Drive(75)

I shrugged. “Teenage thoughts. I think there’s a passage where I got felt up for the first time.” Nate cradled it in his arms and eyed the book in my hand. “I’ll take this one instead.”

“The hell you will,” I said, mortified. “No.”

“It was worth a shot,” he said, placing it back on the wire rack he’d taken it from.

It was surreal that this beautiful man was in my closet at three in the morning making the space seem so small. I grabbed my Madame Alexander doll my mother brought for me and felt the tug of her absence.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see their faces until they were at my front door.

After a lecture from my father about the importance of communication and a good slap on the forehead from my mother, we spent a day in Austin together. I showed them around campus before they went to visit Paige. My mother was furious we still weren’t speaking, but I had stood my ground. In the end, I was left with a reluctant goodbye group hug from them both.

“Softball,” he said as he grabbed my tiny brass and marble trophy.

“Yeah,” I nodded as Nate invaded my space, like he was anxious to get to the bottom of things, of me. Satisfied, Nate leaned against the frame of my closet, his arms crossed. The air around us shifted as I held his book in one hand, my doll in the other. Hungry eyes trailed over my face, down my body and then back up.

Michael Jackson sang about Billie Jean. “Good song.”

Swallowing, I replaced the doll and started to straighten the mess he made. “I love this record so much. My dad taught me how to dance to it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and with total abandon. He just let us go spastic, Paige and me. Gah, I was such a moro—”

I caught myself staring at Nate, who stood stoically, waiting for what I said next, and in his eyes nothing was more important than hearing my story. He was exploring and I was the destination. There were no mixed signals, nothing to second guess. It was refreshing.

“What?” he asked, his arm propped on the frame. His jacket long gone and the sleeves of his once crisp shirt rolled up to his forearms.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes, now tell me.”

“I got all dramatic and I—” I shook my head. “You see, we had this mantle over our fireplace—”

“I think I know where this is headed,” he said, a rumble in his chest. “Clumsy kid, weren’t you?”

I nodded. “It was his deceased mother’s clock, my grandmother who I’d never met. She died before I was born. Anyway, the mantle wasn’t exactly attached to the brick. And I used it as an anchor to do a dramatic dip, I went all Flashdance and—”

“You went backward with the whole thing,” Nate chuckled.

“So bad. It was so bad. I really don’t know how my parents survived me,” I said with wide eyes. “I broke the clock.” I let out a sigh. “And you know what my father did?”

Nate took a step forward. “What, Stella?” He was close, so close, and I didn’t back away. Instead, I leaned forward. “Nothing. He didn’t yell or get angry. I saw it, though, the sadness. It was one of the last pieces of her. He just picked it back up, put it on the shelf, and told me to keep dancing.”

“Sounds like a good man.”

“I felt so bad,” I said as Nate brushed my hair behind my shoulder.

“It was a clock and you were okay.”

“That’s what he said. That’s exactly what he said.” I stared at Nate.

“That’s what I’d be thinking,” he said softly.

I gripped the arm that lingered on my shoulder and leaned in further. We were close, so close. With the book in my other hand, I stared up into indigo blue, willing him forward, my eyes closing. Seconds passed, then more.

“Do you like football?”

I jerked away slightly and studied his lips, wondering why they weren’t on mine.

“Football.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I parroted, staring at the full lips grinning down at me.

“Okay, I’ll pick you up at three,” Nate said as he took the book and looked down at the cover.

“You’ve read it?”

“Stella,” he said, his whisper touching my lips. “I fucking lived in these pages for weeks.”

“Oh,” I said, discouraged. “I was hoping to give you something new.”

“You did,” he said without missing a beat before his lips drifted to my ear. “Tomorrow.”

“Today.”

“Today,” he agreed, taking the offered book anyway and giving me a sexy wink before disappearing from my view.

“’Night.”



For a few solid minutes, I didn’t feel guilty. Not about the fact that I didn’t think about Reid when I was with Nate. Or the fact that I offered him my time, or my lips. They belonged to me.

Reid’s silence told me so.

But there was one thing that had me twisting in my sheets as my mind followed. I wanted Nate to kiss me.





Clumsy

Fergie



I woke up late afternoon that Saturday to find Lexi still wasn’t home. I shot off a quick text to her.