A Son of Carver (Carver High #2) (25 page)

She keeps her head buried against my chest but nods with understanding. I let her go and she turns back to her dishes.

We’re just finishing up as Nate comes walking into the living room – all fresh and clean.

“Feeling better?” she asks him, her voice condescending, no hint of the vulnerable girl she was a few minutes ago. Because that’s my Presley. The one who feels safe enough to break. And the one who was strong enough to watch me break too.

It was such a relief seeing Nick. Even though everyone told me he was okay, I don’t think I really believed it until I was actually with him, looking at his smile and his bright eyes and feeling his good arm slapping my back as I hugged him.

In that moment, a huge chunk of my anxiety fell off of me which is a relief because every moment leading up to that one felt like one in which I could break. Which, I knew was stupid and selfish.

He’s not my dad, he’s not my best friend, I didn’t grow up with him. I was the only one in that pole barn last night who didn’t have some story to tell about him.

But when he hugged me he called me
his
girl and told me he had been waiting to see me and made me promise I’d be at his home when he got there. So at least it’s not one sided. At least he cares about me even if it doesn’t necessarily make sense, just like I care about him.

Nash and Nate convinced him to let them stay – Nash because he wanted to, and Nate so he could avoid my wrath for the rest of the day. Nick will be coming home tonight so I’m at the grocery store staring at the list the Carters came up with which consists of chips, frozen dinners, salami and bread. I crumple it up and head to the produce section.

My phone dings and I look at it. It’s from Nash and it’s a picture of Scarlet Johansson in a pair of high-waisted jeans that hug her hips and a revealing black tank top that shows off her boobs.

Hey… it’s Presley… think you meant to send this to someone else? Can you text yourself? I’m not sure?!?!

Haha… funny

Her boobs aren’t as big as yours but I think you know where I’m going with this

Oh, crap. Not this again.

I’m not gonna comment on that but I think you know how this ends…

Maybe don’t show him this time?

Not what I meant… your comments about my body lead to arguments… between us

Aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with your dad?

That’s why I’m texting it to you – you can’t yell or scowl at me through the phone so no arguments

And I am hanging out with my dad

He thinks you look like her…

A second later a picture pops up of a young girl with long dark hair standing on a beach; nothing but underwear covering her hourglass figure.

Bridgett Bardot?

Nick, if you’re reading this I’m disgusted. Please stop discussing my body with your son! Both of you are perverts!!!!

I stare at my phone waiting so long for a reply that I’m scared I offended Nick. I start typing out an apology when his next text comes.

Sorry… we were busy goggling girls with hot bodies that look like you

Holy shit… I had no idea

The old man’s got good taste

And I think you were born in the wrong generation

A litany of pictures start popping up, assaulting my eyes.

Sophia Loren, Jayne Mansfield, Raquel Welsh, Elizabeth Taylor, Kim Novak, Betty Paige, Marilyn Monroe… just FYI if you want to check them out

And don’t even tell me your body doesn’t look like theirs… seriously, look at that one of Sophia… the girl in the piratey looking thing

I’m standing in the middle of the grocery store shaking my head at my phone. I don’t know what the hell he sees when he looks at me, but it can’t be this. He must seriously think I’m pathetic and need a huge, totally inaccurate, boost to my self-esteem.

But I still think I was right the first time

He sends another picture of Lynda Carter, this time she’s not in her costume but has a button down tied up high and is pulling down the waist of her jeans. I roll my eyes.

Not only do you have her legs and waist and boobs but I realized today you have her neck, clavicle bones and shoulders. Dad agrees… by the way

You’re both crazy and I’m at the grocery store buying your food with your credit card, Nick, so that should be a lot of fun for both of you when you get home!

I shove the phone back in my bag and grab two bundles of asparagus.

By the time the guys get home I have the house cleaned from top to bottom, all the laundry and bedding washed and put away, their cupboards and fridge stocked and a pot of chili on the stove. I even managed to shower – after I scrubbed the hell out of the bathroom of course.

I had no idea I was such a Susie Homemaker but every time I stopped to take a break I would think about Nash, and his pictures, and how it felt to sleep with him last night. Better yet, how it felt to wake up next to him. Him and his chiseled to perfection body.

This would all be a little bit easier to stomach if he wasn’t so damn perfect.
This
being the way I feel about him. Which, now that I’ve seen that Nick is okay, is about all I can think about.

It was the accident. It was the way I felt about him when that happened. It was being around all those people who love and care about all the Carter men and feeling like it was where I belonged. It was spending four days feeling like I had lost the Nash that was mine for good this time. It was realizing, even before the accident, that I was wasting my time trying to make something work with Angel when I knew that everything I really needed I was getting from Nash. It was Hannah talking about him, it was him needing Summer when he needed someone the most. It was the way he let me comfort him even though I’m not her. It was the pain that seeped out of him and broke me. It’s the fact that I know I should go, but here, in their home, is the only place I want to be.

“Dear god, I need to hurt myself more often,” Nick says as he limps into the house and gives me a hug. “Haven’t seen this place this clean… well ever, actually. When are you gonna marry her, Nash?”

“Probably wait ‘til after she graduates I suppose.”

“Ha, ha, funny,” I mutter, helping Nick into his recliner.

“I agree with Presley – it should happen sooner rather than later, assuming you’ll just move her in here?”

“For a while I guess. We’d have to save up some money before we could afford a place of our own.”

I leave them and head to the kitchen, which is only twelve feet away from Nick’s recliner which is not nearly far enough away. But I turn my back to them, filling bowls with chili, doing my best to ignore them.

“If you’re marrying Presley that must mean you’re done with that Hannah chick,” Nate says in a surprisingly hopeful voice. “I would take Presley’s scolding over that chicks water works any damn day of the week.”

I smile at the wall. My god, that girl was beside herself, over a man she didn’t know at all. Even Summer was annoyed, not that she would ever tell me that but it was clear when she told me she understood why I didn’t want to leave with them – that she would make sure
Hannah
was
okay.

“If I’m marrying Presley, which I am, then I’m obviously done with every chick that’s not her.” Are those butterflies in my stomach flapping around and going ape shit? Jesus Christ.

“That’s my boy,” Nick says.

When I’m positive the awkward conversation has passed, I bring a bowl of chili to Nick then sit by Nash, handing one to him before digging into my own.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Nate says, shaking his head at me.

“I only have two hands. Plus, it’s part of your training.”

He huffs at me but stands and goes to the kitchen.

“Training?” Nick asks.

“Presley’s trying to turn him into a man,” Nash laughs.

“Ah,” he says with a nod of his head. “Pretty soon you’ll have us making you food.”

“That’ll be the day,” Nate complains, sinking back into his recliner.

“Actually, Nash did make me a sandwich once,” I say with a laugh, thinking back to the first time I came here with Tatum.

“God, did I hate you back then… and having to make you a damn sandwich… I seriously contemplated spitting in it.”

“You didn’t?” I ask him.

He rolls his eyes at me. “I suppose it wouldn’t have been surprising if I had. But even then, there was something about you I loved. Not that I realized it, but I liked being around you. Even then.”

“I was your favorite person to torture.”

He smiles at me. “You were.”

“Nash has always acted like a second grader – picking on the girls he likes best,” Nick says with a laugh.

“Huh,” Nash mutters. “You might be right.”

After dinner’s cleaned up and Nash has given Nick his pain meds and antibiotic, Nate turns on some action flick and we all settle into our respective seats. I grab a blanket from the closet where I put them away earlier and snuggle into my side of the couch.

“What are you doing over there?” Nash asks.

I turn to him, “Watching a movie?”

He laughs, then grabs a hold of my hips and drags me to his side, shifting so that both of our bodies can fit. He lays down with his arm under my head then wraps the other one around my waist, pulling my body back to his before covering me up with my blanket again. “There. That’s better,” he mumbles.

I snuggle into him, feeling more at home than I have in a long time.

The movie is a good distraction; interesting enough to keep my attention but not so interesting that I have to think. It’s the first time my head has been empty in days. Maybe even weeks. It’s nice.

The minutes are ticking away too fast and I don’t want to go home. Jolee and her family will be back. And I’ll have to sleep in that bed alone. I pull out my phone to check the time, “Shit,” I mutter when I see it’s almost ten.

I’m about to ask Nash if he can bring me home when he whispers, “I think you should be mine.”

“What?” I whisper back at him.

“And I should be yours.”

“What are you talking about, Nash?” Is he serious right now?

“I wouldn’t ask you for anything. I wouldn’t expect anything from you.”

He’s serious. And the thought excites me. Truthfully, the whole time I’ve been laying here, wrapped up in him, the thought’s been in the back of my mind. I’m pretty sure we’re acting like a couple. But now that he’s actually talking about it it’s real. And the whole idea seems completely impossible. He’s great at dealing with me as a friend, but how long would my shit be cute for if I was
his.
I sigh heavily. “And how long would that work out for.”

“However long you wanted it too. Forever if you needed.”

“Forever?” I mutter. “I don’t think any man has the patience to wait forever.”

“Forever. But you’ll see what I see eventually.”

I think he’s wrong about that. “And what if I never do?”

“I don’t care. As long as you don’t leave. As long as you still let me hold you and sleep with you by my side. As long as I still get to have you around. That’s all I want. But you’ll see.”

“I’ll stay here, Nash. I want to. I don’t want to be away from you. And whenever I can, I’ll sleep next to you and I can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be than in your arms. But you don’t need to make me any promises. I’m not ready for promises.”

He sighs. I can feel his warm breath brushing over my ear. “You’re killing me Presley.”

“Well in that case, I should probably go,” I tell him, turning my body so I’m facing him now. Which may have been a mistake. It’s easier to say no to him when I’m not staring into his eyes. When his wet mouth isn’t five inches from mine.

“I don’t like the idea of letting you go. When you’re away from me things tend to get weird between us. You forget who we are.”

I reach out my hand and cradle his face, letting my thumb drag over his bottom lip, the tip of it wet with his spit. “Show me then. Before I have to leave, show me who we are so I don’t forget,” I try to whisper but it sounds more like a pant.

He leans into me slowly, apprehension that I don’t understand, in his eyes. My thumb falls away and then his mouth is pressed against mine, his lips caught between my own and it’s a rush. It’s something I wasn’t expecting. It takes my breath away and causes my nails to dig into the back of his neck.

And then he starts kissing me.