Текст книги "Tempting"

Автор книги: Alex Lucian

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-One

I let myself into my apartment shortly after one in the morning, feeling sufficiently pummeled from my head to my vagina. Gingerly, I dropped my things by the door and climbed into bed, hissing from the burn in my muscles. And yet, I had to bite hard on my lip to prevent the smile from forming.

I shouldn’t have felt pleased by it, I should have been upset. But, fuck. When Nathan had come unglued and poured all that rage into me—biting, pinching, pounding. I had taken every bit of it, and happily. It was as if he understood my desperate need for sensory stimulation and maybe on some level, he needed that too.

But when I reflected on the moments after, when he’d said, “I don’t know,” in that defeated, lost voice—I’d suddenly felt like some kind of villain. He’d asked me not to come to him, and I had. He’d told me to leave, and I hadn’t.

Around two in the morning, after replaying in my head the outstanding sex for the fourth time, I resigned myself to not sleeping a wink and fumbled my way into the shower, my body sore and weeping, but my brain wretchedly wired.

In the shower, standing under the spray, I pressed a fist to my heart.

“I’m not trying to be cruel, Adele. Or jerk you around. Sometimes it’s just not easy to let yourself enjoy something good while it’s in front of you.”

Fuck. I could relate to that on a very elementary level. Hadn’t I just been pining for him, for weeks? Especially after all the men I’d trampled over in years past, unwilling to enjoy their kindness and consideration. I wanted men to want me, and while there was no doubt Nathan did, it seemed wanting me was terrorizing him.

I tilted my head under the water and cranked up the heat. As my hand traveled down my body, caressing the spots he’d marked, I was overcome with the most miserable kind of loneliness. Would that be the last time I had his lips on my skin?

And moreover, what the hell was wrong with me? Why him? Why, when I wasn’t exactly lacking in men to entertain me, was I so focused on Nathan? With his black hair and bright eyes and hands that held me tender and held me tight. What did he awaken inside of me that had remained dormant for so many other men?

As I wrapped myself up in a towel and dried off, I decided to send him an email. I wasn’t sure what I’d say, but there was nothing comfortable about silence for me.

I plopped into my seat and wiggled the mouse. Seconds later, my stomach flip-flopped and my hand froze.

He’d beat me to the punch, sending me an email first.

From: Nathaniel Easton

Date: Tuesday, October 20, 2015 02:11 AM

Subject: Condom

To: Alice Carroll

Hey. I wanted to let you know I didn't use a condom. But I'm clean.

• • •

I stared at that email for a long, long time. Agitation coiled tightly into my chest, burning bright with a flash of anger.

An acrimonious response flashed in my head.

That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me? Never mind the fact that you confess this without even a semblance of apology and assume—because you don’t fucking ask—that I’m clean too.

Well, Nathan. Fuck. You.

Even as I was deleting my imprudent response, I whispered, “Oh, but fuck him you did, Adele.”

I tapped on the keys of my keyboard repeatedly, crafting replies before promptly deleting them. Finally, around three in the morning, I pushed my face into my pillow and willed sleep to come, the email sitting in my account without an answer.

I awoke to my phone vibrating off the nightstand, its buzz indecently reminiscent of my favorite vibrator.

Craning open one eye, I slapped the screen to turn off the alarm. I was so disoriented from the little sleep that it took me more than usually necessary to remember why I had an alarm going off in the first place.

When I remembered, I groaned. Work.

Six in the morning, a mere three hours after I’d climbed into bed. It was times like then that I wished my religion was coffee, because I knew I would desperately need caffeine to make it through the day.

When my phone buzzed a second time, I cursed and grabbed it, ready to chuck it across the bedroom. But the buzz lasted only a second, alerting me to the fact that it wasn’t another alarm.

Nathan: You didn’t reply to my email. I was hoping for some clarification from you.

I was too Goddamned tired to trifle with forming any kind of intelligent response, so I ignored it for the moment and got ready for work.

Two hours into my shift at the coffee shop, I was beginning to lag. After writing down the wrong orders twice and getting questioning looks from my coworkers, I was on the verge of telling them I had the plague just so I could go home.

“Large soy mocha, half-sweet.” I pushed the empty cup into my coworker’s hands after handing back the customer’s change.

The next girl in line hemmed and hawed over what to get, asking me what was in our cinnamon spice chai and when I dully replied, “Tea and cinnamon,” she seemed to have an epiphany, ordering the chai with extra cinnamon.

I wrote her order on the cup and passed it to the next available employee, blowing the hair out of my eyes after she left the register. I angled my head toward my left shoulder and then my right, feeling a very dull satisfaction from the aches. I’d washed my body clean of his scent, but the memory of his touch lingered, especially in the marks he’d left on my skin. The bite on my neck especially screamed his name. I’d attempted covering it with makeup before giving up, praying the collar of my work shirt would hide the bulk of it.

During my break, I splashed freezing cold water on my face in the bathroom and redid my hair. The bags under my eyes were more pronounced than they’d been when I’d woken up. There would be no helping them, but I squeezed eye drops into my eyes to hide some of the redness. My listlessness was echoed in the way I moved; slowly like I was in need of a hip replacement.

After exiting the bathroom and returning to my shift, I almost didn’t notice. I was so focused on staying awake for the walk to the register that I nearly disregarded the way my surroundings had changed since I’d entered the bathroom. I raised my head, my eyes connecting with the pair of eyes I’d been thinking about all fucking morning.

Nathan. The word formed on my lips upon meeting his gaze. I was rooted to the spot right behind the patisserie case, holding his eyes like I was physically incapable of doing anything else.

He looked good—damn him—if maybe a little tired. The circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced with his tanned skin, but in his eyes I saw it all: fatigue, remorse, expectation, desire. His body radiated a calmness that I envied.

He blinked, long black lashes sweeping over the tops of his cheekbones like he couldn’t believe I was here.

“Adele.”

The voice wasn’t his. I whipped my head toward the cash register, coming out of that shared moment with Nathan to where my head should be: at work.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a coworker asked.

I swallowed and shook my head, swiftly making my way to the register and my eyes focused down.

I smelled him before I saw him: that warm and spicy scent that was tied so closely to the memories of him I liked the most. My traitorous eyes lifted, meeting his. It was alarming, having him within touching distance when the one thing I couldn’t do was actually touch him.

“Wh-what can I get you?” I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, feeling out of my element for the first time. Why was he here? What did he want?

“Ah.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave me a moment’s respite as he scanned the board. “Just a medium coffee. Light cream.”

I wrote the order on the cup and hesitated on writing his name. Initially, I’d written “Nathan.” But my pen had hovered over that last ‘n’ a moment too long and I crossed through it roughly before shoving it in the trash and grabbing a new cup. Deftly, I wrote, “Prof. Easton” on the cup and passed it off to one of the baristas.

When I rang up his total and he handed me a five dollar bill, I felt my hands shake as I plucked it from him, careful not to make contact. When I reached my hand over to give him his change, his fingers curled around mine as I deposited the coin into his hand. My eyes snapped to his before darting away. He let go and I backed away. “Have a nice day,” I said dismissively.

Nathan looked to the barista making his coffee before he leaned forward. With a low voice, he said, “You didn’t reply.”

It took my brain a minute to catch up. His email and text.

“I was busy.”

He nodded slowly, licking his lower lip as he contemplated my answer.

“Do you…” his voice dropped off as he glanced at the only barista behind the counter with me, who was currently focused on pouring cream into his cup. We were running out of time to reasonably maintain a discussion and I was happy to prolong the moment. Tired Adele was more vulnerable than I’d expected.

I spun away, not answering him. I took the coffee from my coworker and pressed the lid onto it before setting it on the counter under the “pick up order here” sign. Nathan looked left and right again before walking down to me and placing his hand over mine on the cup, preventing me from being able to walk away without making a scene of extracting his hand from mine.

“What do you want?” I asked under my breath, making sure to keep an eye on my coworker. Because this was a campus coffee shop, the professors who frequented it weren’t strangers. He could be recognized by anyone, leaving them to wonder what I was doing talking so intently with him.

“I feel like we left things on the wrong foot last night.”

“I have to work.” I moved back to the register and gestured for the other barista to take a break.

It took less than ten seconds before Nathan was at the register again. “What do you want?”

He stood, staring at me for a moment. “A bagel.”

“What?” I shook my head. “A bagel?”

“What kinds do you have?” He stepped closer to the register. “I meant to order breakfast with my coffee.” He lifted the cup up between us and I ground my teeth.

“Cinnamon raisin, poppy seed, whole wheat.”

Nathan made a face. “Raisins? Who willingly chooses raisins in their baked goods?”

Because I knew he was stalling so that he could talk to me, I was fuming. Maybe I was experiencing PMS or maybe I was annoyed that he was trying to joke with me after the night before and all the confusing signals he gave me, but whatever it was drove me to say, “You do, today.” I thrust my hand into the case and pulled out a cinnamon bagel, popping it into the toaster and taking his money even as he looked bewildered. This time, when it was time to hand back his change, I dropped it on the counter and turned away to get the cream cheese from the refrigerator.

“Adele.” Nathan’s voice over the patisserie case caused me to drop the cream cheese covered knife on my apron, smearing it everywhere.

Glaring at him, I plopped the cream cheese onto the bagel and shoved it into a plastic bag. I stalked to the “pick up order here” side and tried to walk away after setting the bagel down, but he stopped me with a hand on my upper arm. He held me neither roughly or with threat, but I still felt frozen.

“Don’t make a scene,” he said through his teeth. He casually glanced around us before turning back to me. “We need to talk. Not here.” His thumb grazed the crook of my elbow and I tilted my head, feeling depleted of all the nervous energy seeing him had given me. His eyes paused on the bite on my neck and I watched the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Did I do that?” he asked on a whisper.

I opened my mouth to answer but was interrupted by a booming voice behind him. “Nathaniel.”

Nathan’s hand left my arm like I’d burned him, his eyes going wide before he schooled his features. “Sir,” he said turning around.

The man was in his fifties, his hair a blend of salt and pepper and his face tanned. He wore a suit and tie and looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him.

“Good morning,” the man said, looking between Nathan and me. His gaze paused on mine and he said, “Have we met?”

Nervously, I laughed. “I was just wondering the same thing.”

“Are you here on a scholarship?”

Wow, he didn’t throw any punches. It seemed an odd thing to ask and I struggled over my answer before he spoke again.

“I oversee many of the interviews for scholarship applications,” he explained. “What’s your name?”

“Adele,” I said, feeling it suddenly click into place. “I was awarded the Margaret Phillips Memorial Scholarship last year and again this year.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Yes, that’s it.” Seemingly pleased with himself, he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Adele Morello.”

“You have a great memory.” I vaguely remembered him, but couldn’t recall his name. “I’m sorry, I haven’t absorbed any caffeine through osmosis today,” I joked. “I can’t remember your name.”

Displeasure was like a lightning bolt over his face: there and gone so quickly I nearly didn’t see it. “Richard Easton.”

I flicked my eyes to Nathan, registered the same look of “fuck me” that must have been on my face. And then I turned back to Richard Easton and held out my hand. “Nice to see you again,” I said softly.

He held my hand in his and finally acknowledged Nathan next to him. “Nathaniel, is Ms. Morello one of your students?”

Nathan nodded, didn’t meet my eyes. “She is, sir.”

Richard turned back to me. “And how is it, being under the tutelage of my son?”

If I had been drinking anything, I would have choked. His son. His fucking son. No wonder Nathan looked like he’d swallowed razor blades.

“Um, would you like a drink?” I asked, completely avoiding answering his question.

“Coffee, with a little cream.”

I noticed Nathan stare down at his own cup, the same order as his father, before I busied myself making his order. Richard and Nathan spoke to one another as Richard placed cash on the counter for the coffee. Over the sounds of the coffee maker, I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so I took the opportunity to watch Nathan squirm under his father’s questions.

As I handed Richard his cup, I heard him say, “Are you going to visit Diana? Your anniversary is coming up.” I was so focused on the way Nathan’s face paled that I nearly missed what his father had actually said.

I watched as Nathan put an arm on his father’s shoulder, steering him away from the counter.

Who the fuck was Diana?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maybe she didn’t hear him.

Maybe she didn’t hear him.

I was sure I answered him at some point, said something ambiguous, trying desperately not to look over at Adele, even though I could see her frozen in my peripheral vision.

Five minutes ago, I hadn’t thought it possible that I could be derailed from the abject panic at my father knowing her, and realizing that she was a scholarship student. It definitely sharpened the forbidden edges of our—whatever the hell we were calling this—thing.

But God, I hope she hadn’t heard what he’d said about Diana. Then I wanted to pull my heart through my chest, possibly use a hacksaw to do it. Because it was only four days away from the anniversary of her death—one of the largest failures in my life. The one that pressed bricks of cement down on my skin every time I thought about it.

And I hadn’t thought about it once over the past week. Some sort of horror must have eclipsed my face, because my father paused, giving me a strange glance.

“Yes, sometime this week I’ll go, I’m sure.”

Adele gave a soft clearing of her throat, and my father reached for his coffee with a smile. I don’t think I’d ever gotten that kind of a look. He rocked back on his heels, one of his tells that he was mildly uncomfortable. When he opened his mouth to say something, I gestured to a table.

“I was about to sit; would you care to join me?”

We both stood there, so close to Adele, my heart hammering in my chest.

“You’re asking me to join you,” he said slowly. I could feel her stare, searing into my skin like a brand. I was probably sweating. “Son, the day will pass like it always has. No need to rehash a tragic accident.”

Shit. Damn. Fuck. Fucking shit. And then like a fucking idiot, I stole a glance over at Adele, and her mouth was hanging open. When I snatched my eyes away from her and back at my father, he was justifiably confused.

“I don’t particularly need one of my students hearing this, sir.” I didn’t know if I said it softly enough so she wouldn’t hear. I could barely hear past the rushing in my ears. This was exactly what I did not need, on top of everything else.

“Ahh, of course, of course.” He gave another polite smile to Adele. “Good to see you again, Miss Morello. I hope you continue to do well in your studies.”

“Thank you,” she said in an uncharacteristically small voice. “Good to see you, too.”

Not waiting to speak to him again before he turned to leave, I walked to a small round table by the brick fireplace as he walked past, out the door. I kept my profile to Adele, not wanting to face her directly. Pulling a notebook out of my bag, I stared unseeing at the lined page. She knew my father. And she probably knew something about Diana. Neither one of those things had anywhere to go in my brain in order to process.

“Are you finished with your cup?”

I looked up at Adele after quickly glancing around to make sure no one was looking. The shop was fairly empty, a student sitting on the opposite side, paying us no attention. Only one other girl was working with Adele, and she was nowhere in sight.

For the first time since I’d met her, she looked unsure. Her fingers were tightly woven together in front of her apron, and the look on her face made me want to snap the handle off my coffee mug just so I would have something to stab myself in the eye with. It was curiosity mixed with just a little pity. But on the edge of that was a mulish jaw. This girl was done with me yanking her around.

“You know my father.”

“That’s not why I came over here, and I think you know it.”

I heaved out a sigh, abso-fucking-lutely not willing to bring up Diana first. “Well, we’ll need to discuss it eventually. You being a scholarship recipient makes a huge—”

“You have a wife?” she interjected, whispering harshly. “Or girlfriend, I don’t really know. I just know there’s something pretty major that you’re not telling me.”

For a moment I wondered whether my face looked as weary as I felt. Pretty major. Yes, it was pretty major. It was also a massive understatement. And not a single word of defense crossed my tongue. Just pictures, memories and nightmares that always hovered at the edges of my sleep.

“Just tell me something true, Nathan.” When I looked at her again, her eyes were huge and pleading. She was so young, with moments like that highlighting it for me. At that age, would I have been willing to make that kind of request, the kind that could so easily be rejected? “Please,” she whispered.

I drew my thumb across the calloused skin underneath the ring finger on my left hand. Adele immediately honed in on the movement and narrowed her eyes.

“I was married. But I’m not anymore.” She lifted both eyebrows. And? I could practically hear her saying it. My brain raced, trying to loosen the iron fisted grip that had been over my tongue for the last almost four years. Something true, that’s all she was asking. “It’s hard for me to talk about this, Adele. To anyone.”

She moved to sit, but stopped herself, looking back over her shoulder. Her coworker still hadn’t returned. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s not that,” I reassured her, rubbing a hand down my face. “She … Diana. That’s my wife. She, well, she … died. In a car accident, years ago.”

Simplification and omission. They were the grayest of areas when it came to lies, weren’t they? No part of that was a lie. Not a single word. But the way her face fell, the way she looked at me just a little bit differently, that was exactly why I never wanted to talk about this.

“I’m so sorry, Nathan,” Adele moved to touch my shoulder but I shook my head. The door to the back room swung open, and the other girl working resumed her place behind the cash register.

“How long do you work tonight?” I asked, almost desperate to change the subject.

“Until eight.”

I nodded, starting to file the items on the table back into my messenger bag.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Here? Yes, Adele. That’s it.” I stood, looping the handle of the bag over my head. “I don’t like to talk about her. It’s too hard. And I’m especially not going to do it in your workplace, where anyone we know could walk in.”

She relented, standing back a step after grabbing my still full coffee cup off of the table. “I can respect that.”

“Thank you,” I said, and made sure she could see that I meant it, dropping my chin so that our eyes held for a few seconds longer than they should have, considering where we were. My skin prickled, that chain that hadn’t seemed to drop, the one that had shackled us together since that first night, it tightened along the whole length of my body. With a quick glance behind her, I reached forward and slid my fingers along the inside of her wrist. Her eyes fell shut, and I took a step back, not trusting myself any further. “Have a good night, Adele.”

She didn’t look at me when I walked away, and once I was out the door, I didn’t look back either.