And maybe, if I give him some time, he’ll want to be with me.
Chapter Fourteen
Nash
* * *
Over the next few days, I get off to Lucy’s photos. A lot.
So often that I feel ashamed when I’m around her, which is why I’ve cut her visits short whenever possible. She cleans, she cooks, we eat, and then I make up an excuse for her to leave.
My rejection hurts her feelings. I fucking know that. But what choice do I have?
Tell her I want to use her body to ease the ache I have for her?
Fuck no. That would hurt her even worse.
So, I’ve been leaving the apartment more, hanging out with Malcolm and the guys on the cruise boat at night rather than binging television shows with Lucy, despite the fact that I miss her and would rather be with her than playing poker.
At least I still get to see her every day. She still comes over at least once, despite my consistent rudeness.
It’s a small thing, seeing her for one meal, but I take comfort in her not giving up on me.
Which is why on Wednesday when she tells me that she’s leaving tomorrow, going out of town for the wedding, it hits me like a sledgehammer.
“Right, the wedding. That’s this weekend?” I ask her disappointedly before downing my beer.
“Yep. I’m leaving tomorrow around lunchtime,” she says while sitting across from me at the dining table once we finish eating the burgers she made. Her usually upbeat happy face is now sad and her narrow shoulders hunched. “Before I leave, I’ll bring a few meals up and put them in the fridge for you to heat up over the weekend.”
“When will you be back?” I ask, not giving a shit about the food, even if it’s sweet of her to think about me enough to cook in advance. She shouldn’t worry about me or care about me because I can’t give her what she needs. How can she not see that?
“The rehearsal is Friday; then the wedding is Saturday, so I’ll probably head back Sunday after the family brunch.”
It’s only three and a half days, but fuck, I already miss her. And now I sort of hate myself for trying to distance myself from Lucy the past week because of my shame.
“You sure you don’t want to just blow it off?” I say, peeling the label off the bottle, knowing it’s useless but still trying to convince her to stay.
“Nah. I’m a ‘backup bridesmaid,’” she says with finger quotes and a roll of her bright blue eyes behind her glasses. “I told my parents I would go, and I spent way too much on those dresses to let them just hang in my closet…”
“Yeah,” I reply, disappointed that I won’t get to see her in the dresses again, that I won’t be there with her at all when I know it’s going to be a tough weekend for her. Hell, I can’t deny that I’ve started to care about her too, more than I realized. For days, I’ve thought I just wanted her in my bed, but now I know it’s more – which is surprising.
“I think getting some closure will be good for me,” Lucy adds. “To finally move on. Besides, not going would make him and everyone else think I’m not over him, that I’m still a miserable lump of shit wallowing around in bed, missing him. And I’m not.”
“So, you’re over him?” I ask for clarification.
“Mostly,” she replies, which is not a yes. “The betrayal still stings and probably will for a while.”
“I know what you mean,” I agree. Hell, I’m not too far away from being a miserable lump of shit even now, years later. “When you get back Sunday, I’ll make dinner.”
“You will, huh?” Lucy asks with a smirk that says she doesn’t think I’m up for the task.
“Yeah, I will. I can cook, believe it or not. I just don’t like to do it. Think about what you want this weekend, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay. It’s a date,” she replies offhandedly with a smile before her eyes widen with the realization of her comment. “That’s not…I know it’s not a date!” she rushes to amend. “That’s just a thing people say!”
“I know,” I reply with a chuckle at her floundering. “But, um, we can call it a date if you want,” I offer because fuck it. I like being with Lucy, and I want her, all of her. Whatever happens, she’s a grown woman even if she doesn’t look like it. She can make her own decisions about whether or not she wants to be more than friends, but less than a relationship. Even though I care for her, I’m not ready to go down that road and may never be.
“A date? Really?” she asks in surprise, resting her chin on her knuckles as if she’s already planning our wedding and kids.
“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up,” I warn her. “I like hanging out with you, having meals with you, and I want to fuck you, but only if you know where we stand. It wouldn’t ever be anything more than that.” It’s a tiny white lie, one that’s best for the both of us since whether or not I care about her isn’t enough to convince me to ever cut out my heart again.
Lucy blinks at me while the gears in her head work to catch up to all of that. “So, you’re saying you want to be friends with benefits?”
Shrugging, since that’s a fair description, I tell her, “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“Nothing else?”
“Right. Nothing else,” I reiterate. “No sleepovers or any of that other couple-ly shit.”
“Okay,” Lucy says way too fast along with an enthusiastic nod of her head. “Let’s do that.”
“You don’t have to decide right now. Think about it this weekend. I never took you for the casual type, so I get it if that’s a line you decide you don’t want to cross.”
“Okay,” she repeats again, eyes sort of dazed like she’s already thinking about us getting naked and wouldn’t mind starting now.
A part of me wants to flip the table over to get to her, but the other knows she needs time to think before we act rather than jumping right into sex.
Getting up from the table, I take my plate over to the sink to try and put some distance between us before I go with the first option.
“I should…I need to finish packing,” Lucy says when she gets up in a hurry, abandoning her plate at the table to head for the door. “I’ll come by tomorrow before I leave!” she calls out without giving me a chance to respond.
Lucy
* * *
Holy shit!
Nash wants to sleep with me, like soon, when I get back.
I was ready to let him fuck me on the dining table right then and there, but he wants me to ‘think about it’ first.
What the hell is there to think about?
He’s hot and sexy, and I’ve wanted him since the first time I saw him.
Which is when I remember how I came to see him, and that reminds me of the secret he needs to know before we get in bed together.
Not that I think Nash Kincaid is the kind of man that prefers vanilla sex in a bed. Nah, I bet he’s all about fucking on tables or walls, whenever and wherever the mood strikes.