Or maybe that odd sensation was nothing more than a byproduct of my own guilty conscience because that's exactly how I felt as I rode the streetcar to the Quarter. This guilt was a new thing for me and I didn't completely understand where it came from. Or maybe I did and I just didn't want to acknowledge it because it all circled back to the feeling I woke up with this morning. The same feeling that lodged in my chest and made my stomach roll with a touch of queasiness. A feeling born of the realization that I was deliberately hiding something from Daddy. Not a small thing, like a bad grade on a report card when I'd been younger, or the fact that I'd crushed the bumper of my new car when I had accidentally backed into a pole when I was sixteen. This was bigger, bordering on an outright lie even though Daddy hadn't specifically asked me anything that I'd directly lied about.
I didn't like that sensation—the guilt or the feeling that I'd lied—any more than I liked being made to feel like I was sneaking around. Now I was running late and I wondered if maybe that would be a blessing in disguise. Nathan would have grown tired of waiting and left already—if he had bothered to show up at all—and that would be that. Our short time together would be relegated to nothing more than some memories. Could I accept that? Of course, I could. We'd never had a relationship, we'd only been having fun. Nothing more.
Then why had I been so eager for Jacqui to meet him? Why had I been so disappointed when he hadn't shown up for our dinner date last week? Why had I reacted the way I had last night, running off like some spoiled child who hadn't gotten her way?
And why did my stomach clench with disappointment when I thought I might never see Nathan again?
I pushed the answers I didn't want to admit to away and joined the handful of people, mostly tourists, making their way off the streetcar. Most of them turned to head into the Quarter, to walk across Decatur to stand in line at Cafe Dumonde or to grab their trinkets from the French Market. Only two other people walked across the tracks with me, heading up the short flight of stairs that would take us to the riverwalk that bordered the Mississippi. I paused at the top of the stairs, relishing the breeze that fanned my cheeks for a few seconds before gazing over my shoulder at the heavy clouds darkening the horizon. The storm was moving in faster. I'd look around, see that Nathan wasn't here, then hurry back down the steps. With a little luck, I might even be able to jump back on the streetcar before it left the station and make it home before getting soaked.
I turned my head to the right and sucked in a short gasp of surprise. A man was sitting on one of the iron benches a few feet away, his hands clasped together and hanging between his knees as he stared at the ground. The breeze tousled his dark hair, lifting the ends from the back of his neck before settling them over the collar of his gray t-shirt.
Nathan.
He must have sensed me watching him, or maybe he heard my small gasp, because he slowly straightened and turned his head. Piercing blue eyes met mine and my traitorous heart leapt in my chest.
How could I have ever thought that I was doing nothing more than having fun with the man staring back at me?
My reaction didn't make sense. We'd only known each other for not quite four weeks—and hadn't seen each other for the last five days of that time. My pulse shouldn't be racing the way it was and it was absolutely ridiculous that I wanted to rush forward and throw myself into his arms.
What I should have done was turn around and race back to the streetcar. Go home. Forget about the man watching me, the expression on his face letting me know that he fully expected me to do that very thing.
I held my ground instead of giving in to the cowardly—or maybe it was sane?—urge. A long minute stretched out between us before Nathan finally pushed to his feet and walked toward me. I had the sense he wanted to reach out to me as much as I wanted to reach out to him but in the end, we both just stood there.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.
Nathan cleared his throat, his gaze not quite meeting mine. "I didn't think you were coming."
"I almost didn't." My admission surprised him, even though that hadn't been my intention. Maybe that was a good thing, to make him think that my being here wasn't a guarantee of anything. This meeting was just to talk, although I wasn't exactly sure what we were supposed to be talking about.
The fact that he'd stood me up?
The fact that whatever was going on—or had been going on—wasn't quite what either of us had first thought?
The fact that neither of us really knew who the other was?
Or maybe it was the fact that, now that we did know, there was no possible way we could continue seeing each other. If that was even what Nathan wanted. For all I knew, he just wanted this opportunity to make a clean break. Maybe he was worried I'd make trouble for him, now that he knew who my father was.
The thought chilled me just as a gust of wind blew around us. I reached behind me and grabbed a handful of hair, twisting it to keep it from flying around my face. The move gave me a chance to look away from those piercing blue eyes, to hide my unexpected reaction to my own thoughts.
Nathan pointed to the bench where he'd been sitting a moment earlier. "Did you want to sit down and talk?"
I nodded and took a seat, sliding closer to the end to make sure there was ample distance between us. It was an error of judgment on my part because Nathan sat down right next to me, his thigh brushing against mine, and now I had nowhere to go. I tossed a meaningful look in his direction but he completely ignored it.
Or maybe he didn't see it since he was staring straight ahead at the choppy surface of the river.
I readjusted the thin strap of my small bag on my shoulder and released a small sigh. "You said you wanted to talk."
He nodded but didn't say anything for the longest time—long enough that I was seriously considering getting up to leave.
Until he spoke.
"I tried looking for you. Every day this past week." He shifted on the bench, his head turning toward me. Our gazes met and I looked away, afraid of what he might see in my eyes.
"Why?" It was a silly question, too needy and too desperate, and I wished I could take it back as soon as it left my mouth.
"To apologize for Monday night."
"You did that last night—"
"And because I wanted to see you again."
My heart—traitorous thing that it was—slammed into my chest again and it took every bit of control I had not to melt in a puddle right then and there. It would be so easy to read too much into his words. So easy to accept the unspoken invitation they contained. I wanted to reach out and curl my hand around his and pretend the last week hadn't happened. To pretend that whatever had been between us really was no more than just the two of us having fun with no commitments or expectations.
But I couldn't because it wasn't. Not for me, at least. I'd been a fool to tell myself otherwise.
And I'd be a fool to think anything more could happen, whether it was just fun or not, now that I knew who he was.
I curled the fingers of both hands into my palms to stop me from doing something monumentally stupid and stared straight ahead. "You're one of Daddy's players."
"Yeah. So?"
I spun my head to the side and gaped at him. "So? Even if I wanted to, we couldn't see each other anymore. Not now."