“Yeah,” he says, signaling right as I point to the turn. “I got an offer before I even moved.”
“Same thing you were doing?”
“Mostly,” he says. “More residential housing than corporate. I lost a chunk of my licensing hours moving across states, so I’m spending more time on-site than in the office.”
“You what?”
“It’s no big deal. Actually, I’m enjoying it, more hands-on, less theoretical. More examining if things hold together, less staring at drawings all day.”
I try not to look at him when he pulls up at the corner across from the restaurant. Through the passenger-side window, I see Zac, phone in hand. Mine beeps in my bag. Nate’s hands wrap around the steering wheel, and I can’t help but notice every subtle twitch—knuckles whitening, jaw tight, posture rigid.
I thank him and step out, crossing the street. As I lean forward to give Zac a side hug, I feel Nate’s eyes pressing against the back of my head, a quiet weight. It feels as if my ribs are pressing in. Whac-A-Mole feelings spike—curiosity, resentment, old ache—but I shove them down before they can fully surface. Don’t think about the hours he’s logging, whatever his plan is.Just don’t.
Dinner is easy, uncomplicated, and it helps exile every mental snapshot of Nate and what he does in Oregon. Zac reaches out across the table and squeezes my hand once, but he doesn’t keep it there, and after we split the check, we go our separate ways without either of us suggesting otherwise.
Getting out of the cab at my complex, I get a glimpse of Nate’s building—his light’s on, curtains pulled wide, shadows moving within. When I focus on his window, Nate’s still there, framed in light, shamelessly watching me.
My pulse hammers, a familiar surge of tension as I impulsively stomp to his building. Nate doesn’t need to buzz me in,he’s at the door, opening it for me in the less than the two minutes it took for me to get there.
“What game are you playing, Nate?” I whisper-yell while he closes the door behind me. “You say I know what you’re here for, but none of this makes sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
He steps into me, and I step away, pressing my back against the wall next to the glass door. Nate’s breath fans my cheek, and his vestibule feels three times smaller than mine, even though they’re identical.
I catch the faint trace of his body wash—different now, but familiar—and I know this green sweater he’s wearing. He used to wear this one and others like it on our dates. Dates we don’t go on anymore. I inhale, and the closeness hits me, twisting in my chest. I could slap him or fold into his arms and cry.
“You,” I breathe out, air cracking the syllable in half. “You move here, and then you do nothing but watch me.”
His cognac eyes flash darker, and he leans a fraction closer, the static charge between us prickling the skin on the back of my neck. “I do more than watch you.”
I shake my head. “You drove me to adate.” My pulse hammers in my ears, chest tight, anger and pain spreading low in my belly. “Why did you come here?”
His nostrils flare, neck taut when he presses his palms against the wall behind me. “You’re wrong.” His voice no louder than an exhale, his SCM muscle tics and the tension seeps on my skin. “Sometimes, I can’t sleep, wondering what you’re doing with this man you’re seeing.” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sometimes, I can’t stand still, imagining your body wrapped around others the way it did around mine.” His hand flexes, knuckles whitening. “Every time I see you, I fight against myself so I don’t drop tomy knees and remind you that I know exactly what you like best.”
He lifts his rugged palm off the wall, and the air between us zaps as he trails the strip of nylon-covered skin of my thigh. He isn’t touching, yet he knows he doesn’t have to as the echo of his skin calls forward memories that make my stomach flutter. I bite my lip, almost trembling from the sharp line of jealousy in his tone and the low hum of desire I won’t allow to take root.
He takes a slow step back, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders, but his gaze stays locked on me, intense and burning. “However, I made mistakes and lost that right,” he says, voice dropping into something heavier, deliberate. “My first mistake was losing sight of our big picture. What I… wasn’t always aligned with was what you wanted. So now… I’m here to show you that I can hold myself together while you chase after your dreams.”
I’m rooted to the spot and so conflicted I have to shut my eyes to avoid his. Part of me craves the words he’s saying, part of me aches for the raw desire he’s holding in check, and part of me is beyond pissed off he dared to come here and disturb my hard-earned new normal.
“Even if that means… being with other people,” he continues, a flicker of steel in his eyes. “So now… go back to your home. I’m determined to be better, Robyn, but I’m still just a man.”
“So, what’s your big plan?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Watching, lurking?”
He takes one more step back, his scent lingering long enough that it heightens his absence. I get the urge again to test the line he’s drawn, to prove it’s all for show, that he hasn’t changed and still gets distracted.
“Oh, sweets, you’re not ready for what I have in mind.”He smirks, eyes dark with amusement and something sharper. “I admit, though, I didn’t see this coming. You, here tonight.”
“I’m here because you’re intruding in my life.” I lean into him and press my hands against his chest. He feels different—more solid.
“Maybe.” He wraps his fingers around my wrists and lifts my hands off him, then drops them to my sides with a gentleness that somehow stings more than if he’d shoved them away. “Go home, sweetheart. I’ll be watching.”
And for all my trying-not-to-feel, I can’t pretend there isn’t humming under my skin. I chose this life I’ve built. I have no need or desire for Nate Leighton, but I look over my shoulder—and yes, he’s watching—and don’t look away.
CHAPTER 24
The Push
