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It was a good thing he didn’t ask why, because my lying skills sucked both in person and via text. But, now that I knew he would be back, it was time to put some plans in motion.
36
MACK
I was beginningto see the appeal of Southern California.
It was a pleasantly mild sixty-five and sunny. I was walking back from my second surf of the day. And it was just fuckingnice. There wasn’t any trash. People were smiling. No one tried to run me down when I crossed the street. I knew this was not true of all of LA but, in Nash’s pocket of Huntington Beach, it was nice. A much needed change of pace and scenery. I could see myself getting used to it real easy.
There was just one thing missing. A sometimes grumpy, sharp-tongued brunette with a penchant for black jeans and an unhealthy dependence on curly fries. She should have been here with me, seeing Nash and eating burritos and maybe even surfing, I think I could have tempted her into the water at least once. Fuck, I missed her.
I’d made the mistake of telling Nash that the two of us would be coming—I could only manage to keep a secret from one of them at a time. We were supposed to arrive at the reasonable time of four p.m. on the twenty-sixth. Instead, I turned up on his doorstep at three on Christmas morning. I let myself in with the key he left out and collapsed in his guest bedroom feeling really fucking sorry for myself.
Nash was in the kitchen when I surfaced somewhere around ten. “You look like shit,” he said, sliding over a coffee.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“So, where is she?”
There was no point pretending I didn’t know who he was talking about, but I slid onto a stool and swallowed a scorching sip of coffee before replying. “At home.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged, casting an eye around the space. It wasn’t huge but more than enough for one person. It was somehow both bright and cozy all at once. And a lot morehimthan the sparse, industrial chic place he and Nadia shared.
My attention landed on Nash, who looked a hell of a lot better than he had the last time I’d seen him. Slightly thinner but not dead behind the eyes like he had been.
When it became clear I wasn’t going to answer his question, because I didn’t know what the fuck to say, he abandoned whatever food he was preparing and came to stand in front of me, arms crossed over his chest.
“What did you do?”
“Why do you assume I did anything?” I tried to sound offended at the assumption, it was difficult when he was right.
He arched an eyebrow. “Things obviously went past your kiss.” Not a question.
“A long way past it.” I confirmed. And it was so fucking good. We were so fucking good. Good enough that I’d managed to convince myself she wouldn’t run like she always did. That she’d want to stay. I still wanted to believe that we’d work it out, but my confidence was waning.
“So, then I’ll ask again, what did you do?”
“I’m still offended that you think this is my fault.”
With an eye roll he turned back to the large skillet and flicked in a knob of butter that immediately sizzled and my stomach growled. “There is no fucking way Chase pursued something between the two of you,” he said, dredging some bread through what I assumed was a mix for french toast.
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Then I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong,” I said to my coffee. “I convinced her to go on a date.”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Just the one?”
“To begin with.”
“How did you get her to agree to that?” He flipped the slice in the skillet while dredging a second.
“It wasn’t that difficult actually.” I gave him the condensed version of events. Had I been an idiot to think that she’d be different with me? I guess I’d always thought that she’d never been in a long term relationship because the guys weren’t right for her, didn’t deserve her. I didn’t know if I deserved her, either, but I’d spend the rest of my fucking life trying to.
“You’re in love with her?”
