“So, um, what do you want to do today? We’re free until the rehearsal and dinner tonight at six.”
“Why do you have to go to rehearsal?” I ask in confusion.
“Because I’m the backup bridesmaid. And it’ll be good for me to prepare myself for the ceremony before tomorrow, sort of like a practice run.”
“If you say so,” I mutter.
“Until then, we could go swimming or play some tennis,” Lucy offers, and I give her a look that clearly says, Do I look like the type of man that plays tennis? The swimming is also a hell no, because if I see her in a bikini, my self-control is so low that I would have no choice but to take it off of her, probably with my teeth. Tonight, her wearing the red dress will be all the temptation I’ll be able to stand in one day.
“How about we get out of here and go back to the break shit place?” I suggest. “You didn’t really get a chance to destroy much. And it was a decent stress reliever. You could probably use a good dose before tonight’s rehearsal.”
“You liked it?” she says in surprise, joy brightening her face.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Okay, cool. Let me get a shower and then we’ll go!”
And there she was, back to the Lucy I know and love, the one who uses an exclamation in every other sentence.
Wait. Did I just say love?
Chapter Nineteen
Lucy
* * *
Friday afternoon, as I sit in one of the many white chairs facing the decorated gazebo where tomorrow Barry and Ellie will say their vows for real, I can’t help but look at Barry and wonder what I ever saw in him.
I’m pretty sure it was the blind kind of teenage puppy love. His funny, light-hearted personality when we were teenagers is what drew me in. The rest of him I accepted as is, because that’s what you do when you love someone.
But now, I’m trying to see Barry from Ellie’s point of view after she was married to such a rare, sexy as hell man who she could fuck whenever she wanted. If the two men were cars, then she definitely traded down. It doesn’t take a genius to see Barry’s appeal. His family is rich as fuck, profiting from their pharmaceutical company. He obviously knows and doesn’t care that Ellie’s only about his cash because she’ll make a pretty trophy wife on his arm. They already have a kid on the way to continue the Atwater legacy.
I think the pregnancy is the part that pisses me off the most.
Ellie couldn’t just take the man I loved from me when I needed him the most. No, she had to go and get knocked up, rubbing that other thing I can never have in my face too.
Looking up at the blue sky, I try to blink away the tears stinging my eyes, thinking I maybe shouldn’t have decided to wear contacts this weekend. I really wish Nash was here with me, but he opted out of the boring rehearsal. Not that I blame him, but he did promise to join me for dinner.
Hanging out with him today, it was just as easy and fun as before. In fact, while I expected Nash to still be furious with me, he actually seemed to be going out of his way to be nice.
Even though there were plenty of chances, he still didn’t tell me about the search warrants or that he’s a suspect for several murders, so I pretended like I didn’t know that the clock was ticking on our time together.
I was also very aware of the fact that Nash didn’t try to kiss me again. Or touch me. Not even once. Which was incredibly disappointing.
Things have changed between us because of my lie by omission. I should probably give up on the delusion that Nash wants me. Maybe he did for a few brief hours or days. Not anymore.
At least I didn’t think he did until I came up to the room to grab him for dinner.
“Are you ready to go eat?” I ask him when I step into the room. By the time the door shuts behind me, I find Nash slouching in his black tee and faded jeans with his legs spread wide in the same armchair he sat in for hours last night, silent, staring off into nothing. Tonight, he’s not just looking at me, he’s staring me down.
“How was the rehearsal?” he asks while his amber eyes trail up and down the front of my body.
“Fine.”
“Liar.”
“I hated every second of it,” I admit truthfully on a sigh. “Happy?”
“No.” Great. We’re back to one-word answers, which I hate. In fact, his voice has never been as stern with me as it is right now. He looks and sounds angry, more so than he was yesterday.
“Everything okay?” I ask in concern.
“No.”
“Well? What’s wrong?”
For a moment, I think he’s going to finally tell me about the dead men. Maybe he talked to Malcolm while I was gone, except I haven’t seen his cell phone since he got in my car. But then he answers me.
“What’s wrong is that…fucking…dress,” is his long, drawn out response.
My dress is what’s making him grumpy? Huh.
“Ah, yeah, this is the one I bought when we went shopping,” I say, glancing down self-consciously at the tight, red material squeezing my boobs out the top. I don’t have to look at the back to know that it’s also hugging the cheeks of my ass precariously, just an inch lower than indecent. The color of my cheeks probably matches my dress by now since there is that teeny tiny secret of spying on Nash’s computer, knowing he watched the woman in a red dress masturbating that I haven’t admitted to yet. It seemed small potatoes, compared to not telling him I’m related to his ex-wife.
“Sit down on the bed, Lucy,” Nash orders me.
Now he wants to talk? I don’t even care if we’re late for dinner. This is much more important. He’s going to finally open up and trust me.
I walk carefully across the room and start to carefully squirm up on the foot of the bed, but Nash stops me. “Not there. Sit on the side facing me.”
“Okay,” I reply, going around and hopping up on the mattress that’s so high my feet dangle a few inches off the floor. “Is here good?”
“Not yet,” is his response. “Lie back and spread your legs”
“W-what?” I ask, since I must have misheard him.
Nash just gives me a nod of his head. “Go on. If you’re wearing panties, take them off first. You know what I want to see.”
“I do?” I say in confusion.
“The mouse cursor moved and gave you away,” Nash says. “Since both of my hands were busy at the time, I knew someone else was accessing my laptop.”
“Oh, that,” I remark to myself and accidently say it aloud, freezing in my spot on the bed.
“Yeah, that,” he grits out, his jaw tight. “Were you watching me too?”
“No,” I quickly answer. “At least, not that time.”
“But other times…” he trails off.
“I couldn’t see anything, just your face and arm.”
“So you knew what I was doing?”
“Yes,” I answer feebly.
“Now it’s only fair I get to watch you to make us even.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” I ask.
When Nash’s hand reaches down to pop the button and unzip his jeans, I think I’m going to overheat and combust right here on the bed.