"Really?" I asked, smoothing my hands over the belly of it, turning to look in the mirror again. "Aren't I supposed to wear a little black dress?" I asked, trying to decide how I felt about the deep red wine color.
"Sure. If you have no imagination. Trust me, this is the one."
And she would know better than me.
It wasn't overly fancy, which I was thankful for. It was a simple v-neck bodice A-line dress with a cold shoulder and a hemline that was neither demure nor risqué, but just the right amount of sexy.
"This will work with flats?" I pressed, giving her a raised brow. I still had a blister on my heel from those booties she'd put me in.
To that, she and the Kenzi woman shared exasperated looks before Fiona looked back at me. "Yeah. It'll be fine," she relented. "Come on, change back into your normal clothes. Let's go stuff our faces."
With that, we did.
So I had the dress.
And the shoes.
And the understated accessories.
I spent all of Monday nervous about the date, but in a good way. I'm not sure I knew a good kind of nervousness existed before. But it did. Yes, I stressed about what I might say, if there would be awkward silences, or if I spilled food all over myself. But more than that, I was eager for the unknown, for learning more about Rush.
And, you know, maybe to feel his hands on me again.
God, that had been just... other-level hot. I'd never experienced anything like that before.
I wanted more.
Thanks to Rush's communication skills, there was no insecurity about him wanting me back. He told me he did. I could take him at his word about it.
Rush freaking Rivers wanted me.
The thrill that moved through my system at that had made me full-stop between my bathroom and my bedroom, realizing that this was what confidence must have felt like, what power felt like.
It was heady, intoxicating. I could see how people easily became addicted to it, went overboard with it. I wasn't exactly at risk for that, but it was nice to feel even a small twinge of it for a change.
As planned, Fiona showed up an hour before Rush was supposed to pick me up, bringing with her a much smaller makeup bag than the last time after I'd insisted I wanted something a little less dramatic this time.
In the end, Fiona was gone, and I was standing alone in my kitchen, hand pressed to my belly where anticipation was bubbling up while I waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Then, ten minutes early, he was there.
"You're early," I told him, giving him a smile as I opened the door.
"You're beautiful," he said, almost sounding a little... sad about that? But that didn't make any sense.
He was dressed up too, in a black suit with a charcoal shirt underneath. No tie, and the top two buttons were undone, giving him a less polished, more bad-boy appearance that made me almost suggest we skip dinner entirely, and head into my place.
I'd cleaned it before work that morning, changing the sheets, tucking anything embarrassing away, setting a scene in case he was right and we ended up back at one of our places.
"Do you need to grab anything? Purse? Sweater?" he prompted, hungry eyes roaming over me one more time, making me feel warm all over.
"Fee would kill me if I covered this dress with one of my sweaters," I told him, reaching for one of the pretty wraps she'd picked out for me at the shop. "This will have to do."
"That's practically a piece of a silk bathrobe," he objected, shaking his head.
"It'll be okay," I insisted. "You have heat in the car," I added.
With that, his hand pressed into my lower back, making my belly wobble happily as he led me down the stairs and through the front doors, walking me toward his car—a black sports car with square features, the kind of car that likely got him pulled over all the time.
"What's the matter?" Rush asked, sliding into his seat, looking over at me.
"There's not a speck of dirt... anywhere," I said, looking in the corners of the center console, sure I would find a speck of dust wedged in there. But nope.
"I can be a little anal about my car," he admitted, pushing the start, making it rumble to life. "I have reasons," he added, tone getting a little guarded, which felt wrong for him. "We'll get into that later," he assured me, reading the question on my face.
With that, he pulled out of his spot, driving out of my lot.
At the stop sign that led to the main street, though, his free hand moved out, grabbing my thigh just under the hem of my skirt, staying there until he needed to shift, but going right back again.
It was a chaste touch, by almost anyone's standards, but my heart skipped at it, realizing no one had ever touched me just because they wanted to touch me before, without any expectations, without it leading to something else.
It was a somewhat possessive gesture that I was eating up, leaving me disappointed when we finally pulled up to the restaurant, and his hand slid away so he could get out of the car, getting to my side before I could reach for my own handle.
Famiglia was a staple in this town, a big building set on pillars over the ocean with a large wrap-around deck for amazing views during the good weather. Even in the chilly fall, there were a few souls gathered there, stubbornly holding onto the disappearing traces of summer.
The stairs were slippery, even under my ballet flats with their grippy soles, but Rush was every bit the gentleman, reaching out to grab my hip, hauling me against his much more solid body as we made our way up the steep steps to the front doors.
Famiglia was almost exactly how I remembered it. Upscale, a little dim to give it the appearance of intimacy without stepping over into creepy territory.
"Rush Rivers," Rush said when we got up to the hostess stand.
I don't know why—though I planned to ask- but at that name, the hostess immediately straightened, sent him a warmer smile, grabbing menus out of the side pocket on her stand. "Right this way, Mr. Rivers," she said, leading us down the line of tables toward the back.
I'd never been able to sit in the booths in the back. They were the most sought-after seats in the place, given the way the sides curved inward, almost making little rooms for the diners sitting there, giving them privacy.
"I figure you'd prefer a booth," Rush said, reading the situation perfectly. "More private," he added, giving me a smile.
"Okay, spill," I demanded, lips curving up. "You're in the mafia or something, aren't you?" I teased.
"Or something," he grumbled under his breath, making my stomach tense.
"Wait... what?"
"We'll get into that, baby," he promised. "But pick out a drink first," he told me, pressing my menu open.
"I've never been much of a drinker," I admitted. "I kind of only like the super girly things full of sugar. And they're embarrassing to order."
"Like this apple drink thing?" he asked, pointing toward it on the menu, making me look it over.
"Exactly like that."
"Two of the girly apple drinks," he told the server after greeting him, getting a smile from her before she moved off to the bar. "You don't have to be embarrassed about what you like, Katie. And the girly drinks are usually pretty bitchin'."
"Do people still say 'bitchin'?" I teased, getting a wink from him.
We got our drinks and ordered our food, both of us falling into the awkward silence I'd been dreading."
"Rush—"
"Here's the thing," he said at the same time as me, head whipping up, looking at me, giving me that guarded expression again.
"What's the thing? You're a big-time mafioso who has fed several people to the fishes," I teased, swirling the straw in my drink. "Oh, my God... are you?" I asked when his eyes looked almost, I don't know, guilty."
"No," he said, giving me a humorless laugh as he took a sip of his drink. "Okay, look. Since moving to Navesink Bank, a lot has changed in my life. Everything, really. But before we all landed here, my siblings and I, w
e didn't exactly do something legal for a living," he told me.
"Okay," I said, reminding myself that a lot of people did things that were technically illegal, but didn't hurt anyone per se. "What did you do?"
"We robbed places," he admitted.
"What?" I hissed, feeling like someone had ripped the rug out from underneath me.
"Yeah," he said, nodding at my reaction. "I know. That's a lot to take in."
"I don't think I understand," I told him, sure there was something I was missing, something he wasn't saying. I mean, sure, robbers existed, but you never saw them in real life, had dinner with them at a fancy restaurant.
"You want it all?" he asked. "The whole story," he clarified.
I did.
And he gave it to me.
About his mom, about her sickness, the company that didn't stand behind her, the debt she got into for her treatments before she decided to stop treatment, to let her sickness take its course because she couldn't afford to pay anymore.
She left behind five children. The boys: Kingston, Nixon, Atlas, and Rush. And their little sister Scotti.
And a lot of bitterness about the whole situation. Most of it was directed—understandably—at the company that wouldn't give her medical coverage, that decided she was better off replaced than alive.
In that situation, especially most of them being as young as they had been at the time, I understood how impulsive ideas came to them.
But it hadn't just been bitter words shared during a period of grief for them. It was a plan. A plot for revenge. That they actively worked toward in and out of different cities and states, stealing back what the company owed their mother.
It was hard to accept as reality.
But nothing about Rush as he spoke suggested he was yanking my chain, that he was trying to get a rise out of me.
When he spoke of his mother, there was pain in his eyes. Even when he talked about their work—for lack of a better term—the years following, there were traces of anger over the situation.
"It was wrong," he concluded. "But it wasn't at the same time," he said, shrugging. "I know that is a lot to take in," he said, leaning back against the tufted booth back, taking a slow, deep breath. "If you want me to take you home, let me know."
"I... I'm processing," I told him. "So, you were in Navesink Bank doing a, you know, job?"
"Yes."
"And that was when Scotti met Fiona's brother-in-law?"
"Yeah. Mark Mallick. That's when the plan changed."
"Fiona knows about all your... pasts?"
"Yeah."
"And Mark and Scotti..."
At that, he let out a hissing breath. "This might not be my place. But the Mallicks haven't exactly been on the up-and-up with the law either," he told me, hedging, and I understood why. That was privileged information, something the Mallicks likely didn't want shared around all willy nilly. "So, they didn't judge. They just took us in."
"And you went to work at Fee's place."
"Yes."
"And Kingston opened a private security agency," I said, feeling my lips curve up.
"The irony, right?" he asked, shaking his head. "Nixon and Atlas work for him occasionally too, but Nixon is off with Reagan and her whiskey business, which suits him a little better. He's such a dick. Clients hated him," Rush admitted, smiling fondly at some private memories.
"You didn't want to go into anything with, you know, cars?" I asked.
"I never had any interest in selling them or fixing them. Just driving them. And there's not a lot of jobs for that. So I just enjoy a good drive now and again. Helps clear the head. I'm planning a big road trip next summer, though, take off in a car and see the world. As much traveling as I have done, there was never much time for sightseeing."
"A road trip sounds like the perfect way to travel," I agreed. "You don't have to be packed into crowded trains or planes or buses or boats with a ton of other people. It sounds peaceful."
"Katie..."
"Yeah?" I asked, looking up, seeing a raw vulnerability in his gaze that made me want to reach out toward him, but he had his arms off the table.
"It's okay if you're not okay with it."
"Our pasts don't define us, right?" I asked, shrugging. "I mean... I used to be a huge Twilight fan. Like... I went to the midnight release parties at the bookstores," I admitted, cringing at the memory.
"Baby, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to judge the fuck out of you for that," he teased, beaming at me, the light in his eyes chasing away the uncertainty I didn't like seeing there.
"No fair," I said, shooting him small eyes as our server came back, placing our plates in front of us, cutting off the line of conversation for a moment.
"Really, though, Katie. It's okay," he said, tone earnest as he watched me with understanding eyes.
"Do you plan on falling back into your old, erhm, career?" I asked, grabbing my fork.
"No."
"Then it's all in the past. This is, you know, the present," I told him, twirling my Alfredo noodles onto the tines of my fork.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I agreed, nodding. "I get why you did it too. I mean, I don't know what I would do if that happened to my mom. That's unfathomable to me. I don't think I'd ever have the nerve to get revenge, but I would want it. So I get it. And that's not who you are now. You work in private security. That's a respectable profession," I said, giving him a smile. "Maybe even more respectable than mine," I added, laughing. "I tell people that I am a receptionist at a call center. No one ever asks a follow-up question to that."
"What would you say to your mom?"
"My mom already knows where I work," I told him.
"No, baby, about me," he clarified. "About my past," he added. "I am seeing this going somewhere right now. And I know you and your mom are tight."
"We are," I agreed. "But there's a time and a place, I guess. I didn't tell her about tonight," I added.
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't want to overthink it. And I know if I started telling people, I would do that. I'm going to tell her tomorrow. She likes you. She's a little mad that I said you couldn't come to brunch."
"Well, now you can ease her mind and tell her I will be there bright and early with an empty stomach the next time. I've been craving those crêpes," he admitted.
"She'll be thrilled," I told him, silently adding that I would be too.
I won't lie and say that his past wasn't a shock, that I didn't have mixed feelings about it. But I believed what I said. What was in the past, was in the past. Someone's history didn't define them if they actively worked to build a new life. He'd been young and hurt and angry.
He was older and more level-headed now. He was all about his family. And I knew that because as we ate, he talked about his siblings, their women, the Mallicks and their women, about the crazy things that could happen at get togethers.
He did it with warmth and humor, telling stories so vivid that I felt like I was there, but without the social anxiety I would feel if I was.
"They have bets on us now," he added, making my fork pause on its way to my mouth.
"What?"
"Mark makes pools. For everything. Genders of babies. Whose kid is going to rebel the hardest. Which of the women will object first to a no-shave November. And, most of all, which couples would get together and when. They're betting on us right now."
"How do they even know about me?"
"Fee. King. Don't worry, they don't gossip, just mention shit. Apparently, the whole Mallick clan knew she'd trapped us together in the woods—and why—before we ever figured it out."
"God, that feels like forever ago," I admitted, feeling like so much had happened since. But, I guess, when your life is as uneventful as mine had been since, well, forever, these little dramas that had been a part of my life the past few weeks felt like a lot.
"I regret answering that phone sometimes," he admitted, shaking his head. "I think if we had one mor
e night, things would have happened organically."
"Maybe," I agreed. "But I think you would have been even more angry when you found out about the calls if that had happened."
"Possibly," he admitted. "For the record, I don't regret those calls or anything like that. I just wish I'd have understood why there had been a reaction with you when there hadn't been with someone else."
"I was so lonely," I admitted, gaze slipping to the table. "And I was too insecure to tell you I had a little thing for you."
"Just a little one?" Rush asked, reaching across the table to tap his fingers over my knuckles.
"Well, like, you were unattainable," I said. "So it couldn't be a big crush. Just the sort of far-away admiration people feel toward celebrities kind of thing."
"Think it's much better now that I can do this," he said, sliding his fingers between mine.
"Yes," I agreed, lips curving up. "Much better."
"You want dessert?"
"Do you?" I asked, watching as his eyes went from warm to molten.
"Oh, I can go for a little dessert," he told me. "But they're not serving what I'm hungry for here. Or, he went on, not wanting to pressure me. "We can go get some coffee and donuts, then each go home to our separate places," he said, though I swear it sounded like genuine pain in his voice at the idea.
Pain.
Over the idea of not sleeping with me.
"Take me home with you," I suggested, letting my fingers squeeze his a bit.
THIRTEEN
Kate
I know I had carefully arranged my room to accommodate having company. And, in a way, I might have been more comfortable in my own space, around my own creature comforts.
That said, I was curious about Rush's place.
So we left Famiglia and turned in the other direction from the way that would lead back to my place, heading instead to a nicer apartment building than mine.
It was a four-story-stucco building with black window casings and black balconies, giving it a more sleek, modern look.
The main areas inside were noticeably sparse as all apartment buildings were, but meticulously clean.
Rush lived on the top floor, nestled in the back corner.
Pull You In (Rivers Brothers Book 3) Page 15
