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Chapter Eleven
In hindsight, provoking Kris might not have been the best idea. She could hold agrudge.
“Don’t tell me you’re still pissed,” Nate said as he trailed her through the Carreras’ vast foyer. “It’s been—” He paused, calculating the time. “Three days!”
Okay, so it hadn’t been that long since he gave her the female version of blue balls, but Kris’s cold shoulder treatment turned out to be surprisingly effective at filling him with regret. She hadn’t talked to him since Saturday night except for a text this morning telling him to come over after work, since Gloria was going to be home for a Skype meeting with her wedding planner.
Kris slid open the glass door leading to the backyard, where the perfectly landscaped grounds boasted everything from clay tennis courts to an Olympic-size swimming pool to gardens worthy of a royal villa.
“Gloria likes to come out here in the evening to gossip with her friends,” she said, ignoring Nate’s statement. “So this is where we’ll be.” She headed toward the giant cabana by the pool, where an older woman with a gray-streaked bun was setting out glasses of lemonade. “Thank you, Risa.”
“Of course.” The woman inclined her head and smiled at Nate before disappearing into the house.
He sank into the deep green cushions and sighed. Fine. Kriswasstill pissed at him, and so was his cock for interrupting its fun. Nate’s right hand had been wholly unsatisfactory all weekend, and he seriously regretted his oh-so-bright idea to leave Kris wanting the other night.
Men were, indeed, idiots.
“Tonight’s the night,” Kris said, crossing her legs.
Nate choked on a mouthful of lemonade. “Wha—”
“Make your move on Gloria. It’s already mid-July.” Kris grimaced. “I saw the bridesmaids’ dresses this morning—and, before you ask, yes, my dad forced me to be a bridesmaid. The dresses are monstrosities that should be burned before they breed and multiply. There is no way in hell I am wearing one this November, so let’s get this shit done.”
Right. She was talking about Gloria. He’d thought—
Nate shook his head. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“It’s been weeks.” Kris arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were good.”
“Iamgood,” he growled. He could’ve gotten Gloria into a compromising position a while ago, but he found himself strangely reluctant to pull the trigger.
Once he finished the job and Kris got her pictures, that was it. No reason for them to see each other anymore, except for her visits to the cafe.
The thought didn’t sit well with him. At all.
But Kris was right—the clock was ticking, and if Nate wanted the rest of the contract money, he’d have to man up. No more pussyfooting around. His family’s financial security meant more—shouldmean more—than a girl he barely knew. Kris didn’t even live in L.A., for God’s sake. She was leaving at the end of the summer.
He released a long, low sigh. “Okay. Tonight. You got it.”
“Good.” Kris didn’t look all too pleased either. Then again, she never looked pleased, except for when she was writhing and moaning beneath his mouth—
Aaaaannnnd, cut. Nate didn’t need to spring a boner before work.
He cleared his throat. “Listen, about the other night—”
“How’s your dad?” she interrupted. “Is he out of the hospital yet?”
He paused, recalibrating in light of the abrupt subject change. “Yeah. He’s…fine. Doing well, all things considered.”
The hospital had released Michael Sunday evening. He’d tried to talk to Nate a few times since he returned home, but Nate had had to run off to work or pick up Skylar each time. He already knew what his father was going to say: I’m sorry, won’t do it again, blah blah blah. Then days or a week later, if they were lucky, Michael would reunite with his friends Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo and the cycle started all over again.
Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.
“And Sky? How is she?”
“Good, now that our dad is up and moving again. She’s like Teflon.”
Thank freakin’ God. While Sky had her typical teenage melodramatic moments, she was overall a good kid and way too mature for her age. Nate wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to handle a moody, misbehaving teenager on top of everything else in his life.
