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Then I remember everything, and I jerk back.
Unfortunately, my two left feet skills decide to make a grand appearance again, and for the second time in ten minutes, I stumble into him and stomp on his foot.
He curses and somehow ends up tripping over his own feet, falling flat on his ass.
I don’t want to laugh. I really don’t. But I’m totally about to.
Yep, I’m one of those people. The kind who uncontrollably laughs when someone trips or falls.
“Oh, my God, are you okay?” I ask with my hand over my mouth.
I’m not going to laugh. I’m not going to!
He blinks up at me, his face full of shock. “I think so …” Then he gives me an accusing look. “I think your two left feet might be a disease and I just caught it. Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” I say automatically.
That’s when I lose it and a giant pig snort of a laugh escapes my mouth. Once I get started, I can’t stop. And the more I laugh, the more I have to pee. And being the dork that I am, I somehow announce this to Carter.
“That was so funny.” I wobble around, squeezing my legs together. “Oh, my God, I’m going to piss my pants.”
“I’m glad my pain and humiliation is amusing to you.” He tries to look mad, but I detect a smile surfacing at his lips.
“I’m sorry.” I try to contain my laughter.
“Yeah, you sure seem like it.” He’s smiling now.
Feeling bad, I extend my hand to him. “Here, let me help you up. It’s the least I can do for laughing at you.”
“Actually, I think you might be able to do one more thing.” He slips his fingers through mine. But then instead of letting me pull him to his feet, he tugs me down. He doesn’t let me crack my face against the asphalt, though, catching me in his arms and positioning me in his lap. Then he starts tickling me.
I squeal. “Stop! I’m already about to pee my pants!”
He continues to tickle me. “You should’ve thought about that before you laughed at me.”
“Well …” I try to say as I laugh, “if that’s the rules … of punishment … then …” I tickle him back.
He squeals like a girl, and it’s the funniest noise I’ve ever heard, which does nothing to help alleviate my bladder situation.
We laugh and laugh and laugh, continuing to tickle each other, until I try another tactic and capture his hand. He starts to wiggle it away, but then he freezes as my gaze falls to his knuckles. Well, not so much his knuckles but the fresh scrapes covering the skin.
“What happened?” I wonder, lightly tracing my fingers over the wounds. “Wait? Did you get into a fight?”
He forces a fake smile. “Yeah, with a punching bag. It kicked my ass. Seriously, punching bags can be mean fuckers.”
I don’t know why, but I think he’s lying. “Are you okay? Some of them look really deep. Maybe we should go clean the cuts before we leave. Or I can get you an icepack.”
He stares at me, seeming almost mystified. “I’m fine. I promise.” Then he’s slipping his hand out of mine and tickling me again.
I let out a pig snort and squirm off his lap, bailing out to run upstairs to use the bathroom.
He laughs his ass off, thinking it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Yep, what a way to start a fake date.
Makes me really curious what the rest of the night will hold. And slightly worried I might not be able to handle this. Like, maybe I’m going to be the one to end up with a broken heart.
Nineteen
Carter
I know the moment I realize I’m fucked. That this plan I’m supposed to be doing is going to fuck me over. Sure, the end goal is a great idea. But I’m starting to kick myself in the ass for choosing to get there this way.
The change happened so fast. One minute, I felt in control. The next, I was falling.
Literally.
Right on my ass.
I’ve never had a girl reject a kiss from me, and technically, Ens didn’t reject me right away. For a heart stopping moment, she let my lips linger on hers. They were as soft as they felt when I dragged my finger across them. Softer even. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it is. I wanted more. So much more. And I almost always get what I want. At least, when it comes to girls. Then she pulled back, and it threw me completely off. So off that I tripped. Tripped. I couldn’t believe it.
To make matters worse, I fell on my ass. Talk about wounded pride. I’ve never felt that before, and I have to say that I’m not a fan. I was about to get pissed, which I know makes me sound like a dick, but I am a dick.
I was about to let my true colors shine in all their dick-ish glory.
But then she laughed.
Fucking laughed.
Because I fell.
It seemed like I should be getting mad, but the sound of her laughter was doing something weird to me. Or, to my heart, anyway. I wasn’t sure what it was—still don’t. All I know is that I no longer felt in control of the situation.
Then she touched my knuckles with concern on her face and I knew I was a goner. No one has ever been concerned about me. Not my mom, my dad, or even Elodie. But there Ensley was concerned, worried I was hurt. I don’t know why I was so surprised. That’s the kind of person she is. I just never had her kindness directed at me.
And there I was feeling like I was falling.
And I literally have no idea if I’ve stopped yet.
Just like I have no damn clue anymore if this whole fake date thing is fake anymore.
Was it ever really fake, though?
I’m so fucked.
“So, where are you taking me?” she asks after we get in my car and are driving down the road in the direction of the edge of town.
“I’m not sure yet.” And I’m not.
I know where I’m supposed to take her, but I’m not sure I want to anymore.
Think about the consequences if you back out, Carter. Do you want to become your father? Take over his business? Do awful things to people? You know if you don’t take over your dad’s business, he’s going to take everything from you and you’re going to need backup. Gregor’s world is my backup.
But think about how much of a horrible person you’ll be for hurting Ensley.
It’s like I have a devil and an angel sitting on my shoulder, whispering contradicting words in my ear.
“You’re not sure yet?” She angles her head to the side in confusion.
Unable to stop myself, I reach over and lightly graze my finger across her jawline. She doesn’t react, which leaves me feeling even more off my game.
Dammit, she’s so unreadable!
“We’re going to the lake.” Okay, yeah, we’ll start there.
It was part of tonight’s date that had nothing to do with Gregor. The seeing if I could trust her part before I show her a side of my life no one else knows about. Not even Holden. And while I want to say that I trust her already, I honestly don’t know if I do. She’s a closed book. Always has been. And I want nothing more than to crack that book open.
“The lake?” Puzzlement etches into her features.
I nod, glad to throw her off her game. “Yep, to see if I can trust you.”
“At the lake?” she repeats with a hint of anxiousness.
I refrain from grinning. “You sound nervous.”
“I’m just not a fan of water.”
“You can swim, right?” If she can’t, my plan goes to shit.
She bobs her head up and down. “But I’m not a fan of it.”
“Well, you might have to be for a couple of minutes.” I make a right turn off the main road and steer down the dirt road that leads to the small lake. “Because this is my trust test.”
She warily eyeballs the lake at the end of the road. “I’m not sure what your trust test consists of, but maybe we could just do a trust fall.”
“We’re kind of going to fall.” I might kind of be falling now.
&nbs
p; God, I’m so fucking lame. Seriously, if any of my friends heard the shit going on in my head right now, they’d kick me in the dick.
Maybe that’s what I need.
I wince. No, no guy ever needs that.
Her eyes dart to the area where the headlights illuminate against the short, jagged cliffs enclosing the lake. “No effing way.” She swiftly shakes her head. “No, no, no, no.”
“Argue all you want, but it’s going to happen.” I put the car in park, leaving the lights on.
“No, it’s not.” She crosses her arms and raises her chin defiantly. “All I have to say is that the date’s over and you need to take me home.”
Shit, I didn’t think about that.
“But you’re not going to say that.”
Her brow lifts in a challenge. “Says who?”
Goddammit, why can’t I tell if she’s joking or not? It’s driving me crazy and pissing me off. And it kind of makes me want to try kissing her again. Do all sorts of things to her with my mouth. I don’t even know why I’m reacting this way.
Okay, maybe I do. I’ve wanted to kiss her for a while. I want to kiss her now.
Kissing, kissing, kissing, it’s haunting my mind.
Not just kissing either. I want to do a lot of other things to her, but if I tried most of them, I’d look like a dick. And I can’t be a dick when I’m with her.
I don’t move in for the kiss, fearing rejection, which yeah, is another first for me.
Instead, I pathetically say, “Please will you do this for me?” I stick out my lip as an extra bonus. Honestly, I have no clue if the move will work on her.
Her gaze dances from my eyes to my jutted out lip. Eyes. Lips. Eyes. Lips … I wonder if she’s thinking about kissing me, too.
Yes, kiss me.
“Fine,” she surrenders.
For a moment, I think she means kissing me. Then I realize I said that in my own head.
And Elodie doesn’t think I’m weird.
Smiling like an idiot, I reach for the door handle. “Trust me; when you see where we’re going tonight, you’re not going to regret this.”
“That is, if I make it anywhere else tonight.” She eyeballs the cliffs again. “Well, besides the hospital.”
I reach over and place my hand on her leg.
When she jolts from my touch, I try not to take her reaction personally, but I kind of do.
“You’ll be fine, I promise.” I give her leg a squeeze, noting how soft her skin is and how long her legs are. In fact, I noticed that the moment I saw her tonight. I always knew her legs were long, but she rarely shows them off. She really should, because they’re sexy as hell, especially with those goddamn socks she’s wearing. “This whole trust thing works both ways. You trust me. I trust you.” A dull ache forms in the pit of my chest.
I’m pretty sure it’s guilt.
“Fine.” She offers me a tentative smile.
The pain in my chest expands.
I almost open my mouth and tell her never mind, that this whole night is off, that I can’t go through with it, but she hops out of the car before I get a chance.
I follow, still feeling conflicted. What do I do? The right thing? The wrong thing? Which decision is what? I’d like to say that I know the answer to that, that I understand wrong and right. However, my father does things that are in the very darkest areas of the spectrum, has done them for as long as I remember. And he’s trained me to eventually do those things, too, so sometimes I have a hard time telling what’s right and wrong.
After staring out at the lake for a moment, I decide that the best plan of action is to go cliff diving before making my decision. Because the trust part of this date is harmless.
Stepping toward the lake, I tug my shirt over my head.
“What’re you doing?” Ensley squeaks, covering her mouth as she stares at my chest.
And just like that, I get a little glimpse into what she’s thinking as her eyes wander up and down my chest.
I fucking smile. I can’t help it. “Getting ready to jump.” I let my fingers wander down the front of my chest, across my stomach, down to the button of my jeans.
Her eyes track my every movement, her hand lowering from her mouth, and I become less and less nervous. This is where I’m most comfortable. This is what I do best.
I flick the button undone and try not to grin as she bites down on her bottom lip.
“Why are you taking your clothes off?” she asks, her gaze fixed on my groin area as I drag the zipper of my jeans down.
“I’m not going to go swimming in my clothes. Then I’d have to go home and change.” I start to pull my pants down.
She stares momentarily before jerking her gaze off me and staring out at the lake, her eyes wide. “I’m not getting naked.”
“I never said you had to.” I kick off my shoes and step out of my pants.
“And I don’t want you to get naked, either.” She covers her eyes.
I frown, my ego slightly wounded. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.” She doesn’t miss a beat.
Again, I almost stumble, yet I manage to catch myself. “How about I keep my boxers on?”
“What about me?” she asks. “What am I supposed to wear?”
“Well, if I had my way, nothing,” I joke. When she tenses, I add, “You can always just take your dress off and wear that plaid shirt. That doesn’t sound too bad, right?”
She lets out a shaky breath then gives an uneven nod.
I do my best to hide my disappointment. When she makes no move to start stripping—again, disappointment on my part—I add, “Do you want me to turn around while you change?”
She bobs her head up and down.
Sighing, I do something I’m not used to doing. I turn around and act like a total gentleman. Sure, I can occasionally be a good guy. I open doors for the elderly, I let ladies go first, and I help Ensley’s mom carry her cleaning supplies into the house all the time. Granted, I don’t do that for the guy who takes care of the garage and yard, but he’s a huge dude. He can lift his own shit.
When I hear the rustling of fabric, I struggle, wanting to turn around so damn badly and see what’s underneath that dress she’s wearing. But I keep my word and stay turned until she tells me she’s good.
“All right.” Her voice is quiet and laced with nervousness.
When I turn around, I try not to stare, but holy shit, she looks so damn gorgeous. Who knew a plaid shirt could look so sexy on a girl? It doesn’t help that her hair is a wild mess, all sexy and wavy. I want to run my fingers through it. And don’t even get me started on her legs. I thought those socks were sexy, but nope, I think I prefer them bare.
“You’re staring,” she says quietly, shifting her weight and tugging on the hem of the shirt.
“Sorry.” No, I’m not. “You just look so …” I wet my lips with my tongue. “You look sexy as hell.”
She snorts a laugh then rolls her eyes, looking away from me.
My brows dip as I make my way over to her. “Why did you just laugh when I said that?”
She shakes her head and shrugs. “I didn’t realize I did.”
I reach out and cup her chin, gently but firmly turning her head toward me. “You did, and I want to know why.”
Her brows elevate. “You really don’t know?”
I try not to take the insinuation in her tone too personally. “I really don’t, so please just tell me.”
“You’ve said please a lot in the last few minutes.”
I shake my head. “Nope. No changing subjects until you tell me why you just laughed.”
She frowns. “I’d rather not, if you don’t already know the answer.”
I gently graze my finger along her lips. I know, I know. Not the right time at all. But they’re right there, and they’re so tempting.
“Is it because of something I said?”
She wavers. “Perhaps.”
“Something I said right now.”
&n
bsp; “Yes and no.”
“Okay, I’m so lost.”
“That’s okay.” She pats my shoulder, all buddy-buddy-like, and I resist pouting. “You don’t need to know everything.”
“Maybe not in general terms of everything in the world, but with you, I think I do.”
“Ha! That’s the most ridiculous statement I’ve ever heard.”
“No, I think it’s the most accurate.”
She rolls her eyes slowly but dramatically, which both irks me and makes me want to try to kiss her again.
Fuck, I’m so screwed.
No, I’m more than screwed. If I kiss her and fall for her, then I’m going to want to tell her the truth. And if I tell her the truth about how I’m working with her father to figure out more about her so he can do God knows what, she’ll probably kick my ass to the curb. And Gregor will retract his offer to let me own one of his clubs. And that ownership is my escape plan, my one and only way to escape my family. And if you think I’m being overdramatic right now, you clearly don’t understand what kind of man my father is. He has connections to a lot of scary people who he’s helped escape long prison sentences and even death row. Those people would destroy me if he asked them to, like for example, Winston Maerriellie. And my dad would have me destroyed if I try to walk away from his company. How do I know this? Because he told me when I was seven.
“When I get older and I’m ready to retire, you’re going to take over my position,” he said.
I was coloring at his desk. He hated when I colored, said I needed to stop acting like a little kid. Again, I was seven. “What if I don’t want to? What if I want to become an artist or a photographer?”
I went through a phase all through grade school where I believed I was going to become some famous photographer. I blame it on my mother. She was always taking me to art galleries or photo shoots, and I became fascinated with the concept.
Of course, when I got older, I realized that was a pipedream. I own a camera and sometimes take photos. No one knows this about me, except for the people in the photography class and now Ens.
