“That sounds suspiciously like a set up.” I retreated a step when I realized how close we stood. “Or worse—a favor.”
“Come on, Tiger.” His jaw ticked, gaze flicking upward in a way that made me wonder if he talked to starless skies, too. “Give yourself a break.”
“If you tell me why you call me Tiger.” I bounced on my toes, wondering what else I could glean from him. Nash hoarded secrets like the Kardashians hoarded cars. He could stand to lose a few. “No bullshit. None of that abstract answer thing you pulled the other day, too.”
The pad of his thumb brushed his bottom lip. “I tell you why I call you tiger, and you go in?”
“It’s that easy.”
His curse rocked my heels back. “That’s not easy.”
The button-down he wore pulled tight when he shoved his hands inside his dress slacks. Solid stone sat beneath his shirt, and I wondered if it would ever crack. He reminded me so much of the Sisyphus statue I’d found. I almost couldn’t wait to show it to him, but I remembered I’d called the gallery and asked them to hold the Depressing Sisyphus instead.
His eyes dipped to my stomach, which took its cue to growl. “Fine.” He ran his hand through his hair—once, which I’d never figured out the meaning of.
“An actual explanation,” I warned. “Be honest.”
Waiting for him to answer felt like finishing a book and learning the next wouldn’t release for a year.
“Remember when I first said it?” His jaw ticked at his words.
“When I ran into you at my cotillion.”
“Yeah.” The scowl unfurling across his face could conquer lands and unseat kings. “After you kneed Able Small Dick Cartwright in the balls. Twice.” He delivered the words like you’d deliver a bomb. No remorse.
I jabbed at the crosswalk button, harder than necessary. “Good times.”
“I said it because you’re fierce.” Nash touched my elbow until I faced him and held eye contact. “You came out of that room looking like a warrior, ready to destroy anything that dared cross you, including me and Reed.”
Some people accept criticism well; others, compliments. I fell into a third category—neither. Mostly because I didn’t talk to many people and cared even less about their opinion of me.
It made accepting a compliment from Nash more difficult than it should have been, because it came accompanied by the underlying threat of luring me in.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, allowing them to curl into fists out of sight.
“It’s not an insult?” I barely heard my words over my pulse.
“It was never an insult.”
A hummingbird had replaced my heart, and it fluttered inside me, beating its wings to a rhythm I couldn’t keep up with.
Shut up, Heart. I can’t deal with you right now. Go hibernate.
I wanted to ask so many questions.
Why are you feeding me?
Why are you mad at the world?
Why are you mad at me?
Are you okay? Has anyone asked you that since Hank died?
Swallowing them all, I nodded across the street. “The crosslight turned green.” I dodged around Nash and made it to the door first.
He could have asked me to move, but he leaned over my body. His front pressed against my back. He reached around me and unlocked the door. I shotgunned forward at the first opportunity, making my way through the buffet with my phone’s flashlight until I realized everything had been emptied. Not even the chip packets remained at the snack station.
“Fuck.”
Nash flicked the light on from the door. “I’ll make you a sandwich in the back.”
“The deal was, I’d go inside. Not that I’d eat anything.” I trailed him into the kitchen because it felt weird to be in the buffet area without supervision. “Good thing Delilah’s your lawyer and not you.”
He ignored me, washed his hands, and pulled out ingredients with ease, obviously familiar with the kitchen’s layout. I set my phone down and studied him. His fluid movements disgusted me. No one deserved to make sandwiches with the grace of a professional athlete.
Two slices of sourdough.
Turkey.
Extra chipotle mayo.
Lettuce.
Watching him make me food felt surreal. Obviously, I knew he'd done it in the past, but seeing it was a different story. Like breaking the fourth wall.
Nash was the star quarterback who lived in his own fiery universe, and he’d somehow gravitated into my icy one. I wanted to share my starless skies and steal his scorching sun. I would never understand it, but it was my truth.
This is why happiness isn’t permanent, I thought. Life introduces you to fantasies, then makes you feel like you can’t have them. You spend the rest of your life seeking that fantasy. When you realize it grew beneath your feet, it’s too late.
I set my phone on the countertop opposite of him, leaned against it, and gripped it with both hands. When Nash added a layer of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles inside the sandwich, my head jerked back.
My favorite sandwich.
He remembered.
How the fuck?
Never once did he look up to me. His attention to detail unnerved me. He sliced the bread diagonally, placed it on a rectangular plate, and set it beside my hand on the counter. My feet seemed less solid as I stared at it.
It occurred to me that we knew more about one another than we’d let on.
Getting to know someone is like gaining weight. Scattered bits acquired here and there. Next thing you know, you’re twenty pounds heavier, wondering where the hell all of it came from.
“What?” he asked when I didn’t touch it.
“Umm…” I tugged the hem of my tee.
“Jesus, Emery, spit it out.” Nash shot me a look that suggested he didn’t know why he was putting himself through this. “You’ve never been shy before. Don’t start now.”
I went with the first thing I could think of.
“There’s no card…”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I expected him to ignore me, but he shook his head, grabbed a pen and paper from a drawer, and set it on the counter. His tongue swiped his lips as he wrote. Slowly at first, then quick scribbles I feared I wouldn’t be able to read.
He folded the note and set it beside the sandwich. “Don’t read it now.”
“But—”
“Do you want it or not?”
I tucked the note into my pocket before he could take it back. “Fine.”
My stomach growled. I eyed the sandwich and toyed with the bread.
“What now?” His lips pressed together. He ran his hand through his hair. Twice. “Just eat the sandwich. Fuck.”
His persistence reached a point where I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t understand his motives, but I knew he genuinely wanted me fed, and that offered me leverage. It was a matter of how much.
“If I let you feed me,” I began, taking my time, “I get to ask two things of you—a favor and a question. I expect the truth.”
“You used up your honesty for the day.”
I jutted my chin up, daring him to pull a Chantilly and argue. “Nash.”
“What?”
My eyes peered at him. I hoped he saw how much I meant it. “Work with me. Please.”