The crowd lived up to the rumors, filling every table in the cafeteria-style hall. I spotted a familiar flash of color and took a spot in line near Maggie and her kids. She allowed the couple in front of me to cut in line.
I plucked a tray and plate from the rack and slid it down the buffet. Another notch in the conveyor belt.
“Is it always this crowded during peak hours?” I held out the plate to a volunteer.
She dropped a quarter-slice of buttered toast in the middle.
“Always.” Maggie helped Stella lift her plate while Harlan waved his around like a flag. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you during a dinner rush. First time?”
My nod tussled my hair until it covered the atelophobia printed on my tee. “I try to avoid them, but I had a long day at work and needed sustenance.”
“You’re in luck. It’s turkey today, and they would have run out if you came any later. Plus, the guy serving it is some serious eye candy.” Maggie slid her tray down and covered Stella’s ears. “I actually think the dinner rushes have been more crowded since he started volunteering because every woman wants an extra side of meat with their protein if you catch my drift.”
I craned my neck to see this guy, but the line that snaked around the meat station extinguished any hope of catching him. “Is he nice?”
“He’s not very talkative, but the kids love him, Stella especially.” She held out her plate for my favorite cheap carbs—canned creamed corn and mashed potatoes. “He’s nice to everyone when he does talk, though. It’s infectious, like the world waits for him to smile before it can work again.”
“So, he’s a nice guy.” It came out harsher than I’d intended. Bitter didn’t suit me, but neither did hunger, a fucked-up boss, or North Carolina. I helped Maggie offer Stella and Harlan’s plates before holding up my own. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”
Maggie laughed at my sly grin, hip-checking me. We moved down the line at a snail’s pace. By the time we reached the meat station, my food had grown cold, yet my heart grew colder at the sight of Nash carving a turkey before delivering a generous portion onto a kid’s plate like the Food Network’s answer to plummeting ratings.
He wore his signature button-down, though the sleeves had been rolled up until the edges of his penance tattoo peeked out. The one I wanted to bite down. To hurt him like he hurt me. His presence consumed more space than his body, and for once, he didn’t look ten seconds from killing someone.
Either way, I wouldn’t take my chances. My heel inched back, desperate to help me flee before he caught sight of me, but I stumbled into the person behind me.
The noise drew his attention. His eyes landed on me with a precision that scraped goosebumps from my arms. An inquisition in his eyes I couldn’t escape. The First through Sixth Crusades compiled in one defeating glare.
I was a Matryoshka doll. He kept peeling at my shells, and I wanted to stop him before he reached the center and realized nothing existed inside of me but air and things that vanished.
One.
Two.
Three seconds was how long it took for him to sneer at me, then turn back to the kid he had been serving as if he didn’t know me.
“That was odd,” Maggie whispered before Stella skipped in front of Nash, taking the kid’s place. “I’ve never seen him do that. You don’t know him, do you?”
“No.” I couldn’t muster up the guilt that usually accompanied my lies. “Never met him in my life.”
“Hmm…” A hint of a smile ghosted her lips. She watched Harlan tell Nash about the dog he’d witnessed peeing all over someone’s leg this morning. Humanity suited Nash, but so would a trash bag. “I think he’s hotter when he looks angry. I swear, I have goosebumps all over my body.”
Me, too.
That was the worst part.
I always had goosebumps around Nash. I didn’t know when that had started, but I needed it to end. For starters, he had seen me naked three times and hadn’t wanted me any of them.
Nash had turned me down so many times, I had no clue why I still craved him like an addict. He boasted the personality of a rabid dog in heat. And if that wasn’t enough, he was probably getting head in the back of a crowded movie theater around the time I learned to brush my teeth.
“Hi, Nash!” Stella reached a hand out toward Nash, wiggling her fingers. “Where’s my toy?!”
“Stella!” Maggie clutched onto her shoulder and crouched down. “You can’t demand things from people like that!” She glanced at Nash, an apology in her baby blues. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where she learned that.”
“But Mommy!” Stella swung side to side, flicking her attention between Nash and Maggie. “Nash says if I want something, I have to demand it. I don’t want to be a little britch about things.”
“Bitch,” Nash corrected, and I wondered if he was born without any tact or if it had abandoned him after his first birthday. “Not britch.”
“Oh,” Maggie breathed out, her nosed bunched up like she had caught a whiff of something bad. “One—we don’t curse. At all. Ever. Two—that is not true. We don’t demand things from people. If it’s a reasonable request, we ask politely or we don’t ask at all. Three,” she shifted her focus on Nash, “that’s all on you, Nash. I rescind my apology. In fact, I think I might expect one.”
Nash smiled at Maggie.
Actually smiled at her.
As in, that nice thing civilized humans did.
Something I refused to call jealousy lashed at my throat, making it difficult to breathe.
Stop, Emery. You don’t own him. You don’t even like him, and he definitely doesn’t like you.
As Nash smiled at Maggie, I decided I didn’t like his smile.
I liked his scowl.
His sneer.
His scars.
Even his indifference.
I liked his ugliness.
The slash of his words.
The pain infiltrating his bloodstream.
I liked the parts no one else but me could see, because against all odds, I had fleeced secrets out of him, and now they were mine, too.
I’ve seen your scars. I’d taste them if you’d let me.
But there Nash was, displaying a human emotion for Maggie without looking human.
He looked like a god, descending upon Earth.
An angel seconds before becoming a demon.
I wanted to scratch my fingers down his face until he lost that smile, then rip his shirt open, point at the constellations of raised skin, and shout, “There! That’s the real Nash. Scarred, and broken, and permanently damaged, and definitely not smiling at a woman who deserves a smile from every man.”
I also realized I had completely lost my mind, because Nash Prescott gave Freddy Kruger a run for his money in the terrorizing department. He had also made it clear how little he wanted me when he’d walked away.
Nash carved up the rest of the massive turkey and distributed all but one tiny sliver between Maggie, Harlan, and Stella. “Just saying it how it is, Mags.”
Mags.
I was going to vomit. Maybe Nash did inspire my gag reflex.
“You are so bad.” Maggie shook her head before squishing the three plates onto her tray. “Thank you for the extra portions.”