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With his blue eyes, square jaw, and hot body, there was no denying Nathan Everets was packing some pretty serious genes.
He smiled at Gram, and I could tell that she was charmed, but then how could she not be? He was polite, well-spoken, and really good-looking. I wondered if she sensed the darkness that ran just beneath the surface like I did. He was hiding stuff. I saw it, but then again, I guess that’s no surprise since these days I was all about the darkness.
He made some comment—I couldn’t tell you what they were talking about—and Gram laughed. She laughed like a schoolgirl, all deep-chested and animated and giddy. I wondered if Nathan was a player. Or if he had a girlfriend that he was faithful to. If so, I found it odd that on a Friday night, he was stuck making small talk with us instead of having fun with his friends.
He and Gram ate pea
ch cobbler while discussing football, and my eyes glazed over. I hated football. I mean, really, what was the point in lining up across from some huge Neanderthal whose only mission was to kick your ass all over the place?
I didn’t get it. When they started talking about some guy named Peyton, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So you like The Cramps,” I asked, though it was more of a statement than a question, and judging by the look on Gram’s face, it had come out sorta rude.
Nathan sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah, they’re awesome. The guitarist is old school and I appreciate that. Too many guys these days are just hacks. They wouldn’t know what an arpeggio scale was if it hit them on the head.”
“Really,” I murmured. They weren’t the only ones. What the heck was an arpeggio scale?
Gram sat up and grabbed the empty bowls off the table. “Nathan here is quite the musician.”
Ah, now I understood the tattoos and hair. He wasn’t just into the look; he was part of the scene.
Nathan’s face hardened, and the darkness or sadness or whatever you wanted to call it was there again. It was in the blank expression that crept into his eyes, the way his hands froze, and the way his shoulders hunched forward as if trying to protect himself from something.
It made me wonder. From what?
“So you must be a guitarist,” I said.
He shrugged and didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Blackwell, that was way better than what I had waiting for me at home.”
Gram leaned against the counter. “Thanks for your hard work today, Nathan. You’ll be back Monday, or will it be your uncle?”
He shoved his hands into his front pockets, and for a moment, I glimpsed the tops of his boxers again, along with a pretty impressive span of flat, toned skin. My cheeks flushed when I glanced up and realized he was watching me watching him.
A hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, and I didn’t like the way his eyes glittered beneath the soft light from overhead.
He was arrogant, and I didn’t like him.
Or maybe I didn’t like how he made me feel, which was something I didn’t want to think about. At least, not right now.
“I’m pretty sure I’m here for the next few weeks,” he answered, his attention once more on Gram. I exhaled a long, hot breath and pushed at a few pieces of hair that stuck to my neck.
Gram smiled. “Wonderful.” She paused, her eyes swinging my way, her forehead drawn thoughtfully. About a half a second before she spoke, I knew what she was up to. I opened my mouth in an effort to dodge the bullet, but she beat me to the punch.
“Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon, Nathan?”
Oh. My. God.
I gave Gram the stink eye but she ignored me, even with my right eyebrow raised at least an inch or more.
If Nathan was surprised by Gram’s question, he sure didn’t show it.
“Nope. Some of the guys are up at a cottage, and I’m stuck here, so…”
“I see,” Gram said, still avoiding my glare.
I swear, if she goes where I think she’s going to go—
“So, would you be able to take Monroe to the Peach Festival in town? She’s been stuck with me for a week, and I’m not exactly exciting company for a sixteen-year-old.”
