Of all the times to get a sense of humor . . .
It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating!
“Somebody’s got a temper,” he says playfully.
I feel like stomping my foot. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
When Nash takes the step to bring him back closer to me, it’s not in anger this time. There’s something else in his eyes. And it makes my knees weak.
He reaches out and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, tugging until my nose is nearly touching his. His voice is little more than a whisper when he speaks. “I can be very . . . therapeutic if you need to get some of that anger out. Want me to show you?”
Looking into his eyes, listening to the velvet of his voice, I feel dazed. Mesmerized. Hypnotized. If not for his secret trip to the jewelry store, I’d press my lips to his and sink into the distraction of him like a stone in water.
But I can’t get past the lie so easily. Of all the things I can tolerate from him, that I can overlook and deal with, dishonesty isn’t one. When most of my life is built on lies, I need something that’s real and honest. And I thought that was Nash.
But I was wrong.
Holding his gaze, I take a purposeful step backward. I let a chill drip into my voice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
One dark brow rises. I don’t know if it’s in surprise or in challenge, but it causes a little shiver to skitter down my spine.
“Fair enough.” Slowly, he turns and walks back to the door. He looks back at the last minute, his lips still curved. “I’ll leave you to your packing, then.”
I don’t move until I hear the front door open and close. As I carry my bag into the living room, I can’t help but feel like I just lost some sort of battle.
TWENTY-ONE
Nash
Cash mentioned Olivia’s birthday in passing. Her present was one of the things I went with him to pick out today. What he really wanted me along for, though, was to ask me if I’d be his best man. He’s planning to propose to Olivia.
“I know it seems like it’s too soon, which is why I’m not doing it now. And definitely not around her birthday. But I want to go ahead and get the ring, so that when the time is right, I’ll have it,” Cash said this morning on the way to the jewelry store.
“What the hell do you need me for, then? I’m no diamond expert.”
Cash shrugged. “Mainly because I wanted to ask if you’d be my best man.”
I’m sure my shock resonated in the car like the thud of a bass drum.
“No offense, man, but why?”
“There’s no doubt I know Gavin better. He’d be the logical choice. And I happen to like him a lot better, too.” He glanced over at me and grinned. I know he was probably telling the truth—no doubt he does like Gavin better—but what he was saying is that I’m his brother. I’m his blood. And it’s the one thing that can’t be erased, the one bond that can’t be broken, no matter how estranged we are.
And I understand what he feels. I feel the same way.
“But I’m your brother. I get it.”
He looked away from the road long enough to glance at me again, then nodded. That’s how I knew we were on the same page.
“So, you in?”
I took a minute or two to consider what he was asking, as well as my willingness to make such a commitment. I wouldn’t tell him yes if I wasn’t sure I could hold up my end of the bargain.
“Yeah, I’m in.”
Cash nodded again. He knew what I meant was that, come hell or high water, if I’m alive when his wedding rolls around, I’ll be there. I’ll be his best man.
After that, we fell into a fairly comfortable silence. I went with him into the most unconventional jewelry store I’ve ever seen. It was more like an old house converted into a posh store. It had different rooms for different types of jewelry. I’d never seen anything like it. Cash said it was one his law firm favored. He’d probably bought something for Marissa from there, although I didn’t bring that up. Not really out of deference to him; more because I didn’t really want to know.
He picked out a nice bracelet for Olivia for her birthday, then went off by himself with some woman into a room where they keep loose diamonds. Evidently he’s going all-out and having something unique crafted for her.
Poor pu**y-whipped bastard.
Looking at all the jewelry and thinking of the girlfriend I might have had, the one I might’ve been able to buy things like that for, just put me in a bad mood. And then when Marissa didn’t respond to my texts . . . Well, I was pretty pissed off by the time I got to her condo.
But to find her there in a fit of her own . . . Damn! That was kinda hot. I wish she’d been a little more agreeable to working off some of that steam.
I can’t help but frown as I think about the way she was acting, like I’d done something wrong. I have done something wrong, something terribly wrong, but I don’t think she knows what it is. If she did, she’d have probably thrown me out on my ass and sworn never to talk to me again. But she didn’t. So I doubt she knows about that. But what else is there? I all but told her I’m a lowlife. She knows I’m not the kind of guy she needs to be involved with. For God’s sake, I told her I’m a killer and she gave me a blowjob.
Maybe she’s had a crisis of conscience since then. Maybe. But it doesn’t seem likely.
Women!
This is exactly why I avoid getting too close to them. Most of them are batshit crazy and more trouble than they’re worth.
I should just walk away from this one. Only . . .
I thump my fist on the steering wheel in frustration. I don’t know what comes after the only.
I take the turns as Cash directed. I don’t know if he intended to invite me to Olivia’s birthday party, but after talking to Marissa, I invited myself. I figure that’s where she’ll be. Cash was just nice enough to give me directions.
I see the bar up ahead and make the left into the parking lot. In a shitty podunk town like Salt Springs seems to be, my guess is that this is the only spot for miles to get a drink. That or Olivia has an ass-ton of friends. Either way, the lot is packed with cars and pickup trucks.
I’m no stranger to walking into a bar like this one. I know just what to expect, and I’m never disappointed. People give me a wide berth. The men eye me like I’m competition; the women eye me like I’m dessert. I don’t really give a shit what they think. I usually have one thing in mind. Either getting laid or getting drunk.