His Reverie (12 page)

How I wish I could relive that moment and do things differently. I should’ve touched him. His face. His hair. I should’ve grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him to me but I’m not brave enough. What if I did something wrong? What if that kiss had somehow been an…accident?

I want to roll my eyes at myself. How can a kiss be an accident? I’m looking for any excuse to tell myself I’m not worthy. I might’ve proved myself unworthy because of what I did next though.

I ran away. Like a complete idiot I RAN. AWAY. How can I ever face him again? Will he even want to look at me again? I don’t know. Did I blow it? Does he hate me? Is he over this before it ever really begins?

I hope not. I hope I didn’t ruin my chance though it feels like I did. He didn’t chase after me again. Didn’t call my name. He just let me go and maybe that’s a sign that he’s not really interested after all.

That hurts.

You know what I like though? I like how he always calls me Reverie. Not Rev. Everyone calls me Rev, even my family.

Not Nick. He calls me Reverie. And I love it.

I want to be his Reverie. All his.

Guilt: a feeling of remorse for some offense, crime, or wrong

July 5th, early morning

I
dreamed. Of brimstone and hellfire. Of Reverend Hale standing behind a pulpit, pounding his fist so hard the wood shook and I was afraid it would splinter into tiny pieces with the force of his blows.

He was yelling at me. Screaming at me. His face red, his voice booming as he threatened me for touching his daughter. He grew and I shrunk. Until it felt like he was ten feet tall and I was about five years old.

You’re vagrant filthy scum! Keep your disgusting hands off my daughter!

Those words—or a variation of them—were slung at me again and again. Until I was nodding in agreement, until I promised him I wouldn’t touch her. I wouldn’t so much as look at her.

I wake up drenched in sweat, my heart racing, my phone lit up as a text message comes in. It’s two in the damn morning. Who the hell would text me?

Grabbing my phone, I check it.

Krista. Of course.

Get your fine ass over her and lick my snatch. I miss your tongue.

I grimace. Gross. She really thinks that’s going to work on me? She must be drunk. I don’t even bother replying. Within sixty seconds she’s texting me again.

Nick!!!! I need you!!!

Groaning, I flop back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I’m straddling two worlds. The one here, in my shitty little apartment with a master bedroom that is still filled with all of Mom’s stuff and dealing with my sex-crazed ex-girlfriend, and there, at Hale House, where I pretend to be an upstanding citizen, do my job and secretly lust after a freaking reverend’s daughter.

Straddling two lines while I lie directly in the middle, bad on one side and bad on the other. I don’t know which side is worse. They’re both equally crap.

My phone dings again and I give it a quick glance.

I nEeD yOuR bIg DiCk NiCk NoW!

Christ. How long did it take her drunk ass to type that nonsense?

Stop texting me,
I reply quickly, my fingers flying as if I can hardly stand to text her, which is sort of true. Just reading what she wrote makes me feel…dirty. Stupid considering I’m just as low as Krista. I probably whispered similar words in her ear when we first got together. The both of us were young, experimenting, getting down and dirty, believing that’s what sex is all about.

Not that there’s anything wrong with getting down and dirty but damn. We were kids. And she was whoring herself out to every guy available when I thought she was my girlfriend. She even fucked my best friend.

And then my best friend fucked me over.

I don’t want to stop texting you. I want you. Why can’t I have you?

Because I don’t want you.

I know how to suck your dick real good. Don’t deny it.

Maybe I don’t want my dick sucked by you.

Why? You got somebody else?

Maybe I do.

I wish I did.

No one knows you like I do. NO ONE.

She’s not too far off the mark. And that’s what scares me the most. What if Krista’s right? What if no one else knows me like her? What if she’s the only one in this world who truly understands me?

A scary thought.

Krista’s words feel menacing. Like a threat. I don’t like it.

Leave me alone,
I type just before I drop the damn phone by my side. Screw this. I don’t need to have a text battle with Krista tonight. With my luck she’d show up on my doorstep and kick the door in. She’d probably do it naked too, she’s that crazy.

Not what I need.

I think of what I really need. What I want. Who I want.

Reverie.

I still can’t believe I kissed her. It wasn’t much of a kiss. More like an accidental brush of lips though it was no accident. She’d looked so upset and I wanted to reassure her. A totally impulsive move.

And then she bailed on me. Didn’t say a word, she just ran.

Weird. Her leaving made me feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t have touched her at all. She came out there to see me. I know she did. But she didn’t like how Heather talked to her, followed me. This entire night went down in flames and there’s no one to blame for it but me.

You’ll miss me you fucking douche. And when you come back begging for a taste of my body and I tell you no? You’ll cry like the big baby you really are. FUCK YOU ASSHOLE.

Great. Krista’s pissed at me. Maybe she’ll stop harassing me once and for all.

A guy can wish.

Frustrated: disappointed, dissatisfied

July 8
th

I’
ve worked my ass off the last four days straight with no time off. I get two days off starting tomorrow and I’m freaking exhausted. Every night since the Fourth, I get home late, scarf down whatever fast food I picked up on the drive home and then collapse into bed. Sleep like the dead until I have to wake up and start all over again.

On a few of those nights though, I dreamed. Of Reverie. Of taking that little kiss between us further. Of touching her, slipping my fingers into her hair to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Pulling her closer until her sweet curves mold to my body and she wraps her arms around my neck, moaning against my lips as I take the kiss deeper…

Yeah. Dreams. Definitely not my reality.

Last night Michael came over with a twelve pack of beer and we polished it off quick. Too quick. I’m not usually a big drinker. Alcohol causes nothing but trouble. Considering that Reverie’s been ignoring me since the Fourth of July, I’ve been frustrated.

So I drowned my sorrows in beer.

Unfortunately, Michael met Krista. She can’t stay away, even though she’s still pissed at me. Within five minutes of us arriving she was knocking on the door, as if she could scent new meat. The dirty looks she shot me when I opened the door didn’t stop her from pushing her way inside like she owned the place, her eyes alighting on Michael as if she just discovered a pot of gold at the end of some sparkly rainbow.

She flirted with me, she flirted with Michael and then after about ten minutes of that bullshit, I grabbed her arm and escorted her pretty little ass right on out of there. Krista whined and complained, Michael even shooting me a look that said
let her stay
but I ignored him. Ignored her too as I shoved her right on out of the apartment and slammed the door behind her.

“She’s trouble,” I told him when he expressed interest. “Trust me. You don’t want to get tangled up in that mess.”

He left it alone and so did I. We drank. And drank. Michael moaned and groaned over Heather and I let him. She’d been all into him after the fireworks show. They’d made out in his truck and she’d even given him a hand job. The dude had been ecstatic, talking about her nonstop the day after she jerked him. How this was going to be the best summer ever because for once, he nabbed a girl early in the season.

His words, not mine.

Two days off and she shows up yesterday acting like he didn’t exist. Heather had barely looked at him, let alone spoken to him. I felt his pain, not that I’d told him. No way I could let him know how far gone I was over Reverie. How I barely kissed her and she ran like I shoved my hand in her panties.

We were good and drunk within an hour. I refused to let Michael drive home so he crashed out on my couch. We woke up hungover and grumpy as shit. I drove to work wincing against the sun, pissed that I lost my sunglasses somewhere at the Hales yesterday. And later that afternoon, when I realized it was my turn to clean out the horse stables, my grumpy mood went straight to quietly furious. Downright fucking hostile.

Yeah. This week went from full of potential to absolute bullshit, just like that.

Glancing around the stables, I let forth a growl, pissed that I gotta clean this mess. I whipped off my shirt just before I walked inside since I knew it was gonna be hotter than balls in here. I rest my hands on my hips, surveying the area, making mental notes of what I need to take care of.

Mostly all of it since there’s chaos everywhere. Guests had come for the holiday and their kids loved to ride the horses every day. Lucky me.

I’m shoveling horse shit within minutes, sweat dripping down my face and chest, the air so close and sticky I feel like I can hardly breathe. The old khaki shorts I pulled on this morning because everything else I own is in the laundry basket are slipping low on my hips. I forgot to put on my belt before I left for work and with one wrong move the shorts could fall to my feet in an instant. I’m constantly hitching them up which is driving me crazy.