Текст книги "Forever with You"

Автор книги: Jennifer L. Armentrout

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 8

The first day of October slammed into the city of brotherly love, winds blustery and temps that made me rethink the decision to move farther north instead of south. As I worked at my desk, I hoped that I wouldn’t have to go out again. The thin linen pants and blouse, even with my jacket and scarf and gloves, did nothing to beat down the cold.

There was a good chance I really was coming down with something.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I flattened my hand on my belly. My stomach churned like a washing machine. It had been that way since I got up. Running in the wind had been hard enough, but adding in the nausea and the lingering fatigue, I barely made it this morning.

Missing any time when I was only in my forth week at the academy was unacceptable. What I needed to do at lunch was swing by the Walgreens down the street and stock up on antiflu meds.

I was going to try to will myself into not being sick, I decided as I started working again. Mind over body and all that jazz.

My fingers stilled on the keyboard as I heard Rick’s high-pitched laugh and I gritted my teeth. As I focused on my screen, my cell phone buzzed from where I’d placed it under the monitor. My gaze flicked to it. It was a text, and there was a number in the little box above the message, one I didn’t recognize.

Hey.

That was all the text said. Frowning, I waited a few seconds, and when there wasn’t another message, I picked up my phone, and clicked on the text, then went to the add photo option. I scrolled until I found an image of a little girl glaring at the camera with a perfect what-the-hell expression on her little face. Grinning, I sent the picture back as my response and then placed the phone down.

Perfect timing, too, because I heard Mr. Bowser’s voice—er, Marcus. He’d insisted that I call him Marcus. Stretching up, I peered over my cubicle. My eyes widened. It was Marcus walking with Andrew Lima. The man who owned Lima Academy was shorter than me, but even though he was well into his fifties, the body under the shirt and nylon pants was that of twenty-year-old. He was smiling at something Marcus said, his teeth a brilliant white against skin that reminded me of sunbaked clay. The man was definitely handsome, even with the two cauliflower ears and the thin scar that ran across a nose that had obviously been broken a time or dozen. It was crazy—the older man probably knew exactly where to deliver a blow that would immobilize a person or worse in under a second.

My heart tripped up and the acid in my stomach started bubbling. I was nervous to meet my boss for the first time.

Andrew and Marcus also weren’t alone.

Beside Andrew Lima was the one and only Brock “the Beast” Mitchell. I knew this because it’s what his shirt said. Plus the guy was built. Not as overly done as Rick, but those shoulders could take down doors. He wore a dark blue baseball cap, twisted backward, but otherwise was dressed the same as Andrew Lima. His gaze was lowered as he walked along, trussing his right wrist with white hand wrap. I assumed they must be gearing up for training.

Brock glanced up at something Andrew said and his lips spread in a wide smile. His dark brown eyes were a deep, warm shade, and his features intense, almost perfectly asymmetrical. Wow. I’d seen pictures of Brock, but they hadn’t done him justice. I totally got why Katie said she’d have a landing strip just for him. The guy was gorgeous, almost too gorgeous to be putting that face in front of punches and kicks.

My phone buzzed again, but before I could glance down to check it out, Marcus was at my desk. Our eyes met, and I fixed a smile on my face as I rose, ignoring the nauseous tumble my stomach decided to take.

The group stopped and Marcus’s skin crinkled at his eyes as he gestured toward me. “Ah, Andrew, you haven’t had a chance to meet my new assistant. This is Stephanie.” Marcus angled his body toward them. “And this is Brock,” he said to me. “He just returned with Andrew.”

Don’t puke on the boss. Don’t puke on the boss. I extended my hand, and Mr. Lima’s handshake was firm and brief. “It’s nice to meet you.” Don’t puke on the hot martial-arts dude. Don’t puke on the hot martial-arts dude. I offered him my hand, too. “It’s nice to meet you also.”

Recognition flared in Brock’s brown eyes as he shook my hand with his left. “You’re the infamous Steph.”

I froze, having no idea what he was talking about. As my wide gaze swung to Marcus, I could feel the bile climbing up the back of my throat.

Marcus arched a brow.

Andrew chuckled as he leaned against my cubicle wall. “Infamous? This is a story I’ve got to hear.”

“I’ve heard that Stephanie schooled Nick over at Mona’s last week,” Brock explained, and there was a good chance my eyes were going to pop out of my head. “Brought him down a peg or two in front of everyone.”

Oh my God.

“Everyone has been talking about it,” Brock went on, much to my growing horror. “Jax gave me a blow-by-blow description on the phone the other night. Wished he had that on tape.”

As did Katie.

Andrew looked impressed as he eyed me. “I can only imagine what Nick did to warrant that.”

Would it look strange if I dived under my desk and hid?

“What has Nick been up to lately?” Andrew glanced at Brock, who was grinning like a madman. “He hasn’t been in the gym. I miss sparring with him.”

Nick sparred with Andrew Lima? Oh wow. That sort of explained how he was in the kind of shape he was.

“You miss kicking his ass,” Brock replied, chuckling as he started wrapping his left hand. “I don’t know.” Those dark lashes lifted and brown eyes pierced me. “I have a feeling we’re going to see more of Nick.”

Oh my word.

All I could do was smile weakly. My stomach had finally settled down, but now I felt out of it for a different reason. Never would I have ever thought that anything to do with Nick would somehow come up while at work. Without warning, Katie’s odd statement cycled through my thoughts.

That I wasn’t going to have a choice when it came to our paths crossing.

Was Katie really a psychic stripper?

No. I gave myself a good mental bitch slap and focused on the men in front of me. I glanced at Marcus and shook my head. “I’m sort of a . . . combative personality. Sometimes.”

Andrew laughed again.

“You’ll find that most of the people around here have the same personality.” Marcus’s eyes gleamed in the bright light. “Did you finish the report I requested?”

“Yes.” I clasped my hands together. “It’s on your desk.”

“Perfect,” replied Marcus.

“Where are you from, Stephanie?” Andrew politely asked as he raised his hand, smoothing it over his closer cropped hair. Light reflected off a wedding band. “Local or out of state?”

“Out of state,” I answered. “I’m from West Virginia.” Pausing, I waited for the inevitable overused and not funny comment or the widening of the eyes. When that didn’t happen, I added cool points to all the guys. “I graduated from Shepherd University.”

“Really?” Interest sparked in the owner’s eyes, and a muscle flickered along Brock’s jaw as he secured the wrap on his hand.

“My daughter is leaving in the spring to attend Shepherd,” Andrew said. “Of course, I want her to stay closer to home, but you can’t keep them at home with you forever, can you?”

“You can try,” Brock muttered under his breath.

I glanced at him. “No, sir.” There were so many colleges and universities near Philadelphia, but I understood the need to strike out on your own. “Shepherd is a very good school in a great community. She will be happy there.”

“I think so.” The older man smiled. “I’ve actually checked the town and surrounding places out. There aren’t training facilities there, not the kind that offer the extensive experience and wide variety that we can.”

Oh dear.

“My daughter is . . . unaware of my inquiry, but there are several properties there that would fit our needs.” Intelligence brewed in the man’s eyes. “What do you think of Lima Academy setting up in your neck of the woods?”

“I think there is definitely a market for it,” I answered honestly. UFC fights had been a big deal while I was at college. I could picture tons of guys I knew signing up for classes and getting their asses kicked. “And you’re right. You won’t have a lot of competition.”

Mr. Browser nodded when Andrew turned to him and raised his brows inquiringly. “I know,” he replied patiently. “I already have several meetings set up with the local Chamber of Commerce. We should hear something before the end of the year.”

Andrew was about to speak, but his attention was snagged by the front of the office. The lines of the man’s face softened. “Speaking of the little devil,” he said.

I followed his gaze and saw a young girl step inside. Her light brown hair looked like she’d walked through a wind tunnel, which I could sympathize with. If my hair hadn’t been pulled back, I’d look the same.

A mauve-colored scarf was wrapped around her throat, tangling in the long locks. Her heavy sweater was bulky and her dark jeans loose, even ill-fitting, giving her the appearance of having no shape. As she drew closer, I could see that her features were delicate, but the heavy bangs dwarfed her face.

Her nervous gaze darted over us, hit Brock and then stayed there as she hurried to where we stood, her fingers fidgeting with the edges of her sleeves. Her face pinked the closer she got to us.

“Hi, Dad.” She gave a short, awkward wave as she stopped beside Brock.

Andrew went to her, leaning over to drop a kiss atop her head, and there was no ignoring the burst of envy that exploded inside me. “Hey, baby girl, you here to see me?” he asked as he drew back.

My dad . . . he used to greet me like that, always so happy, always so warm. A knot replaced the churning sensation, and I struggled not to look away.

An easy grin stretched Brock’s lips as he dropped an arm over the girl’s shoulders. He towered over her by a good foot, but he fit her to the side of his large body like he’d done it a million times. “Nah, she came to visit me. Sorry, old man.”

Andrew laughed deeply, shaking his head while her cheeks turned as red as a strawberry. She lifted her chin, and I saw it in her eyes at that moment. The whole world had to have seen it. Adoration filled her gaze, but that wasn’t all.

Love.

The girl looked at Brock as if he was responsible for putting the stars in the sky at night and was the sole reason the sun rose every morning. The warmth didn’t leave her cheeks, but only seemed to heighten, and I didn’t think she was aware of anyone else as Brock grinned down at her. The pang of envy resurfaced. Mom used to look at Dad like that every single damn time their eyes met, and my dad had the same look in his eyes.

Brock, however, reached up with the arm he had around her shoulder and messed her hair, an act I imagined an annoying older brother would do.

Ouch.

He dropped his hand to her shoulder, nearly knocking her over. I quickly looked away, and found that Marcus was doing the same thing, studying his groomed nails.

“Jillian, dear, this is Stephanie,” Andrew said, drawing my attention. The girl was no longer staring adoringly at Brock, but was watching her father with a degree of hesitation. “She just graduated from Shepherd.”

Interest sparked and her brown eyes met mine briefly. “I’m starting there in the spring. Actually, I’m transferring there.” Her gaze flickered from mine to her father, and then dropped to my shoes. “In the spring, but I already said that, so . . .”

Brock’s hand squeezed her shoulder

“That’s what your father was saying,” I said. “You’ll really like that.”

“I think so,” Jillian replied, but the lack of excitement caused me to doubt that she believed it.

I glanced at Brock, but he was staring down at her bowed head with a frown. “If you have any questions about the campus or whatever, I’ll be glad to help you,” I offered.

Approval settled into the lines of Andrew’s face. “That’s a good idea, actually. Jillian, you could go out to get coffee with Stephanie.”

She nodded without looking at me and, well, I could tell that was probably not going to happen. An awkward silence fell, broken by Brock. “You’re not in class today?”

Jillian shook her head. “Nope. I had an exam, and I finished early, so I’m done until later this afternoon. I thought I’d stop by.”

“Admit it. You heard I was back and you came to see me,” he teased, and I bit down on my lip as blood rushed back to her face. Dear God, was he that oblivious? Brock put her in what looked like a headlock. Yep. He was that oblivious. “Come on, Jilly-bean, you can help me set up.”

Jillian glanced at her father, and he nodded. “Go ahead and head down. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Nice meeting you, Stephanie.” Brock said, and with his arm still around Jillian’s shoulder, steered them toward the doors. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Nice meeting you, too,” I replied, giving him a tiny wave.

They got halfway down the hall when Jillian stopped and turned halfway around. “It w-was good meeting you.”

I smiled at Jillian, but her face looked like a tomato about to burst. Poor girl. “Same here.”

When they were at the doors, her father sighed heavily as he faced me. “Thank you for offering to talk to her. I doubt she’ll take you up on the offer. It’s nothing personal. She just doesn’t warm up to strangers well. Hasn’t since, well . . . in a long time, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“It’s no problem. I hope she does decide to get coffee or whatever.” And I meant it.

Andrew nodded again, and the conversation ended between us. As Marcus and Andrew disappeared into the closed office, I sat back down and reached for the mouse. Just as my fingers brushed it, I remembered the strange text.

Tapping on the phone, I saw another message from the unknown number.

What in the hell? Ha.

Well, that wasn’t the response I thought I’d get. At least whoever this was didn’t type in text speak, thank God. I debated sending another pic. I had an entire arsenal of them but figured there was no point in dragging this out. I texted back, who is this, and dropped my phone in my lap.

A few minutes later it vibrated. One glance down and my lips parted in surprise. The response didn’t make sense.

I couldn’t believe it, couldn’t even figure out how it was possible, but I could read, and as long as something wasn’t functioning incorrectly in my head, I saw who was texting me.

It was Nick.

Chapter 9

I t’s Nick.

When I didn’t respond, because I was too busy staring at my phone dumbly, it vibrated again.

I conned Roxy into giving me your phone number.

My eyes widened.

Another text came through almost immediately. Mainly bc I figured at some point you’d ask for mine. I saved you the trouble. ;)

Oh my word, the arrogance knew no limit. I hadn’t been planning to ask for his number. Okay, it might’ve crossed my mind, but I had decided it was best to let that sleeping dog lie. Yes. I was obviously attracted to Nick, as he was to me, but I wasn’t sure I could be just friends with him while lusting after him, and I wasn’t sure I could trust him not to have the same reaction he had last time after we got together.

A fourth text followed. Please don’t be mad at Roxy. She likes you. But she also likes me.

My brows rose. Irritation sparked, but it was minimal. I’d met Roxy and Katie again this past Sunday for breakfast. We hadn’t talked about Nick this time, but part of me wasn’t surprised that she’d given him my number.

I hope you’re not mad.

Snapping out of it, I picked up the phone and sent back: I’m not. And that was the truth. It wasn’t like I gave Roxy the impression I would flip my shit if she gave him my number. Though she probably could’ve asked first, but that was water under the bridge at this point.

Good, he sent back. A moment passed and another text came through. Did you save my number?

The corners of my lips curved up. I texted back: No.

That earned me a frownie face followed by: You break my heart, Stephanie. I saved your number.

Doubtful, was my response. But I quickly saved his number as I glanced up, hearing someone laughing from a few cubicles over.

A couple of moments passed and Nick texted back. You totally saved my number, didn’t you?

I swallowed a laugh and shook my head. Yeah, I did.

Knew it. The three little dots appearing under the text bubbled, and I waited. So I was texting you with a purpose.

Pressing my lips together, I sent back a quick reply. You were?

Ha. There was a pause, and then, Reece is having a get-together at his place tonight. A small one. Roxy is working, but I thought you might like to come?

My stomach tumbled instead of churned, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that sensation or not. Hesitation filled me, something I wasn’t at all accustomed to. I normally knew what I wanted to do, but for the first time in a very long time, I was unsure.

Chewing on my lower lip, I glanced up and looked around the office. Not like the answer to what I should do awaited me in the light fixtures. I flipped my gaze back to the phone and started to text back.

I haven’t been feeling well. That was the truth. But if I’m feeling okay tonight . . . What in the hell was I doing? I didn’t know, but I was doing it, doing it real hard. . . . I could stop by. What time does it start?

The three little dots appeared. Around 8pm. You okay?

Yeah,just stomach kind of messed up. Probably something he didn’t need to know. I’ll text you later and let you know.

Ok. I hope you feel better.

Thanks.

There were no more texts after that, and as the seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours, I still had absolutely no clue what I was doing.

And I wasn’t sure if I loathed that feeling.

Or if I sort of liked it.

I got home a little after six-thirty and changed into a pair of jeans and a loose sweater that was made out of a soft chenille material. I loved this sweater so much I wanted to snuggle with it, but that would be weird.

Barefoot, I padded into the kitchen and opened the pantry doors. I stood there for several minutes, picking at a packet of tuna fish and then moving onto the boxes of rice. Neither of those things interested me, so I moseyed on to the fridge. Microwavable bacon was somewhat appealing, but the sliced honey ham and Swiss cheese would be more filling. I didn’t want those either. Closing the door, I opened the freezer. There was a packet of hamburger meat and a steak, but both were frozen solid, and I hated defrosting meat in the microwave, so that didn’t do me any good. Sighing, I closed that door, too. I was hungry but not. My stomach seemed to be feeling better but my appetite was most definitely weird.

Opening the drawer near the stove, I started scanning the take-out menus I’d already started to accumulate since moving here. Chinese. Pizza. Italian. Subs. All of it looked good, but nothing sparked my interest as it should.

I glanced at the clock as I held a Chinese menu and felt my tummy tighten in a mixture of excitement and confusion, which was an odd combination. Whoever was going to Reece’s thing tonight would be arriving in the next hour or so. Nick would be arriving.

Nick.

Dammit.

I still had no idea if I was going to stop by Reece’s or how I really even felt about Nick getting my phone number, contacting me, and then inviting me to his friend’s place.

If he was looking for something casual between us, the invite wasn’t strange. That was actually pretty common, but I had a hard time believing he sincerely thought that would happen between us so soon after what went down at the bar.

Turning my gaze to the menu, I let out a deep sigh and then dropped it back on the counter. There was a packet of Reese’s Halloween pumpkins. Would that count as dinner if I just ate all nine of them?

Sounded legit to me.

Picking up a thick bobby pin, I twisted my hair into a loose knot and shoved the pin in. I was just about to pick up the menus again when there was a knock at my door. My heart turned over as I closed the drawer. With my pulse picking up, I walked to the door and took a quick peek through the peephole even though I had an idea who it could be.

I was right.

Nick stood in the hallway outside my apartment. Curious, I unlocked the door and opened it. He turned toward me, and there was this squeezing type pressure in my chest. Not unpleasant, but . . . but wholly unfamiliar to me.

His hair was damp, the dark strands curling along his forehead. Drops of rain dotted his powerful shoulders. When had it started raining? God, I’d really had a single-minded focus on those menus, with nothing to show for it.

“Hi,” I said, my gaze dropping to the plastic bag he held.

“Hey,” he drawled, and my stare was dragged back up. He looked good, but I figured he always looked good, from the moment he woke up to when he rested that head of his on a pillow. “I brought you something.”

Blinking, I stepped back. “You did?”

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

I nodded and watched him walk in and close the door. He took the bag to the small bistro table I had set up in the dining area. I was at a loss for words when he started speaking.

“When I was younger and not feeling well, my mom used to make me homemade chicken noodle soup.” Nick pulled out a plastic container and faced me. “It’s a lot better than the canned stuff. She used to drop in some herbs that are good for settling the stomach and actually give the soup a good taste so it’s not so bland.” He headed for the kitchen. “Your bowls here?”

“Above the left counter.” I was frozen.

He pulled out a ceramic bowl, put it on the counter and peeled back the plastic container lid. Carefully, he dumped the noodles, chunks of chicken, and broth into the bowl. “It’s still a little warm but it needs to be heated up a bit. Microwave okay?”

My lips slowly parted. It was obvious it was not canned soup. “Yes. Microwave is fine.” I inched closer to the kitchen. “Did your . . . did your mom make that.”

“No.” Nick placed the bowl in the microwave. Little beeps echoed through the silence. He placed his hands on the counter before the microwave, his back to me. “My mom died thirteen years ago.”

“Oh.” I placed my hand on my chest. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He nodded, but the line of his spine was tense, his shoulders hunched. I opened my mouth because losing a parent was something I could relate to, but beyond what I’d already said, I couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t something I talked about often. The microwave dinged and he removed the bowl. The aroma was wonderful, making my stomach grumble happily. Finding a spoon, he brought the soup back to the table. His lashes lifted, moss green eyes meeting mine.

I drew in shaky breath. “Did you make the soup?”

Nick nodded once more.

“Oh. I . . .” I couldn’t believe he had brought me soup, let alone taken the time to make it himself. All of this was so incredibly sweet and extremely unexpected; I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, staring at him like an idiot.

The hollows under his high cheekbones turned pink. “It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t know how to make chicken soup from scratch.”

A small smiled pulled at his striking features. “Maybe I’ll teach you one day.”

“You really made me soup?”

The smile spread as he ducked his chin. “Yeah, I did. You going to sit and eat it? I promise it will make your stomach feel better.”

In a daze, I shuffled over to the table. My stomach was twisting again, but it had nothing to do with the nausea I’d felt earlier in the day. I sat at the table, and honest to God, I was moved to the point where I wasn’t even thinking of his douchey behavior in the bar.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice strangely hoarse. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“It’s no biggie.” He handed over a spoon. “Eat up.”

My fingers brushed his as I took the spoon. The shiver that raced up my arm was hard to ignore as I scooped up some noodles, steaming broth, and a chunk of chicken. My taste buds practically orgasmed. “It’s delicious.” I glanced up, my eyes wide. “I can taste something kind of minty.”

Nick folded his arms. “You look so surprised. I’m actually a damn good cook.”

“I am not doubting that now.” I swallowed another mouthful, biting back a moan.

His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “I thought I could bring it by before I headed up to Reece’s. I’m a little early, but he’ll be okay—”

“You don’t have to leave,” I said in a rush, and then felt the tips of my ears burning. “I mean, if you want to hang out here for a little bit, you can.”

Nick’s eyes met mine and then lowered as he slid onto the seat across from me. He rested his arms on the table. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. The nausea settled this afternoon, but this soup is really helping.” I was eating like I hadn’t been fed in days. “You didn’t bring some for yourself?”

“What’s left in the container is yours. I ate earlier.” He leaned back in the small dining chair, exhaling softly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

I paused long enough to smile and then I finished off the bowl. Standing, I carried it to the sink, washed the bowl out, and then placed it in the dishwasher. Turning around, my breath caught in my throat.

Nick had gotten up and followed me, moving so quietly that I hadn’t heard him. He was only a foot away, and if I moved a little to my right, we’d be in the same positions we’d been in that night.

My stomach hollowed in response. I so needed to stop thinking about that, but once I did, my brain latched on. My chest rose sharply. I could practically feel his hands on my sides, my hips . . . between my legs. God, was it hot in here? I tugged on the neckline of my sweater. I so needed to get my hormones under control. This was ridiculous.

But when I looked up, our gazes collided and I couldn’t look away. Heat swamped my senses, and my overactive imagination flooded me with memories of how he’d felt pressed against my back, him inside me, stretching me.

Nick tilted his head to the side, his gaze hooded as he changed his stance, spreading his legs. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, voice gruff.

I blinked. “I’m not looking at you.”

His lips quirked up. “Besides the fact you’re looking right at me, you’re looking at me in that way.”

Some of the heat had faded, but not nearly enough to make me stop thinking about what we’d done in this kitchen. “In what way am I looking at you?”

“Like you want a repeat of that night.”

Damn. He freaking nailed it right on the head. I didn’t say anything as I crossed my arms under my chest, but I stiffened as he took a step forward. A half foot separated us.

“And you really need to stop,” he said again, his voice low as he lifted his hand, catching the strand of my hair that had fallen loose and tucking it back behind my ear. His knuckles brushed over my cheek. “Because I’m trying to be cool over here.” He lowered his hand. “I’m trying something different.”

“What are you trying?” I asked.

Those amazing lashes lifted once more and his stare pierced me. “I’m trying to be friends with you.”