The Broken Sister (Sister #6) (11 page)

“You look lovely, Kylie.”

He had an easy smile. It came to his face often and easily. There wasn’t a lot of guessing what he thinking, he just said it. It was a refreshing experience for her. And the charm. It hadn’t been used on her very much in her partying days. But she didn’t look lovely. She wasn’t lovely. She was offbeat. She wore dark make-up. She wore her hair too harsh. She was a little bit pierced and a lot tattooed, not that he knew that.

He then stepped past her and glanced around. She watched him, almost too tongue-tied to answer. “Studio, huh? It’s nice.”

“My parents pay for it.” She cringed. God, she was so gauche. She could have just said thank you, and not totally pointed out how much younger she was than him and at how different points in their lives they were at. “I mean, it’s nice because they are generous.”

“My parents paid for mine in college too. It is nice.”

He had a way of smiling and an easy charm. So far, he didn’t seem to ever be at a loss for what to say. He walked around. She’d cleaned up, made her bed. She wasn’t naturally all that neat, so it looked a little better than usual. He glanced at some of her artwork, which her mom had framed for her to hang. “Did you do these?” He stood in front of one and then moved to the next, studying them with intense interest. Too much interest. Did he know about art? Collect it? Did he know that she sucked and didn’t really make art, she just…. doodled. No way did dare she call herself an artist.

“Yes. I did them.” She had her hands together, fingers cupped in the other fingers. She dropped her hands when she realized how obvious it showed her nerves.

“These are incredible.”

“No. Just doodles.”

He turned towards her, and was silent for a long moment. “I’ve been around art all my life. I was raised on this stuff. Shows, openings, my mother is huge into them. So yes, I know about art, and I know these are not just doodles. You study it at school, don’t you?”

She shrugged, almost listless, as if weary to take responsibility for it. “No. Not really. I take some classes as electives. I barely make C’s.”

He stared at her, eyes boring into her. The intensity of his gaze made heat rise to the surface of her skin everywhere. “Except in art? Am I right?”

A small smile touched her lips. “Except in art.”

He stepped closer to where she stood in the doorway. His arm came out to her waist. He stared into her eyes as his mouth came down on hers. He brushed his lips over the top of hers, the bottom and then together. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her mouth. “Three days seemed too long,” he said.

Her heart twisted at the soft statement. Everything melted. Her heart, her stomach, her lungs, her core. Her south lit up at his words as if he’d caressed her. It was the most potent thing anyone had ever said to her. Maybe they’d just stay here… But no, he let her go and took her hand and out the door they went.

Together. Her hand wrapped in his the entire time! She was more enthralled with that than almost everything. Or anything.

He opened the passenger door to a sleek sports car. She gulped in anxiety. It looked expensive. Impressive. And he opened the door for her. HER! No man besides Donny had ever opened her door for her. He deposited her in the front seat before he came around to the driver’s side. She watched him, totally entranced by his every movement. There was a confidence to him, in the way he carried himself that was sexy to her. She envied it. She wished she could be so confident.

He was taking her out.

All these years, she’d truly believed she didn’t care if she went on dates or had guys open the door for her. She was perfectly capable of doing it. Her fingers worked as well as theirs’, she’d always believed, but this was so different. It was so nice. She sat back against the supple leather and sighed letting her body for once, relax.

He pulled into the restaurant’s valet parking. She glanced down, her anxiety suddenly rising back up. He seemed to notice her hesitation. “Something wrong?”

“Am I… I mean, maybe I’m not dressed okay. I have never eaten at something like this.” She waved toward the restaurant. She didn’t grow up poor or anything, but eating dinners that cost this much was not something her family had done either. She imagined old, successful people going there to eat, not her. Especially not on a date. This place made The Acorn look like fast food.

His gaze swept over her. Her knees were knobby, sticking up off the low seat. A ghost of a smile turned his mouth up. “You are dressed perfectly.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. She didn’t budge even as the valet attendant, a young kid closer to her age than Tristan’s, stood outside the car door waiting on them. Another car pulled up behind them. She quickly rethought if going on a date was really such a good idea.

He leaned across the narrow console and took her chin gently in his fingers and turned her face so she had to stare right into his electric, sea-blue eyes. “I would not embarrass you. If there was anything wrong with how you looked, I’d have adjusted where we were going, okay? Trust me?”

He seemed sincere. His gaze was strong and direct, and something in her wanted to respond to him. She wanted to trust him. But that wasn’t an easy feeling for her to assimilate to, or believe.

“You’re rich?” she asked, in an almost accusing tone. As if there was something wrong with it. But she didn’t want him to be all rich and taking her here. It made her feel less and inferior, like this was all a ridiculous joke he was playing on her, and he’d suddenly pull away when she started to believe him, smirk with a hidden camera and say, “Gotcha!”

A ghost of a smile again. “No. I’m thirty years old with a decent paying job. You’re a college student, so for now there is a discrepancy.” He then full-on grinned. “I was trying to impress you, Kylie, not intimidate you.”

Her eyebrows furrowed and her forehead wrinkled. “You wanted to impress me?”

“Yes, that’s what a guy does on a first date. Usually. Now will you just be impressed and come inside with me?”

His hand slid from her chin to cheek and cupped it. There was something in his eyes, almost… what? She wasn’t sure. Caring? It wasn’t amusement, it was more like he thought she was somehow sweet. And he wanted to reassure her.

She wasn’t. Not sweet. Not good. No one that any guy should try to impress. Just wait until he realized who she was, what she was, and what most guys called her and said about her. Just wait until he realized that. Then he’d regret every penny he’d spent at this place, and the moments he’d wasted on impressing her. Imagine! She really could not comprehend that someone was trying to impress her.

She kept her gaze on his as she groped around for the door handle. His smile was huge when he realized she was turning to get out. He hopped out and tossed his keys carelessly to the attendant. Used to being served. She wasn’t and quickly smiled a thank you. Inside, the restaurant was lit by dim wall sconces, and candles flickered on tables that were draped in white linen and stood on dark wood flooring.

“Two for Aderly,” Tristan said to the hostess, as his hand casually rested on her lower back. She clutched at her bag. It didn’t fit this. She should have a small little hand bag or something. Not the clunky, cheap backpack she dragged everywhere. It was a habit. Her lifeline. Her throat was suddenly burning for a smoke. She was overwhelmed by this place, by the man—yes, man! Not a guy or a drunken frat boy or a kid beside her.

“Yes, sir, right this way,” the hostess said with a swipe of her hand. Sir! See, just what Kylie felt she should call him.

He waited a moment to let her lead. She was startled by the gesture but quickly started after the pretty hostess. She waited as Kylie slid into the seat, but not before Tristan came behind her and pulled her chair out. Flustered by all the strange attention and the hostess witnessing it, a furious blush started up Kylie’s neck and cheeks. He sat down in all his elegance and adjusted his tie as his other hand picked up the menu. The hostess quickly listed the specials and he thanked her as she lingered over him and finally left with a look towards Kylie. Probably wondering, what the fuck? This man with this girl? Kylie wondered it too.

“Do you like wine?”

“Yes, but I can’t drink it here. Not twenty-one yet. Remember?”

His smile was quick with chagrin. “Oh, right. So, no wine. Later, perhaps?”

She didn’t answer. Her mouth went dry, wishing she could have it now. It would ease all these nerves, the anxiety that tied her stomach up and the dizziness that kept sweeping over her. She needed to eat, but nothing sounded worse. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to swallow over the lump in her throat. This was why she drank. Her mind was blank now. The hum of near panic started to take over so she couldn’t think of even the most banal comment or question to ask him. She dived nose first into the menu, trying to keep busy.

Bread was placed, water was poured, the next waiter asked for drinks. She declined, sticking to water. Could not drink. She reminded herself she could not drink or let anything happen. Ally said. Ally was right. But what did he intend? She couldn’t sleep with him sober! It would be awful. She would fumble and tremble and it would be like she was bad at it, when she wasn’t. She was usually pretty good at sex. But not sober.

She ignored the bread as he broke off a piece. The steam wafted up and he spread the butter on  until it melted. Instead of being enticing, it made her stomach squeeze in protest. She should have eaten something. Now it felt an impossibility to try to. It was hard not to stare as his white teeth cut a clean line through the bread and he took a bite. 

“So, what is it you actually do?” She grabbed onto something, some line of conversation. She was on a first date for God’s sake, she had to do the first-date things. She had to be decent at this. She really wanted to be good at this.

“Boring stuff. I manage some people, do lots of reports about that. Budgeting stuff, quarterly accounting, banking, staffing, and marketing. A lot of everything actually. Mind numbingly boring to talk about.”

“Is it boring to do?”

“No, it’s better to do than talk about. Probably like when someone asks about a class, what can you say? Unless they know the subject, it’s boring to discuss with them, but maybe interesting to sit in.”

“I think you’re rich.”

He smiled and finally bowed his head as if in acquiescence. “My family is. My dad married rich. My mom’s family is well-off from, God, I don’t actually know, as far back on the family tree as we’ve ever traced. She’s never worked a day in her life. That kind of rich. But I don’t live off it. I have my own job and salary and so no, I’m not technically rich.”

His family sounded terrifying.

“Do you have family? Besides the sister you think I should date?”

She stared at her ice water, even as a small smile played around her mouth. He was tongue-in-cheek, dry, and funny. He talked easily, he wasn’t all silent and hard to be with. He was actually pretty easy to be around, if she’d just stop being so nervous. “I have lots of family. We’re from Calliston, have you heard of it?”

“Yes. Small town, close to the mountains?”

“Yes. My mom and…” Always so hard to describe what Donny was. Her dad, mostly, but technically not. She called him Donny. He had been her uncle before then.

“And…?”

She blew out a breath and took a sip of water. “Okay, here goes. I first met Donny when I was like seven and he married my aunt Vickie. They had a daughter and then divorced when she was just two. The thing is, he started dating my mom about then… It sounds so bad. But it wasn’t. Anyway, they’ve been happily married for many years now. So my uncle then became my stepdad. So it’s hard to describe.”

“That is… unique? Does that word work?” His smile was something else. Dimples that dug into his cheeks and made her gut tighten in longing. It should be framed and captured forever as a stillness of what perfection was.

“Yes, very unique.”

“What about your dad?”

“Dad? He’s gone. When I was ten.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his smile instantly sobering.

“Me too. It was… very sad. I’m not entirely sure I ever got over it.” She stared down at her hands in her lap. Her fingers twirled the silver charm bracelet she had clasped to her wrist. It was a cheap trinket. She often worded the dad question this way. People assumed then that he had died, but she technically didn’t say that and she didn’t have to answer any more about him. Because the truth? It was too terrible to repeat.
He left me. He left us. He just left.
Then he came back and went to jail. He stole money rather than be with us
. No, anything to avoid that conversation.

“Ally, that’s my sister, she was angry about it for a few years, but then got over it. She’s like that. She can take on anything and deal with it. Tame it. Conquer it. She’s fierce. And… just awesome. I’m not sure how I’d have survived… so much without her.”

“And you?”

She raised her head up. Puzzled, she asked, “Me what?”

“Did you ever deal with it?”

Her mouth opened, then shut. She dropped her gaze back to the twirling bracelet she was picking at. “I tried. I wanted to. I don’t know that I ever actually learned to effectively deal with it. Does that make sense? My mom, well, she’s incredible and she put me in counseling, several times. It just didn’t have the answers I needed.” She shrugged, then finally raised her gaze. He was intently watching her. She blushed under his scrutiny. He seemed to watch every little thing she did, each nuance. Nothing was missed. Why? What was he looking for? Understanding? Of her? That seemed a stretch; why would he care to study her so much?