The Training tst-6

by Tara Sue Me

  “You would have done it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If that was your choice.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed in myself once again.

  “Abby,” he said, as if sensing my sadness. “Don’t let one mistake weigh you down. It’s a learning experience.”

  “But it was a rare occasion, and I blew it.”

  “And you’ll blow it again. I’ll blow it sometimes. We learn. We move on.”

  He switched to my other foot, slowly working his way from the top to the bottom.

  “Thank you for the poem,” I said. His reciting of “Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her” had been just what I needed to calm my fears early Saturday morning.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Felicia and Jackson’s new house was beautiful. It had five bedrooms, five full bathrooms, three half baths, and a large rooftop deck. I spent most of my lunch hours and many of my evenings going to furniture stores, antique dealers, and designer fabric makers. Felicia was an astute decorator. She knew what she wanted and, most of the time, got it. Of course, being engaged to one of the country’s most well-known football players helped.

  Yet there was a certain sadness overshadowing my time with Felicia. We had been neighbors for years, and it was hard to believe that in less than two weeks, she’d be gone. When I wasn’t with Nathaniel, I’d be all alone.

  Unless . . .

  No, I wouldn’t even think that. It was much too soon to even think about moving in with Nathaniel. Even if he wanted to.

  Right?

  What’s the big deal? I asked myself. I mean, you will probably be at his house most of the time after the wedding anyway.

  Still . . .

  Best not to push it, I decided. Everything was still too new for both of us.

  “What has you thinking so intently?” he asked as he opened the passenger’s-side door. “Abby?” he asked again, holding out a hand for me.

  “Just thinking,” I said. His hand was warm and firm around mine. “Nothing in particular.”

  “Remind me to ask you something about next weekend,” he said as we climbed the steps to the front door.

  “Next weekend?” I looked up at him. He didn’t usually tell me his plans for the weekend. “What about it?”

  His hand squeezed mine. “Later.”

  “There you are,” Jackson said as the door swung open. “Come on in. I was just getting ready to light the grill.” He leaned over and gave me a one-armed hug. “Felicia needs your opinion in the kitchen.”

  “No,” I said, returning the hug. “She just wants me to smile and nod in agreement with her opinion.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  We walked into the kitchen, where Felicia was busy setting out salad ingredients. Once the men gathered the steaks and left the kitchen to go outside, she cocked an eyebrow.

  “No collar?” she asked.

  “I thought you didn’t want the details.” I hadn’t told her about our new arrangement. Still, she knew I had spent the weekend with him and probably guessed the rest. I sat down at one of the new barstools we’d picked out early last week. “I knew these would look good.”

  “Yes, they do look good.” She took a head of lettuce and washed it in the sink. “And no, I don’t want the details. I just thought you’d have it on. You did spend the entire weekend with him. And you didn’t take an overnight bag with you.”

  Damn girl was too observant for her own good. “You either want the details or you don’t. You can’t have it both ways.” I took a knife. “Need help?” She passed me a cucumber and I started chopping. “Since you asked, yes, I did wear his collar this weekend. But I wear it only on weekends.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Honestly, Felicia,” I said, dicing the cucumber into smaller pieces.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just worry about you. Especially since the last time—”

  “You’re sweet to worry,” I said. “But don’t. This is nothing like the last time.”

  “He better be careful,” she said. “It’d look really bad if I had to murder my cousin-in-law.”

  The realization that Nathaniel would become Felicia’s cousin-in-law always left me with an ache in my heart. It was as if she would have some kind of connection with him I didn’t.

  “At least it’s got diamonds,” she said. “It’ll look good with the dress.”

  Her comment caught me off guard. I hadn’t thought about wearing the collar to the wedding. But it would be held on a weekend. Per our arrangement, I would wear it. I chewed my lip as I threw the diced cucumber into the salad bowl. It was no big deal. I’d worn the collar around Nathaniel’s family before. I could do it again.

  But this is Felicia’s wedding.

  But again, no big deal. It wasn’t as if Nathaniel would pull me into a darkened closet and spank me with a coat hanger.

  Of course, on the other hand, that could be fun.

  My face heated at the thought.

  No. Must. Not. Think. That. Way.

  Or maybe he would command me to crawl under the table and suck him off.

  No, he’d never do that.

  Salad, Abby, I told myself. You’re making salad.

  But the more I tried not to think about serving Nathaniel at Jackson and Felicia’s wedding, the more I thought about serving Nathaniel at Jackson and Felicia’s wedding, and the more my imagination ran away with me. By the time the salad was finished, I’d concocted scenario after scenario of wedding possibilities. Each one dirtier and more exciting than the last.

  Laughing voices came from down the hall, and I looked up from washing my knife just in time to see Nathaniel and Jackson walk into the kitchen.

  Jackson would probably be the man most eyes would be drawn to. Not only was he handsome, but he had a build that just screamed for attention. And because he was always laughing and smiling, one just had a natural tendency to want to be with him.

  But it was his quieter, unassuming cousin I focused on. Even from the doorway, his presence called to me. Nathaniel walked with an understated elegance and confidence that totally mesmerized me. My eyes caught his, and our gazes held as he walked into the room. He set down a plate of steaks, his eyes burning into mine. My gaze dropped to his full lips, and it was as if I felt his kiss again, along my back after he’d taken me over the whipping bench the previous day. The way he’d commanded me to look at myself after he put the clamps on.

  You naughty girl.

  My face heated, and I focused my attention on the knife I was still washing.

  “You okay, Abby?” Jackson asked. “Do I need to turn the air on?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine. Just got a little overheated.” I nodded to the water in the sink. “Dishes.”

  Nathaniel, of course, knew exactly what I was thinking. He walked up behind me, took the knife from my hands, and gently set it on the countertop. “I think this is clean enough.” He turned me so I faced him. “Are you okay?”

  Are you okay?

  The three-word question he’d whispered over and over the last few days to ensure I was fine and safe and able to continue. My mind automatically checked each part of my body and mind to verify and ensure my answer was truthful.

  “Yes, Mas—” I stopped short at his intake of breath. “I mean, yes, Nathaniel.” I lifted up on my toes and brushed his cheek with my lips. “Yes, I’m fine.” I whispered in his ear, “I just slipped a little there.”

  His expression was unreadable, almost as if he was gauging whether to say something or not. “I did wonder,” he mumbled to himself, but didn’t finish what he wondered.

  “Hey, you two,” Jackson said. “Knock it off and let’s eat.”

  I noticed then that Nathaniel’s arms were around me, and to anyone else, we probably looked like a couple in a lover’s embrace. My gaze shot over to Felicia, but she just gave a short nod of approval and went about pulling plates from the cabinets.

  “Co
me on,” she said to Jackson. “Let’s take the plates and steaks outside. I’m not sure why you two brought them back inside in the first place.” She smiled at Nathaniel and me. “Bring the salad with you when you come.”

  “Will do,” I told her, my arms still around Nathaniel.

  Felicia and Jackson left, discussing the potatoes left on the grill and whether or not they’d be ready.

  “Sorry,” I said to Nathaniel, when they were out of earshot.

  “Whatever for?” he asked.

  “I didn’t mean to slip there. When I said—

  “I want you to do something for me,” he interrupted. “I want you to stop apologizing for everything. Matter of fact, I want you to go the rest of the evening without apologizing for anything.” His eyes sparkled. “Can you do it?”

  “I’ll try. I don’t know what happened there,” I said. “Hearing you ask if I was okay just triggered something, I guess.”

  “It was me,” he said. “I need to find new words.” He pulled away and took two bottles of dressing from the refrigerator. “She has only Italian and ranch? No bleu cheese?”

  I shrugged. “Hasn’t stocked up the refrigerator yet, I guess. Think you can do Italian for one night?”

  He didn’t answer, but instead went back to our previous conversation. “When I walked into the kitchen and saw you at the sink, you just looked”—he wrinkled his brow—“perplexed or confused or something.” He took a cucumber from the salad bowl and chewed it thoughtfully. “I wonder if we should have stayed at my house tonight.”

  I wondered the same thing. It was just odd being a “regular” couple after such an intense weekend.

  “I know,” I said. “But I think it’ll be good. Jackson’s such fun and I want”—I took the salad bowl and moved toward the door—“I want to show Felicia we’re fine.”

  We had gone out with Felicia and Jackson a few times since getting back together. While part of me wondered if Nathaniel and I should have stayed at his house for the night, a larger part of me wanted to be back around Jackson and Felicia. To prove, somehow, that we were able to do the dual relationship.

  Nathaniel and I made it to the rooftop deck right as Jackson took the potatoes from the grill.

  “Right on time,” Felicia said.

  Nathaniel placed the dressings on the table and took the bowl from me. Then he came behind my chair and pulled it out for me.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” I told him, taking a seat as he pushed the chair under the table.

  “Humor me?” He trailed his fingers down my back and then back up, coming to rest at the nape of my neck with a soft squeeze. It was as if he felt more comfortable touching me. Needed a physical connection with me.

  I glanced over to Felicia and Jackson. They stood by the grill, talking. Felicia balanced a plateful of potatoes.

  “I like taking care of you,” Nathaniel said, taking his own seat.

  “You took care of me all weekend,” I countered.

  “No.” He smiled. “You took care of me.”

  I placed a napkin in my lap. “How about we just agree that we both took care of each other?”

  “I’ll go with that,” he said. “But you need to accept the fact that I will always pull your chair out, open your car door, and stand when you leave the table.” He leaned over to whisper, “It’s the way I was raised. My dad and uncle did the same things for mom and Linda, and they never served them the way you serve me.”

  “That you know of,” I shot back.

  He laughed. “I’m not even going to think about that.”

  Jackson and Felicia walked to the table.

  “So,” Jackson said, sitting down. “What have you two been up to this weekend?”

  Felicia’s eyes bugged out. I almost giggled, it was so comical. What did she think I was going to do? Launch into a running commentary on the ins and outs of what we had done?

  “Abby treated me to her delicious French toast,” Nathaniel said, speaking of the breakfast I’d made for him that morning. He raised his glass to me. “Superb, as always.” He looked over to Felicia. “Has she shared her recipe with you? Jackson loves French toast.”

  Felicia shook her head. “I’m not much of a cook. I’m afraid Jackson will have to do without that particular delicacy.”

  And just like that, the conversation drifted away from our weekend. I placed a hand on Nathaniel’s knee and he reached down to intertwine our fingers.

  I squeezed his knee. Thank you.

  He returned the squeeze. You’re welcome.

  “I’d better head home,” Felicia said two hours later, when the last dish had been put in the dishwasher, following the high-spirited dinner. “Abby promised to help me finish the table seating arrangements.”

  Jackson leaned against the countertop. “Explain to me again why we care where people sit?”

  Felicia huffed and picked her purse up from beside the refrigerator. “We just do.”

  “But, baby, you’ve gone over the table arrangements five times already.” He winked at me, obviously enjoying pushing this particular button of Felicia’s. “We’ll be just as married if the Tompkinses sit beside the McDonalds or not.”

  She ignored him. “When did you say your dad was getting into town?” she asked me.

  “Thursday before,” I answered, slipping my hand inside Nathaniel’s. He had mentioned how much he was looking forward to meeting my dad. A thought flitted through my head: will he mention the collar if I have it on?

  She put her hands on her hips. “Think he’d like to sit with the Tompkinses?”

  “Even I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Nathaniel said. Of course he wouldn’t think that would be a good idea. Who wanted his current girlfriend’s parent to sit next to and have dinner with his ex-girlfriend’s parents?

  “In that case, I guess Abby and I have a lot of work to do,” Felicia said.

  Nathaniel pulled me to the door. “I’ll take you home.” He nodded to Jackson. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

  His cousin had eyes only for his fiancée. “If I make it to tomorrow. I’ll make you a deal,” he said to Felicia. “I won’t say another word about table arrangements if you let me keep the trophies in the living room.”

  Her hands were still on her hips as her lips curled. “As long as you know I still think they would look better in your office.”

  He moved to her, a twin smile covering his face. “And as long as you know I still don’t know why we care where everyone sits.”

  He’d made it to her. Their arms came around each other. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pressed closer to him.

  Nathaniel and I walked out of the kitchen, still holding hands, and left through the front door.

  “Meet me for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Sushi?”

  “I can always do sushi,” he said. “Though I do prefer when you and I make it.”

  We’d made it to his car. “Then how about we do sushi Tuesday night and do something else for lunch tomorrow?”

  “Tuesday night sounds great,” he said. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

  I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his shirt, just because I wanted to touch him. “Final dress fitting.”

  “Fun.”

  “Not really, but I’ll survive. Especially if I have Tuesday to look forward to.”

  He smiled. “Tuesday night we make sushi.” His voice dropped. “Will you stay the night?”

  I leaned toward him. “Yes,” I said, and I felt his breath on my cheek.

  His lips grazed mine. “Thank you.”

  “If I can’t apologize”—I put my arms around him—“you can’t thank me.”

  His laugh was warm and deep in my ear. I pulled back and smiled. “Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  As he, once more, moved close to me, I shut my eyes and breathed in the scent of him. He smelled dark and woodsy.

  Our
lips touched, gentle at first. I sighed and ran my fingers through his hair. He moaned and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. Then what was gentle grew passionate and what was soft became laced with need. But we both knew we could not give in to our need. It wouldn’t progress beyond the kiss.

  When our lips parted, he sighed against my cheek. “I love you.”

  Chapter Seven

  —ABBY—

  I turned the rice cooker on and walked to where Nathaniel stood cutting cucumbers, carrots, and avocados. I reached under his arm and grabbed a peeled carrot.

  “Hey.” He spun around. “I was just getting ready to use that one.”

  “You have plenty.” I took a small bite, enjoying the satisfying crunch.

  He narrowed his eyes and watched me with mock ire as I chewed and swallowed.

  “FYI,” I said, shaking the carrot at him. “I will never pick peas over carrots on a Tuesday night. Unless they’re cooked. I hate cooked carrots.”

  His eye crinkled up at the edges and his mouth gave way to a beautiful smile. “Point taken.”

  “Now.” I reached for the peeler and took another carrot. “Since I’ve deprived you of your peeled carrot, the least I can do is peel another one for you.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, his hand brushing my shoulder just slightly before moving away from me. “The very least.”

  I knew he was working hard, trying to let me dictate our weekday time. He had been hesitant at lunch the previous day, a change from the cookout with Felicia and Jackson when he’d touched me almost constantly.

  I turned to him and stroked his hand. “I like it when you touch me. Don’t stop just because you’re afraid I’ll take it the wrong way or will feel obligated.”

  His smile grew even larger. “You know me so well.”

  I lifted to my toes and gave him a small kiss. “Sometimes.”

  The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me. I decided not to pursue it further. Besides, there was something else I wanted to talk about. I turned back to the counter and began peeling the carrot.

  “You wanted to ask me something about this weekend?” I asked.

  He took another carrot and we worked side by side.