His Reverie (22 page)

But I keep both hands firmly planted on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the road. I’ve spent the last ten days with Reverie, sneaking time with her wherever and whenever I can. Now that she’s so firmly in my life, Reverie has become an even bigger distraction.

One I’m welcoming rather than running away from.

“I love your new truck,” she says again, for about the twentieth time. She’s running her fingers along the inside of the passenger door and I wish those fingers were doing the same thing to me. “I especially like the color.”

My truck is silver. And old. Well, it was made this century, but just barely—I bought a 2000 Chevy S-10 with over 150,000 miles on it. No air conditioning and it has a stick shift but that’s okay. I got it for twenty two hundred dollars so I’m not complaining. The truck is exactly what I was looking for. Now I’ve got Mom’s car up for sale on Craigslist and I’ve already had a lot of calls on it. I’ll get rid of it soon and put more money in my pocket. Money I need because this summer is just flying by and next thing I know, I’ll need to find a new job.

Not looking forward to looking for a new one. Not looking forward to missing Reverie after she’s gone either. My heart pangs just thinking about it.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to pretend you like it.” I give in to my urges and squeeze her knee, caressing her lightly just with the tips of my fingers. Goosebumps follow in their wake, I can feel them. “I know you’re used to your fancy, expensive cars.”

“Oh please.” She settles her hand over mine. “I don’t care what kind of car I’m in as long as I’m with you.”

She says things like that and I never want her to leave my side again. “You tell me that now but some pretty rich boy will come along in his tricked out Mercedes and you’ll leave me in a heartbeat.”

“Do you really think I’m that shallow?” She sounds sad as she starts to pull her hand away. I turn my hand up, grasping her fingers tight so she can’t escape.

“Not at all. You know this. I’m sorry. I’m just being an ass,” I say, feeling like shit. My insecurities come into play every time I’m with Reverie. She wants to be with me and I don’t quite understand why. I’m just a guy. And she’s this beautiful, perfect girl…

She brings our linked hands to her mouth and gently kisses my knuckles. “You don’t have to worry about me leaving you for someone else. I’m not like your ex-girlfriend, you know.”

Yeah, I know. And thank Christ for that. I told her about Krista. Well, not everything. I didn’t tell Reverie I had sex with her not even a month ago. I didn’t tell her Krista lives in the same complex as me. I also didn’t tell her that my best friend double-crossed me and I ended up in jail because of his lies.

One step at a time.

“You are the farthest thing from her.” I disentangle my hand from hers and settle it on her leg once more, this time directly on her thigh, my fingers flirting with the hem of her dress. “I’m going to make you dinner tonight.”

“Wait, what? Where?” She sounds excited. Almost as excited as I feel.

Tonight is special. Her parents went out of town for a meeting in regards to their evil empire, AKA The Flock of the Lambs corp. They’ll be gone for three days and two nights and left Evan in charge.

This means Evan bailed the moment their parents’ car pulled out of the driveway. He’d told Reverie straight up, “I don’t care what you do, just don’t get beat up, raped or kidnapped.” Then he left.

He’s just about the worst brother ever, I swear.

So Reverie is all mine. There are no prying eyes around the house. Most of the staff was given the same time off that the Hales are gone. Including me. Including Michael and Heather. Reverie invited me to stay with her at the house for the evening but I’d rather she see where I live.

It’s not much but I know she won’t judge. She’s not like that. She’s pure and accepting and she likes everything that’s a part of me. If I lived in a broken down shack near the ocean, she would’ve smiled and told me she liked it. And she would’ve meant it too.

“I’m taking you to my apartment.” Taking a chance too, because if Krista catches wind of this, she will have no problem coming over and putting on a big show for Reverie’s benefit. Or she’d turn into a jealous wench and attack Reverie. Spill all of our dirty little secrets, making everything we’ve done sound sordid and cheap and totally wrong.

Which it was. I feel bad for what I did with Krista, to Krista. She’s an unhappy, unstable person and I knew this. But I continued to fuck around with her anyway.

Not cool. I gotta make it better between us but how? I have no clue. And right now is not the time to figure that out.

“I can’t wait to see your place,” Reverie says, her sweet voice interrupting my thoughts. “Are we almost there?”

We’ve been driving for almost twenty minutes but traffic is shitty and I live clear across town. Not on the good side, close to the spread out neighborhood the Hales’ summer home is at.

No, my little apartment is located on the more gritty side of town. Where drug deals go down in parking lots in the middle of the day and cars are stolen in the dark of night.

“It’s nothing much,” I say with a shrug. “But it’s home. My mom tried her best to make it nice. She worked hard.”

“She sounds like she was a really great mom.”

“My mom was the best,” I say firmly.

“I think that’s so sweet.” Reverie leans over and plants a kiss right on my cheek, her sticky with gloss lips lingering and making me smile. “You’re sweet,” she whispers in my ear before she moves away from me.

She’s got it all wrong. She’s the sweet one. The one who fills me with light that chases out the darkness. The one who listens to me, who talks to me, who holds my hand and offers comfort when no one else has done that for me in so long.

Reverie has become my everything. And that’s both scary and wonderful, all at the same time.

“And I’m sure I’ll love your place,” she continues as she settles back in her seat. “Especially because you’re making me dinner. What’s on the menu anyway?”

“My specialty of course,” I say, being purposely vague.

“That’s no answer.” She shoves at my shoulder and I laugh.

“You’ll find out.” It’s nothing major. I’m no cook but I learned how to fend for myself from a young age, when Mom had to work late hours. I’ve really had to kick that skill into gear since I lost her, though most of the time I pick up fast food on the way home from work.

She’d hated that. Even Reverie gives me grief about it. Says I need to eat healthier.

“So mysterious.” Her flirtatious tone makes my smile grow. “You’re a man of many talents aren’t you?”

Ha, if she’d let me show her all my many talents, I’m sure I could blow her mind. Not that I want to push. We’re taking it slow, though she’s so responsive it’s difficult for me to remember that. The minute she gets in my arms we’re kissing. Her hands everywhere, mine everywhere…

Yeah. I’ve become reacquainted with my hand and solo performances in the shower again. The girl gives me a serious case of blue balls.

I know though, that she’ll be worth the wait.

“I’m impressed.” I watch Reverie rinse the last of the dishes and stack the plate in the dishwasher before she shuts it.

She turns off the faucet and then dries her hands with a paper towel before she tosses it in the trash. “With what?”

“With you. And that you actually know how to wash a dish.” She sticks her tongue out at me, making me laugh. She hassled me for knowing my way around a kitchen. How could I tell her that most of what I learned I picked up when I was in jail? “Seriously. I didn’t think you knew much about manual labor. But you know your way around a dishwasher.”

“You keep giving me a hard time.” She approaches me, her steps light since she’s barefoot. I glance down, studying her pale pink painted toes, let my gaze wander up her ankles, her calves, her knees. I really love her legs. Every chance I get I’m touching them. The temptation to get my hands beneath the dress and caress her bare skin is near overwhelming. “Do you really think I’m that spoiled?”

My laughter dies when I see how serious she is, her earnest expression. “Yeah, I guess I do,” I say.

She goes completely still, her expression frozen. “Um, wow. Are you serious?”

“Hey. It is what it is right? You can’t help the way you were raised.” I’m trying to blow this off. I didn’t mean to offend her. I don’t want to ruin this night. It’s important to me. Pretty sure it’s important to her too.

If all goes as planned, she’s staying the night with me. All night long with Reverie in my arms, in my bed. I won’t push for anything more than she’s willing to give. I’ve been patient with her because I know she’s worth it. She means something to me and I thought I meant something to her too.

Fighting with her is the last thing I need.

“Right. So you’d think you wouldn’t hold that against me. I can’t help who my parents are. Just like you can’t help how you’ve been raised either,” she says pointedly. “I don’t judge you, Nick. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you,” I start but she shakes her head, cutting me off.

“You totally are. And I don’t get it. I thought you knew that I accepted you. I’m putting everything at risk to be with you, Nick. Everything. Are you sure this is what you want? Because if my mom or dad caught me with you…” Her voice drifts off and she shrugs.

“You’re the one who treats me like I’m your dirty little secret,” I point out, grimacing the moment the words leave my lips. I shouldn’t have said that.

Too late.

“You do the same thing! Oh my gosh, I’m leaving.” She starts toward me, keeping a wide berth as she walks past me so I can’t even reach out and grab her.

“Where are you going?” I ask, my gaze tracking her as she makes her way toward the front door. Panic races through me and I can’t believe how fast this escalated.

“I’m leaving,” she tosses over her shoulder. She plucks her tiny purse from the back of the couch where she left it and goes to throws open the door.

“How are you getting home?” I jog toward her, grabbing the door before she can slam it in my face. “Reverie, come on.”

“I’ll find a ride. I…I’ll call my brother.” She steps outside and turns to face me, her arms wrapped around her waist, looking a little lost. “He’ll come and get me. I know it.”

She looks uncomfortable. This is definitely not her kind of neighborhood. It’s dark, especially since most of the lights that are scattered throughout the complex are either out or busted. There’s a couple of shady looking dudes bent over the front of an old car parked across the lot with the hood up as I assume they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with it. I hear a baby crying in the distance. A door slams and I swear I recognize Krista’s voice, yelling at someone, probably her newest victim or maybe her dad. I can only hope she’s given up on me.

“He won’t come rescue you.” I reach out and take her hand, forcing her to face me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I tell her bent head, stroking the inside of her wrist with my thumb.

“Well, you did.” She shrugs, tries to jerk her arm out of my grip but I won’t let her. “You were honest. You think I’m a spoiled brat. I can’t change how you feel.”

“Reverie.” I tug her hand and she steps toward me, her head still bent. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I like you just as you are.”

She lifts her head, her eyes wide and full of hurt. I feel her pain like a kick in the gut, especially because I’m the one who caused it. “You do?”

Her insecurities slay me every time. “Come on, get inside.” I pull her into the apartment and shut and lock the door before I press her against it. She gasps, her purse hitting the floor with a thud. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her, reaching to tug on the ends of her hair so she tilts her head up, our gazes meeting. “You know I like you,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I like you for who you are. I’m not trying to change you.”

“I-I like you too.” She touches my cheek, drifts her fingers along the line of my jaw. “I don’t want to change you either. I think you’re…perfect.”

I am so far from perfect it’s not even funny. But if this girl thinks so I’m not complaining. “You’re the perfect one.”

“I’m a mess,” she says without hesitation.

“A perfect mess.” I smile, my fingers still tangled in her hair. “My perfect mess.”