat coming off of his body and almost taste his woodsy scent. The humor fades from his green eyes while he watches me cautiously, waiting for me to decide. When I don't move because I'm paralyzed, he lifts his palm and cups my jaw, stroking his thumb gently from one side of my bottom lip to the other so that there's no question as to what he wants.
"I'm no prince charming, but will you let me kiss you anyway?" he asks softly, only inches separating the two of us.
"Yes."
The word barely comes out above a whisper, but it’s loud enough that Nathan understands, because an instant later his soft lips are on mine. He kisses just the corner of my bottom lip first, and then the center, before moving to the other side, following the same path of his thumb. When his tongue swipes a single, teasing flick past my parted lips, trying to coerce mine to play with his, I come undone. My head falls back against the wall as I surrender to the slow and seductive wet glides of our tongues mingling for the very first time. His kiss is confident and intense, letting me know with certainty that he wants me.
The longer we explore each other’s mouths, the more insistent we become, like we’re both starving for slightly more intimate physical contact.
Still holding the frog that started it all in one of my fists, I reach for the sides of Nathan’s lean waist and yank him against me. His kiss deepens at the full body contact, his hard muscles pressed to my soft curves, making my arousal flare even hotter, especially when I feel his thick length pressing into my lower belly, right where the ache is the most prominent.
When there’s a vibrating sensation near my inner thigh, it takes me a minute to realize it's a cell phone and not part of my body's response. Nate mutters something under his breath before he pulls away, both of us breathless as he reaches for the phone in his pocket. I see the word "Sadie" on the screen before he hits ignore.
"Do you need to take that?" I ask when he puts the phone away.
"Nope."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." He leans forward and brushes his lips lightly over mine just once. "You ready to call it a night?"
God, no.
"If you are,” I answer.
"Probably best. You want to use up our tickets to get Grayson something?" he asks, causing my heart to swell up in my chest.
"Thank you for thinking of him, but it's okay. He doesn't really play with toys, and I don't want him to know…" I lower my eyes.
"About me?" Nathan finishes. "It's fine. I understand." He quickly steps away, putting plenty of space between us.
The two of us are quiet on the walk back to his truck and drive back to my car. My lips still tingle from the pressure of our kiss, and I can taste his bitter, but not unpleasant, hint of alcohol on them.
"So what are you doing tomorrow?" Nathan asks as we park in the nearly empty gym lot.
"Nothing before four or five when I go pick up Grayson."
“Then why don’t you come back by here around noon and we can grab lunch or something?” he asks while looking toward the front of the gym. If I didn’t know better, I would say he’s nervous about asking me out. I’m glad he wants to see me again for more than just the potential story. After the kiss we shared, it’s obvious that there’s something more going on here, but now I don’t know how to find the balance between dating him and getting the article. Can I do both? Maybe I can convince him to open up to me and agree to let his story be told.
"Okay, lunch," I agree.
"Good, so I'll see you then. I better go let her in," he says, nodding to the petite blonde yanking on the door handle with all her might, but it doesn't budge.
"Oh, yeah, sure. See you tomorrow."
Turning to me, he stretches across the dark interior of the truck and gives me a quick kiss on the lips before we both climb out. Nathan then jogs over to the front of the building where I watch the woman throw her arms around his neck. Despite the nagging jealousy, I tell myself I’m sure she’s just a friend of his.
Chapter Six
Nate
"Ah, Sadie, what the hell are you doing?" I ask her when I walk up to the front of the gym.
"Nate! Thank God," she says, throwing her arms around me in a grateful hug. "Jude won't answer his damn phone and the doors are locked! I tried calling Linc and then you, but no one answered!"
"No problem. I can’t believe he hasn’t made you a key yet," I tell her as I let her go to turn my key in the lock.
As soon as we walk through the door, you can hear the rock music blaring ove
r the sound system. Jude's the only soul in the closed gym, hammering on a long, hanging bag.
"Jude! What the frick? Why didn't you answer the phone? You said you were gonna be home two hours ago!" Sadie lays into him, making me chuckle.
"Sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time," Jude replies, swiping a hand over his sweaty face.
"Sorry? That's all I get? If I'd been two hours late and not answered my phone, you would've called in the National Guard and started going house to house looking for me!"
"You're right. I didn't mean to worry you," Jude tells her, pulling Sadie to him, which is my cue to leave.
"Ew, you're all sweaty," Sadie complains.
"I thought you liked me sweaty," he replies, and now I'm certain it's time to get the hell out of here. "Where have you been, Nate Dog?” Jude calls out before I make my escape. “Oh, yeah! How was your date?”
“Date?” Sadie exclaims in a supersonic squeal, making me wince. “Who with? How was it?” Suddenly she’s coming at me, firing questions a mile a minute.
“A single mother,” Jude tells her.
“Wow! That’s so sweet! How old are her kids?”
“Just one boy, Grayson, who’s seven,” I respond, knowing if I don’t answer she’ll never let me leave.
“What does she look like?”
“Beautiful. She has this hair…and her smile…”
“Oh my God! You really like her!”
“What?” I exclaim.
“You are smitten!” she says with a big grin. “I predict wedding bells in less than a year.”
I groan and shake my head at her overly enthusiastic attitude. “You’re worse than my mother, Sadie. And that ain’t gonna happen. She’s recently widowed.”
She gasps and covers her mouth. “That’s terrible. What happened?”
“Killed in combat.”
“Oh no. I can’t imagine…” she says with watery eyes.
I wish I could stop imagining it, not only having someone I loved die, but seeing them take their very last breath.
“See you guys later,” I tell Jude and Sadie grimly before making my escape.
Sitting down in my truck, I can’t help but think of the million different scenarios that could’ve happened and would’ve prevented Eli’s death. He may not have died a military hero, but he was only eighteen, too damn young. And it’s all my fault.
