Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2) (27 page)

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t call me out on my lie. Instead, she took the empty glasses from my hands and headed to the back to drop them in the sink.
 

“You know,” Quinn said, coming up beside me and linking her arm through mine as she walked me back over to the After Dark, “your horoscope today reminded me of Nate.”

His name jerked me back to reality. “What?”

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and opened her astrology app. “‘A past love may resurface when and where you least expect it this week. Be prepared to open yourself up to all possibilities.’”

“It does not say that,” I said, snatching the phone out of her hand and then repeating, word for word, what it
did
, in fact, say. “Huh. Well, for all I know, they could mean Crazy Cal from six years ago.”

Quinn gave me a knowing look. “Or it could be the sign you’ve been waiting for to go after the other thing you want. There’s nothing and no one stopping you now but you.” She shrugged and then shoved the phone into her tight black leather pants. “Just think about it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Meals for
One
Two

THERE I WAS again. A wild Thursday night in the meals
-
for
-
one aisle. But this time, I’d come armed.

With a candy bar clenched in my fist, I sat with my back against one of the cool glass doors, my legs splayed into the aisle in front of me, and staring up at that stupid, wretched sign. The one that was destined to describe my life from this point forward.

For all eternity, I was destined to match lovers, but never
be
a lover. Which was to say, my attempt at a startup was actually going well. So well, in fact, that although I hadn’t yet found an office space, the clients that had followed me over from HLS were willing to meet at local coffee shops over espresso and banana bread instead. And with Ace’s investment, and the flux of interested potentials that had heard about me from his press conference, I’d be able to afford to bring Jenna on board as soon as we found our headquarters.

I guess it was true what they say, whoever “they” happened to be—that when one part of your life is finally doing well, the other part can’t seem to get its shit together.
 

My thoughts, as they always did, drifted to Nate. He’d be graduating in a couple of weeks. Would he stay here? Head to New York? Somewhere else? Did he think of me? And not in the
thank fuck I dodged a bullet with that one
sort of way, but the
I miss her
way.
 

That was asking a lot, though. There was a reason I hadn’t reached out to him even after Ace had come clean in front of however many hundreds of thousands of people had seen his press conference.
 

Nate deserved better.

I bit off another piece of chocolatey peanut goodness and crunched on it while a woman pushing a cart down the aisle did her best to pretend I wasn’t there. Her best wasn’t good enough, though, because I caught her judgmental “call security, stat” side eye as she passed. When she caught me looking back, she pushed the cart faster, away from the crazy hobo camping out in front of the Lean Cuisines.

Whatever. She didn’t belong in this aisle anyway, if the titanic-sized rock on her left finger was any indication. The family-size Hungry Man’s, that was where she belonged. And if she tattled and had an employee ask me to leave, my answer would be that I was indecisive and still debating between the angel hair pasta with shrimp or the lasagna frozen dinners. No harm, no foul.

The sad thing was, I technically didn’t even need to be here anymore, since Paige kept the kitchen fully stocked and there were grocery stores much closer to her place.
Our
place, I silently corrected. But I couldn’t bring myself to break my weekly visits, and for some reason tonight I had no desire to leave. They’d have to kick me out.
 

After shoving the rest of the chocolate in my mouth, I balled up the wrapper and tossed it into the shopping basket ass-planted next to me. Then I ripped open another one. My phone displayed the screensaver when I hit the home key, which meant no messages. No phone calls. No emails. Nobody by the name of someone that rhymed with “great” trying to get in touch with me.
 

With a grunt, I dumped my phone back in the basket, and when I looked back up, I almost choked.

Standing just under the meals
-
for
-
one sign, like I’d willed him into existence, was Nate. Scruffy Nate with hair that needed a trim, but hell, it was hair that was made for running your fingers through it. In black pants, a white collared shirt, and grey suspenders, he looked every bit how I remembered him from the last time I’d seen him, but he was different too. It was in his eyes. Where I’d expected to see them lit with fire, there was no anger, no hurt. His expression was open and curious and…something akin to amusement?

Probably because he’d just caught me in the middle of gorging. I quickly swallowed and wiped my mouth. And then…yeah, and then I just stared at him, because not one word came to mind. What did you say to greet people again? It started with an H, I knew that much, and I sounded it out so whatever letters came after it would show up.
 

He didn’t say a word as I stumbled over mine. Instead, he sat down on the other side of the aisle, leaned against the glass door, and crossed his arms.

“H-hi,” I said finally. There,
fuck
. Was that so hard? Apparently not, because then I couldn’t shut up. “I was just thinking about the second time I ever saw you and how I’d been cursing that stupid sign up there and calling Target an asshole for trying to make a dating aisle in the middle of the frozen foods section. And then half of me thought it was genius and that I should set up shop here because at least then I wouldn’t starve. And then you showed up and said something about my pants making you hungry, and honestly, I was just grateful I was wearing fucking pants, even though I’d forgotten to throw on a bra that day. Not that you knew that, because I was holding on to those pizzas like a life raft, but yeah. Tit bit nippily that night, but don’t worry, I remembered to wear one tonight. I think.” I held open the collar of my shirt and peered down at my white lace bra. “Yep, all tucked in.”

Nate tilted his head to the side as he stared at me. Well, stared at my face, not the boobs in question.
God
, why was I thinking about that instead of the fact that he was there, in the flesh, sitting across from me and memorizing my face?
 

This had been all I’d fantasized during my waking hours, when I hadn’t been consumed with the setup of my company, which was working under the name Sayonara Spinsterhood and Sweatpants because, well,
Paige
.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “I mean, hi.”

He nodded toward the chocolate bars in my lap. “Can I have one of those?”

My eyebrows shot up, and when I saw that he was serious, I nodded mutely and then slid an unopened one across the aisle.
 

Peeling off the wrapper, he kept his eyes on mine and then took a bite. And then another, his crunching the only sound I could hear. When he’d finished, he licked his fingers one by one, and I could only watch in fascination because something about it was almost intimate, but then again, it called to mind nights in his bed, and on his table, and on the rug.

Focus.
 

“Can I ask you a question, Shayne?”

“Yes.”

His hazel eyes pierced mine. “Is your phone broken?”

“Is my… What?” So not what I thought he was going to ask.
 

“Your phone. Broken? What about your car? Your legs? Email? Note-taking abilities? Messenger owl? All of that broken?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about why you didn’t track me down, Shayne. I’m assuming you didn’t want to, since I’m easy to find.”

My mouth opened and closed several times, but I couldn’t squeak anything out. Had he
wanted
me to go after him? And why the hell? I’d not only embarrassed him, but fuck, had it been me, it wasn’t something I could probably get over even with an apology.
 

But then again…Nate wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met.
 

“Nothing to say now?” he asked, but he wasn’t mad. No, nothing on his face was accusatory. Merely curious.
 

“Excuse me, but you two need to move.” A woman in a red shirt and a nametag that said
Manager
stood above us with a disapproving expression. “We don’t allow loitering on the premises.”

“We’ll be gone as soon as I get what I came for,” Nate said, his eyes still on mine.
 

“You need to leave now before I call security to escort you off the—”

“Can you just give us a minute,” he said, finally snapping his head up. Then he held up his hand and said, “I’m sorry, but that woman over there did something super shitty that she needs to apologize for, and I’m not leaving until I get it.” Then he looked back at me and said, “Anything you want to get off your chest, Shayne?”

“Sir—” the manager started again.

“Five minutes,” he said, and she huffed but shut her mouth and looked in my direction to hear whatever apology he was waiting for.

“You want me to say I’m sorry for hurting you? Nate…I could never apologize enough for what I did. It’s all I think about. If I could take it all back—”

“You wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t let you,” he finished.
 

I shrank back. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve already talked to Ace, and I’m well aware of why you did what you did. That’s not the apology I’m looking for.”

Blinking, I said, “You don’t want me to tell you I’m sorry for hurting you? If that’s not what you want from me, I don’t know what to tell you. Whatever it is, I’m sorry, a million times over. Had I known you wanted me to, I would’ve begged you to talk to me, to take me back and try to understand, but you deserve someone who wouldn’t lie to you in the first damn place.”

“Aha,” he said, pointing at me and looking up at the manager. “You see that? That was like some kind of backwards apology shit.”

She shrugged and said, “I’m gonna have to agree.”

“What?”
 

I tossed my chocolate bar into the basket and crossed my legs. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is you want, and I’ll repeat it back to you then.”

“Okay, here you go: ‘Nate, I’m so sorry I made you think I didn’t give a fuck about you. I must’ve lost all brain function during my weeks-long stay in the hospital, because anyone who’s seen a romcom knows that at the end of the movie, the person who did the wronging is the one that goes after the wrongee. So I apologize for fucking up the formula and making you chase me here. Please take me back.’”

I gaped at him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you on drugs?”

“Say it, Shayne.”

“You want to be with me? Like, really want to be with me?” There was no way he was being for real about this.
Or is he?

“I’m not fuckin’ around,” he said.

“But…seriously? Is this a joke?”

Nate threw his hands up. “Is it so hard to believe that somewhere along the way I fell for this crazy girl with the big smile that has a tendency to trip over her two left feet and somehow still make that look hot? That I might actually care enough about her to understand that even when she has good intentions, it can somehow skew into what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking territory, and even knowing that, I see where her heart is?”

“Nate, listen. That crazy girl you met that was letting loose on a pantsless Metro ride? That’s not really me. That’s me plus two liters of vodka and a heap of peer pressure. The girl who falls all the time? Yeah, okay, but I don’t see how that’s even remotely attractive. The girl in ice cream pajama pants eating candy bars in the middle of a store that, yes”—I looked up at the manager—“I plan to pay for. Yeah, that’s more who I am. And that can’t possibly sound appealing to you in the long run, not really.”

“I already know all that about you—”

“But did you know I order really embarrassing drinks at coffee shops?” I asked, getting to my feet as he followed my lead but stayed across the aisle. “Ones with ten names in them that end in the word
frappuccino
. And sometimes I wear my jeans every day for a week because they get more comfy and I’m lazy and hate to do laundry. Oh, and I still listen to NSYNC CDs, especially the Christmas album, even when it’s not Christmas because they put me in a good mood and I can do all the dance moves, not that I’d ever show anyone outside of the shower. I like the smell of musty spaces mixed with mothballs because it reminds me of my nan’s attic, which is super weird because most girls want candles that smell like roses or cookies. I don’t like to watch Disney movies because they make me cry, something you’d probably be ecstatic about getting out of. I’m a shitty cook, no matter what my friends say, which is why I’m always in this damn aisle, but I can bake a mean pina colada cake, so you know you’ll probably end up diabetic. You’re a fit guy, so you’ll want me to go hiking or running with you, and you should just know right now that my idea of exercising is walking in heels at work. Which I don’t plan to do anymore anyway.”

He crossed the aisle. “Shayne—”

“There’s more—”

His finger went to my lips, and I fell silent. Then he brushed a stray curl from my face, and his hand cupped the side of my neck. “I promise never to take you roller blading or hiking or anything else that might require a fully padded body suit. The music thing…eh, we’ll have to compromise on it, but I’ll never complain about being fat and happy as long as you don’t.”

I sniffled. “But what about the mothballs?”

With a long sigh, he shrugged. “You’re a freak. Guess I’m sorta into it.”

“Uh, you’re both freaks,” a voice behind us said.
 

Our heads jerked in the direction of the manager, who was backing away as if she was ready to get the hell out of our way in case she caught something infectious. “We close in half an hour, so just”—she waved her hand at us—“keep it PG.”