Текст книги "Tempting"
Автор книги: Alex Lucian
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Chapter Twelve
Standing in front of the door, pulling in a steadying breath before opening it for my father, there was a brief, lucid moment of déjà vu that swallowed me like a tidal wave. No question that the outcome would be different, obviously Adele was hiding in my bathroom…
Adele was hiding in my bathroom. Fuck.
I’d officially regressed to something akin to a hormonal teenage boy, trying to hide his first boner from his parents after sneaking a peek at a Victoria’s Secret catalog. I shook my head briskly and pulled open the door, scowling at my father.
“What?”
He shouldered past me without actually making contact, which was a true gift, because I backed away as if he had. If there wasn’t a woman hiding about fourteen feet away from us, it might have bothered me more that I’d been the one to move. As it was, I could only focus on looking like I wasn’t on the verge of freaking the hell out.
“My assistant told me that you haven’t RSVP’d yet.”
I sighed, rubbing at my forehead. “That’s because I forgot. I do have other things that I’m responsible for that are actually more important than sitting at that dinner.”
“As much as I love stopping by this godawful house during my free time, I knew you’d just ignore me if I called or emailed again. Your mother wants you there,” I snorted and he continued as if I hadn’t made a noise, “and it reflects positively on our whole family. We’re as much of a legacy at this university as there is without actually building it, and if you plan on continuing your career here as an Easton, then you will be there.”
There might have been another time where I’d push the issue, press back against the way he’d always wanted to plan out every detail of my life. Maybe even tell him that I quit, I’d gladly take my degree somewhere else, even if it meant leaving the Easton name behind. But Adele was upstairs doing God knows what, and I just didn’t have any fight in me.
Shaking my head, I pulled my phone out of the back pocket of my pants and scrolled through my contacts until I found his office number. My father crossed his arms over his barrel chest and leaned back against the wall next to the entryway table. I met his gaze while his assistant picked up.
“Richard Easton’s office.”
“Nancy, it’s Nathan.”
“Well, Nathan,” her voice warmed immediately, but I didn’t smile, unwilling to give him any ammunition against the only employee of his that I’d liked in the last twenty years, “it’s been far too long since I’ve seen that handsome face of yours. When are you going to come visit me?”
“Soon, I promise.” It was a lie. I wouldn’t go near that place as long as I knew he was in the office behind her desk. “Listen, can you put me down for a plate at the family table at the scholarship dinner in a couple weeks? It slipped my mind to RSVP when I received the invitation.”
“Of course, dear. Shall I put you down as bringing a guest as well?”
Then I did smile, getting a vision of Adele sitting next to me at a $1500 a plate dinner, wearing her black leather pants and horrifying my parents. “No, it’ll just be me. Thank you, Nancy.”
I clicked off the call and continued to hold his stare. He broke first, pushing off from the wall and heading back toward the door.
“What? No thank you?” I said when he pulled open the door, showing no intention of speaking to me again. I should’ve just let him leave.
My father paused long enough to spare me a glance over his shoulder. “Thanks aren’t required when you’re fulfilling a familial obligation, Nathaniel. If you had a modicum of professionalism, you’d understand that.”
The door slammed shut behind him and I clenched my teeth together, breathing hard through my nose. I hated him, hated him so much that it sometimes felt like it would burn me alive from the inside out. And yet I was still under his thumb, working where he’d wanted me to work from the day I was born. I braced my hands on my hips, attempting to calm myself down before I went back upstairs to deal with Adele.
And what was worse than anything that had happened since my father knocked on that door was the realization of how right he was. As his parting shot was still hanging in the air about my lack of professionalism, I would still probably be able to smell Adele on my fingers had I lifted them to my nose. I took the stairs two at a time, rage billowing up in my chest. Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? I’d never sought out to be this pathetic cliché, fucking my young, beautiful student because I’d felt terrible about myself for so long.
When I turned at the top of the stairs toward the bathroom door, I steadied myself. It wasn’t Adele’s fault my dad was a prick. Despite her poor judgement in showing up at my house, she didn’t deserve to be the victim of my misdirected anger.
I pushed open the bathroom door, schooling my face, only to find it empty.
Okay. Stay calm. She probably just went into the guest room across the hall because it was more comfortable. Except, that room was empty too. My heart thundered in my chest. Because I highly doubted that Adele was tucked into the linen closet. And my bedroom door was cracked open, like someone hadn’t dared to close it.
For a moment before I pushed the door open, I paused, reminding myself that violence toward women was not allowed. I’d just calmly ask her to leave.
“Adele, you shouldn’t be—” my voice sliced off, the words jamming in my throat.
Skin. I saw so much skin, covered by tiny scraps of black lace. My eyes took everything in at once, like I was reading an entire page of text with one glance. She’d kept her underwear on, but that was it. Maybe she’d wanted me to decimate it like I’d done the first night we were together.
Her legs were crossed, one foot swinging lazily against the backdrop of my blue-striped comforter. One hand rested on her knee, and the other was stroking the skin on the upper curve of her right breast. Her nipples were tight little buds, and as pissed off as I was, I wanted to tug at them with my teeth. Make her wonder if I was close to drawing blood.
I would, too. If I laid a hand on her right now, I’d hurt her.
So I curled them both into tight fists at my sides. But it was her face that made me snap. She was so sure, so fucking sure that I would cave to her. Those green eyes of hers glowed with a sickening level of triumph, not even the tiniest smile curved her lips.
“Get out.” I didn’t point toward the door, didn’t move my eyes from hers. Then she did smile, eyes dropping down to the front of my pants. I wasn’t fully hard, my rage at seeing her sitting in a place that no woman had been in since the last night Diana was alive morphing into something that overrode even the basest reaction to a naked woman. I wanted to hurt her, wanted to wound her in a way that she’d never want to look at me again, let alone touch me.
“Nathan,” she practically purred, moving to stand. “Let me help—”
“There is something wrong with you,” I said evenly, and she froze, face losing a little color. “You come to my house in the middle of the day, take off your clothes in my private room when my father is downstairs, my father who’s on the board of the school you attend and you think that I’d be remotely tempted?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t have your fingers inside me less than fifteen minutes ago,” she threw back at me, straightening after she’d picked up her bra off the floor.
“Another mistake, I’ll give you that. Men just think with their dicks around you, don’t they?” Adele snapped her mouth shut, using shaking hands to slip her bra on and yank her jeans off the floor. I took a step closer to her, black waves of anger filling my vision as she covered herself. “A stupid little girl who uses her body to get what she wants, not giving a damn about what the consequences might be.”
She went perfectly still, the only movement on her was her chest heaving silently, eyes focused down at where she’d been pulling her shirt over her stomach. When she lifted her head, I almost apologized, the pain that was stamped on her face was so raw that it pulled my breath from my lungs.
“Get out of my house,” is what I said instead.
And this time, she listened.
Chapter Thirteen
The following two weeks could be summed up in the most pathetic diary entry ever:
Dear diary,
Two weeks ago, Nathan kicked me out of his house after calling me stupid. What makes it even worse was that he was right.
The next day, my neighbor’s internet connection—and therefore my own internet connection—was cut off for non-pay, forcing me out of my apartment and into the rapidly chilling temps of autumn in Boston as I fought for counter space at any café with Wi-Fi I could find.
The rest of the week, Nathan ignored me in class. We were back to before. And since I was still licking my wounds, I wasn’t eager to jump him like an animal in heat anytime soon. That didn’t mean my attraction turned off. If anything, the way he ignored me only heightened my desire.
Did I mention that he was right in calling me stupid? Because he most definitely was.
As that week passed into the next and I understood more clearly that Nathan was most definitely not interested (could have been the way he ignored me when I asked for help on an assignment that made that crystal clear), I did something really, really, really stupid. Because like Nathan said, I was a stupid girl.
I kissed Leo. And then I told him to go away.
Confused? Tell me about it.
I hadn’t meant to kiss him. Famous last words.
It’d been a Wednesday, more than a week since Nathan so callously—but reasonably—booted me from his house. Leo had brought over a couple bottles of wine while he explained my math work to me. Perfect set up, right? Wine? Check. Dim lights (err … lights turned off to save money on the electricity bill)? Check. Math with my completely platonic male best friend? Double check. A recipe for romance, for sure.
Except it wasn’t romance that led me to lean over and plant my lips on his.
I took a long gulp, draining the bottle of moscato Leo had deposited in front of me.
“So if x is less than negative two, you can assume that x plus two is less than zero.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned against the couch at my back. The hardwood under my ass was beginning to be almost comfortable. “There shouldn’t be letters in math.” I rolled my head to the side, looking at Leo with one eye open. The wine hit me quickly on my empty stomach, making him look a little fuzzy.
“You really need to pay attention, Adele, if you want to pass this class.”
A hiccup bubbled up in my throat but I held it in with puffed cheeks. After letting my cheeks flatten I said, “Maybe I don’t want to pass this class, Leo.”
“I’m pretty sure the terms of your scholarship require you pass the classes you take.” He said it mildly, not even close to the level of inebriation I was.
I waved a hand dismissively. “Scholarship, smallership. Got any more wine?”
“I think you’re set tonight.”
Another hiccup. This one released itself as I tried speaking, making my voice high-pitched and distinct. Belatedly, I covered my mouth and laughed. “Oh, don’t be a party pooper, Leo. Gimme wine.”
Leo began packing away his things and I was struck then that he was leaving, which meant I’d be alone.
“No,” I began, stumbling to my feet. I held the couch for support as my legs wobbled and the room spun. It was harder being drunk in dim lighting. Everything looked so far away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Leo mumbled as he slung his backpack over his shoulders.
“Come on, Leeeeeeo.” I reached a hand out for his jacket, fell against him clumsily. I squeezed his jacket in my fingers. “This is real leather,” I murmured. “My jacket isn’t real.” The feeling made me a little sad and my level of pathetic shot up ten points.
“What are you talking about?” Leo tentatively placed his hands on my upper arms as I leaned into him, breathing him in.
“You smell good,” I said on an inhale, the spicy aftershave and mint entering my senses. “Do you wear glasses?”
“I don’t need glasses.”
Thinking of Nathan, I held Leo. “Some people wear them anyway. Maybe you should. You could pick up chicks.”
Leo laughed, the rumble causing my cheek to brush against the hard metal buttons on his jacket. “I don’t need help picking up chicks.”
“You always chase the same girls. A bunch of Daphnes.”
“Her name was Darcy.”
I rolled my eyes again, but he couldn’t see. “Whatever. Stupid name. Sounds like the name for a poodle.” I giggled. “A dog.” I giggled harder, and still he held me.
“Do you need help to bed?”
“I wish I had a dog.” Images of a curly, fluffy little animal, someone who would love me unconditionally, made me yearn for something unattainable. Everything I wanted was unattainable.
“Get a dog then, Adele.” I only barely registered the annoyance in his voice as he tried to maneuver me to sit on the couch.
“I can’t. Landlord says no way, Jose.” I pouted, looking up at Leo. “Why do I live in a crappy apartment in Dorchester?”
“Because you’re a poor college student.”
I blinked, then held my eyes tight to keep the room from spinning. “Oh, yeah.”
“Here,” he said, gently pushing me to the couch.
My fingers only tightened, pulling him with me. On top of me.
His weight on me was unusual, but not wholly unwelcome. I was lonely. Sick of chasing Nathan. Sick of feeling like I wasn’t good enough, again.
“Jesus,” Leo swore. “Did you drink before I got here?”
I tilted my head back, eyeing the empty bottle of bourbon on the counter. “I was cleaning out my fridge and there wasn’t much left.” I settled into the cushions, feeling comfort from having Leo to hold.
Leo angled his weight off me, sitting up on the edge of the cushion as I laid flat. “Whoa. I have so many questions. First, you needed to make room in the fridge? For what? Last I knew all you had was a few jars of salsa in there. And are you even supposed to refrigerate bourbon?”
“You ask too many questions, Leo,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. My hand reached for him, and I gripped onto what I assumed was his arm. “My mom sent me money for groceries. And I’m just a stupid little girl, what do I know about bourbon?” The thought, though it hinted at the sadness I felt, curved my lips. “What’s wrong with me?”
He sighed and the cushions shifted, bringing him closer to me. “Nothing is necessarily wrong with you Adele, besides the fact that you’re completely shit-faced right now.”
I shook my head, my eyes still closed. “I’m bad. Very bad.”
I couldn’t make out whatever it was Leo said then, but I felt him pull me up to sitting, bringing me solidly into his arms. “Come on,” he murmured against my hair. “What’s wrong?”
There was a soft voice in my wine and bourbon soaked brain that said I should come clean, say what happened with Nathan. But the moment passed almost immediately and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong,” I said, the only honest thing I could come up with.
His hands rubbed up and down my back soothingly, and my body started to lean more and more against his, needing this comfort more than I’d realized.
After a while, he pulled back and placed a kiss to my forehead. I opened my eyes and looked at my best friend—double images of his face coming into view.
His hands came to either side of my face as if he needed to hold me still himself, so I echoed his movements, holding his face in my hands, trying to stop the double-vision.
“How come we never dated?” I blurted out.
Both of Leo’s faces contorted, his foreheads making wrinkles as if he was confused. “You’re the one who made it clear that I was—” he pulled his hands from my face and held up his first two fingers, curving them to make air quotes “—not your type. I think your words were, ‘I date guys who have their shit together.’”
I felt his words in my chest, felt the pain I must have given him saying that. He dropped his hands to his lap and I missed the warmth they’d given me. “I can be a real bitch, huh?”
Leo chuckled softly. “You’re Adele. You’re tough and assertive—it’s why I liked you. But I got over it, don’t worry.” He placed his hands on my wrist and pulled them from his face. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. I may have been on the verge of blackout drunk, but even I could tell by his body language that he wasn’t being honest with me.
“I should go.” He stood up and grabbed his bag and a sudden panic caused me to jump awkwardly to my feet.
I tumbled across the room, knocking over the empty bottle of wine. When Leo was about to close the door, I did the one thing I shouldn’t have: I pushed him against the wall and planted my lips on his.
His arms came around me, to steady me, but they held on as I kissed him.
Instantly, I knew it was wrong. Not just the fact that I was kissing Leo, not even the fact that I was kissing while drunk. But the way our lips felt on one another was wrong. Leo was holding me in place, not pushing me as I’d pushed him. And through my inebriation, I still registered that Leo and I couldn’t work because he didn’t silence the thoughts that ran through my brain. I should feel drunk while kissing someone, not feel myself sobering from it.
His fingers climbed up my back, holding me to him as if I was porcelain, something that would crumble in his hands. His lips were soft and moved languidly over mine and all I registered was how totally fucking wrong this was.
Even as I pushed him away and stumbled backward, I felt the wrongness of it all. A deep, unshakeable shame came over me as I stared at him, half shocked and half mortified.
“What the fuck was that?”
Wiping a hand across my lips, I shook my head. “I felt bad I said that to you, before, about how I dated men who had their shit together.” I gestured to the door. “You should go away.”
“I don’t need a pity kiss, Adele.” His eyes were angry as he whipped open my door. “Instead of searching for men who have their shit together, maybe you need to get your own shit together.”
Chapter Fourteen
Counting out my share of tips from my last three shifts at the coffee shop alerted me to two things:
1. I’d need to get another job.
2. My customers were cheap mother fuckers.
I leaned back against my couch with a sigh. I had enough in the bank for rent, for my power bill this month—woohoo! And my tips would need to float me for food and my Charlie card for the subway. As much as the subway, the T, pissed me off, riding it was my only option to get around.
Leo was one of the few people I knew that had a car in Boston and he’d often given me rides to class or for shopping. But at the moment, Leo wasn’t exactly jumping out of his pants at the opportunity to speak with me.
I couldn’t blame him, not after the very unromantic kiss I’d given him. And the fact that I hadn’t texted him or called him since it had happened over a week ago didn’t do me any favors either.
It was October eighth, eight days after I had kissed Leo and seventeen days since Nathan had shoved a mirror in front of my face, showing me how stupid I was.
And looking around my apartment, bereft of normal things apartments had, I definitely couldn’t disagree.
I knew moving into Boston would be risky, financially. I anticipated living paycheck to paycheck, forgoing things like shopping sprees, food that wasn’t ramen, and my own internet connection. I knew I likely wouldn’t make many friends in Boston—that wasn’t different from growing up. But what I hadn’t prepared for was the silence.
When I pictured myself moving to Boston, I imagined long walks through the city, whale watching, museum touring, bar hopping, once-in-a-lifetime experiences that only Boston could give me. I’d needed to get away from the people at home with their snide looks and, most of all, his silence. I’d felt heavy at home, buried under the weight of his disappointment.
Except so far, I’d replaced his disappointment for another’s: mine.
And I wasn’t just talking about my lack of things, but my behavior. I’d known Leo for more than ten years, beginning the day he’d kept me entertained in gym class after I’d broken my leg and had to sit out. I wouldn’t say that growing up being called “the slut” had made it easy to make friends of the female variety. And men had lost interest in me when I’d told them my own disinterest in sucking their dick.
Throughout high school I’d only dated college guys which should have made the girls in my class feel secure that I wouldn’t reel their boyfriends in for a fling. But since it hadn’t and I’d been scarlet-lettered, I’d had the whole don’t-give-a-fuck attitude in high school, only letting my guard down when Leo had tried to make me laugh—not to impress me, but to help me drop the fuck-this-shit attitude.
And one drunken night had shown me what a great friend I was to Leo, kissing him because I felt bad, and confused, and lonely.
I hung my head, cradling it in my hands. I wanted a good drink, but since spending the last week annihilating whatever pathetic little bit of liquor I had, I was fresh out. A fact that I cursed heavily upon seeing my mother’s name flash across my phone.
“Hey, mom.”
“Hey, baby.” Her voice was breathy, as usual. I glanced at the time.
“You’re calling late.” For her. It was just after nine on a Thursday, a time which was usually reserved for her shows.
“I wanted to see how you were doing.”
I looked at my fridge, knowing she was talking about the $200 she’d sent me to fill my fridge and cupboards. “I’m good. Thanks for the money, I bought enough food to last me the rest of this month.”
“Good, good.” There was something else and I waited, to hear what it was that I’d done this time.
Instead of prompting her to tell me what that something was, I waited on the other end of the line, the awkwardness growing between us with each second of silence.
“Well,” she began, and I imagined her clutching her necklace—probably pearls—and worrying the gems between her fingers. “Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
It was still over a month away, but my mother was the embodiment of a housewife with her shit together.
“I don’t know,” I said, withholding the sigh.
“Dad might be joining us.” The statement from anyone else, anyone who was not my mother, would have sounded like a natural thing to say. But in the words my mother spoke, I heard what she didn’t say: So you should make sure to not upset him.
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure which was worse: a mother who loved me in the only way she knew how to but fell short in the honesty department, or a father who made his disinterest and disdain completely transparent.
“Maybe I won’t then.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice airy. I could practically see her worry through the phone. “We’d love to have you.”
The only “we” she could be referring to was Celeste and my father and it didn’t take a genius to deduce that the “we” was actually just my mother. Because as much as Celeste had guilt-tripped me for not attending our father’s birthday, she didn’t want me there anymore than he did. That was one of the many fucked up things about the situation: that they guilted me for not attending but if I had attended, I would have been ignored anyway.
“Yeah, well classes have me busy…” my voice trailed away.
“We haven’t been together as a family for years.”
Because of him. That wasn’t on me—that was on him. Years after my mother had insisted on not aborting her surprise pregnancy even though she was forty-five and hadn’t been pregnant in sixteen years, my father had sort-of/kind-of walked out on her, on us. He’d been off doing God-knows-what or who while my mother had raised me solo, her eyes always wandering off, thinking of him, mourning his absence, forgetting me at school or neglecting to brush my hair. She’d lapsed into a silent kind of depression, only getting her spark again when dear old dad showed up on the doorstep just as I was finishing middle school.
I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep myself from saying the things I wanted to say and instead said, “I’ll try.” I wouldn’t. “Maybe you all could come out to Boston.” They wouldn’t.
It seemed lying to one another and to ourselves was our forte in this family.
“Dad’s here right now, do you want to talk to him?”
I knew even if I said yes, he wouldn’t talk to me, because he just didn’t. His only form of communication with me existed solely in the glances he gave me. And the fucked up thing about my mother asking me was that she knew. She knew he wouldn’t talk to me, even if I wanted him to. She was an actress, starring in this scripted show where her husband wasn’t a scumbag, who loved his daughters equally. A man who stood by his wife, a man who actually spoke words to his youngest daughter.
But my father didn’t speak. He glared, he sighed heavily. He saved all his words for Celeste and my mom and spared not a one for me. Celeste and my mom were the way he communicated with me, relaying messages through them. I was a disappointment, a mistake; one he reluctantly supported financially as she grew up—as if that was all a child needed.
“He mentioned your tuition, you know.”
“Oh?” I asked, my interest far from piqued. I’d already moved onto the next thing to do: deciding which bill to pay on time and which one I could pay late. “Is he willing to pay for it now?” I couldn’t keep the bite of snark from passing through my lips.
“If you make some changes. He just wants you to use the money wisely.”
Anger and frustration warred with the feeling I felt all too well: inadequacy. I mumbled a goodbye to my mom and dropped my phone onto the couch. Rubbing the headache that was just beginning at my temples, I let loose a breath.
Since he’d come back into my life at thirteen and silently asserted his disinterest in me, I’d looked for attention elsewhere. It didn’t take a psychologist to conclude I had daddy issues. It was why I never chased a man; I hadn’t needed to. I’d kept them long enough until I was over it, leaving them to chase me. Clearly, that had done such good for me since I was wholly out of my element with Nathan, having no experience with a man who didn’t chase me when I still wanted him.
To my father, choosing to study creative writing was a waste of “good money.” Why spend money on something I could do since elementary school when I could focus my attention on something more worthwhile. His words.
My phone buzzed, a calendar reminder:
Write the monologue for Professor Easton’s class
Shit. The assignment was due Friday—as in, tomorrow. And I hadn’t even begun. Scrambling for my notebook, my thoughts raced on what to write. When I saw my mother’s face on my recent calls list, a thought came to me and I wrote and revised until three in the morning.
