The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (10 page)

“Curious about what?” He’d been curious about lots of things, too, but probably not the same things she had in mind. What she wore to bed, what her skin smelled like, if her panties were white and lacy, too. If she was wearing panties.

“Well, it’s probably just being nosy . . .”

He waited. Women could never leave it alone. She’d ask whatever was on her mind.
One
. He took a drink.
Two
. He smiled at the waitress when she brought their egg rolls.
Three
.

“But . . .”

He glanced at her and took one of the rolls onto his plate.

“You keep the strangest hours.”

He slathered his roll in spicy mustard and sweet and sour sauce and took a huge bite. While he chewed, he watched as she selected one for herself.

She took a tiny bite, then aimed those sexy eyes at him, waiting for him to answer.

“I work nights,” he offered as he polished off the egg roll before grabbing another.

She rolled her eyes. “I gathered,” she deadpanned.

He decided to show her a little mercy. He gave her a half smile. “I work with Mike.” He took in her puzzled frown. “Michael.”

“Oh.” She took another bite of her roll while she seemed to digest this information. He didn’t say a word. She turned those killer eyes on him. “So, you, um, do tattoos?”

He didn’t miss the way her eyes skimmed his arms. She wouldn’t see anything. “Yup.” He took a drink. Now she seemed tense. “I know I don’t look the type.” No piercings. His arms weren’t covered in ink sleeves. He shrugged. “Less is more for me.”

Their waitress interrupted and brought their steaming food. He waited until she’d served herself. Not enough to feed a church mouse if you asked him, but whatever. He shoveled several bites in before he realized silence had descended upon the table. They weren’t exactly on a date, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t cool either. He wasn’t used to being in a respectable woman’s company for any length of time.

He slowed his pace and focused on her for a moment. “Tristan tells me you’re a teacher?” Seemed like a safe place to start.

She nodded, a wistful expression coming over her face. He’d hit on something. “Yes. I teach special needs children at the middle school.”

“That sounds hard.” He thought tattoos were difficult. He couldn’t imagine dealing with handicapped kids all day.

She circled her rice around before scooping up a small bite. “It can be. But I really love my job most days. Don’t you?”

He thought about it. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Tattooing was a creative outlet for him, he wasn’t stuffed in an office somewhere, he worked flexible hours. He had the added bonus of working with his best friend—was hoping to be his partner soon. “Yeah. I guess so.”

She smiled as she forked a shrimp from his plate.

He grinned and stabbed two pieces of beef from hers.

She laughed. “Julian would’ve killed me for eating off his plate.” She froze. Her face turned white and her hand flew to cover her mouth. She looked down. “I’m sorry.”

Noble furrowed his brows. “For what?”

She glanced up at him. “I didn’t mean to say that.” She looked away. “Talk about Debbie Downer.”

He hated the tense line between her gorgeous eyes and that whatever ease they’d had between them was now gone. And what kind of chump was named
Julian
, anyway? The name screamed limp dick, or maybe that was just his own jealous dick talking. Because he could clearly see by the pain on her face that this Julian guy had done a number on her.

She eventually picked her fork back up and started eating again, but wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Shit.

“Is Julian Tristan’s father?” he finally asked. What the hell. Couldn’t ignore the big pink elephant in the room wearing a tutu.

Her startled eyes flew to his. She swallowed. “No.”

He hadn’t seen that answer coming. “No?”

He waited, deciding that if she wanted to talk, she would. If not, it was no skin off his nose. It wasn’t his business anyway. The men in her life weren’t any of his concern. He continued eating and was about to change the subject when she opened her mouth.

“No. Julian is just an ex who did
me
very wrong.” She sighed. “Tristan’s father, Rory, was my high school boyfriend. I got knocked up at the ripe old age of sixteen. Gave birth at seventeen.”

Noble looked up from his plate, but her eyes were far away as she kept talking.

“He’s been sporadic in Tristan’s life at best.” She glanced down at her lap, tears shimmering on her lashes. “Last year he met a girl. A woman, I guess. Anyway, he knocked her up, too. But he
loves
her. He married her.” She looked him in the eye, anger sparking from every pore now. “But a teenager wasn’t part of the deal, so he relinquished all of his rights to my son.” She snapped her fingers as tears fell freely down her face. “Just like that. As though he never existed.”

Everything went cold deep inside of him as he studied her face. Time froze for that instant as their eyes locked. There were no words.

Then, like a living, breathing beast, anger began to seethe and roil in the pit of his belly. Small at first, then spreading like a brushfire. It worked its claws through his guts, up his stomach, into his heart and lungs, attacking his chest, closing his throat. He could scarcely breathe. He clenched his hands into fists as he wanted to hurl the table across the room.

Violence rumbled through his veins as he remembered what it was to be unwanted. Lost.

She seemed to sense his churning emotions, or perhaps she was still caught up in her own. She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. He was forced to relax his fist as her thumb stroked back and forth over the back of his knuckles.

She gave a soft smile, wiped the remnants of her tears, and pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry I dumped that on you. This dinner is to thank you, not bombard you with my man troubles.”

He swallowed. Composed himself. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry those jackasses treated you that way.”

She nodded. Really. What was there to say now? By silent agreement, they finished their meal and quickly got out of the restaurant. Too much emotion had been spilled and it was time to end the night.

Once home, he helped her out of the truck, careful not to hold her too close. She turned to him, her big, tawny eyes bright and free of tears—thank goodness. “Thank you for coming with me. I hate eating alone.”

He nodded once. “Thanks for dinner.”

She sucked in a breath, drawing his attention to the strain of her perfect handfuls in that white lacy get-up. He quickly averted his gaze back to her face. “No, thank you for everything. You’re a regular Mr. Fix-It. My hero.”

He grimaced as he turned to shut the truck door. “I’m no hero.” Nope. No hero would be ogling her chest. Or her ass, for that matter. “But I’m happy to help. Let me know when you get that heating element and I’ll come pop it in for you. Should only take a few . . .”

He pivoted back to face her and she was nearly pressed against him, pinning him between her tiny body and the truck. He glanced down into her face.

She licked her lips. “Absolutely.”

Absolutely what? White lace was clogging his brain. Her hot hands were on his biceps. Automatically, he reached out and found the swell of her hips.

She inched closer and the back of his legs bumped into the warm metal of the truck’s door. A knowing smile teased the edge of her mouth. Her breath tickled the skin of his cheek as her warmth branded the front of his body. Those perfect handfuls pressed against his chest, nearly making his eyes roll back in his head.

“Noble?” Her voice was inches from his ear.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you. You’re the best neighbor a girl could ask for,” she whispered just before her lips brushed the corner of his.

Chapter 13

Michael tinkered some more with Tristan on the dirt bike’s motor, but they were limited on what else they could do until they got some help from someone who knew more about engines. And he knew exactly who that was. He was still frustrated about that.

He glanced up. “So,
little Bud,
how’re things? How’s school?”

Tristan shrugged and picked up a different socket. “It’s all right. Same.” He looked over shyly. “Met a girl.”

Michael raised a brow. “A girl, huh? What’s her name?”

Tristan kept working. “Ashley.”

“She cute?”

“Would I like her if she wasn’t?”

Michael laughed. “Guess not.” He moved to the other side of the bike’s skeletal frame and did what he could to help. “So, she your girlfriend?”

Tristan glanced up. “Not yet. We’re just talking. You know.”

Michael nodded sagely, wondering about the intricacies of teenage love affairs. Father only used the Love Detail once true matches were to be made with adult humans. It was very, very rare that these young loves were meant to last, and when that happened, Father usually handled that Himself.

They went back to working and what Michael liked to think of as
manly
silence. He’d learned that from Jed and Noble. It took practice, though. Especially when all he wanted to do was chat and pump the poor kid for information about his mom. Maybe he could glean something that would help both their causes.

They finally took a soda break. As they stood at the open garage door staring at the street, Michael couldn’t take it anymore. He glanced over into Tristan’s soulful little profile. “So, how’s your mom? Haven’t seen her around today.”

Tristan sipped his drink. “She’s hangin’ with the old fogies. I think it’s her night to read to them.” He glanced at Michael. “She likes to troll the nursing homes for a rich, old husband.”

Michael’s mouth fell open.

Tristan laughed. “I’m just kidding, man. She volunteers there. I think she actually likes the smells of prune juice and piss.” He took another drink then, still grinning, said, “She’s fine.”

Michael smiled and sat on a solid metal toolbox. “That’s good. She’s a real nice lady.” He took a breath and dived in. “So, everything still working good in your house?”

Tristan crushed his empty can and tossed it in the trash. “Yeah, man. But would you believe our fridge and oven went out the other day, too?” He turned deep, brown eyes to Michael.

He tried to look disbelieving. “Nah! You serious?”

“Serious. But it’s cool now.” He shot a glance to the right. “Mom said Noble came over and fixed it.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and studied the street. “Then I guess they went to dinner or something.”

Michael did a double-take as he felt his human heart thump rapid fire.
Cool. Cool. Stay cool.
But inside he wanted to yip for joy. “Dinner?” He glanced up to Tristan’s face trying to gauge how the boy felt about it.

“Yeah.” He looked at Michael, his eyes unreadable. “She took him out to thank him for all he’s done for us.”

Michael nodded, his hope fading just a tad. Tristan was the base in this love triangle, so to speak. His love was no less important than Noble and Braelyn’s.

“Does that bother you? Your mom going out with Noble?”

Tristan shrugged, his eyes roaming toward Noble’s house. “I dunno. I guess not.” He glanced at Michael again. “He’s cool.”

Michael tried to look deeper to see if there was any lurking resentment behind Tristan’s eyes. Or anger.

He saw nothing but a glimmer of confusion.

“Yeah. He’s
very
cool,” Michael agreed, trying to reassure him.

They moved back toward the bike. “Hey, speaking of cool,” Tristan said with a teasing tone, “how come you never told me you worked with Noble? Why did my mom have to tell me something super cool like that? He never told me he did tats, either.” He arched an accusatory brow with a half-smile.

Michael started rubbing grease off the piece in his hand. “I dunno. It wasn’t a secret or anything.” He glanced up. “He’s an awesome tattoo artist, too. Real good.”

A hero-worship grin lit Tristan’s face. “Cool. I can’t wait ‘til I’m old enough to get one. I’m gonna get a big ol’ fiery skull with snakes coming out of its eyes right here.” He ran his hand all across his bicep. “Wicked, right?”

Michael shook his head and looked away. “Wicked, all right. You might change your mind when you’re older.”

Tristan let it drop, but they didn’t keep their manly silence for long. He looked up, his brows furrowed. “Michael? You think Noble’s sleeping with my mom?”

Michael’s stomach clenched. How should he answer? “Uh, I really don’t think so. They’ve only been out to dinner once, right?”

Tristan nodded. “I mean, I don’t wanna get all in my mom’s business.” He cringed. “Gross. But she’s been dicked around by my dad and her last boyfriend. I don’t want any other dudes hurting her, if you know what I mean.”

Michael nodded. Poor kid, having to try and be the man of the house at such a young age.

“So,” Tristan continued, “you work with him, he’s your friend. You’d know him pretty well.” He pinned Michael with a laser beam stare. “Does he sleep with lots of girls?”

Michael swallowed. He’d have to tread this one carefully. “Well, women do tend to love him. I guess it’s his quiet nature. They think he’s a mystery.” He looked around the garage, but Tristan’s eyes lassoed him back in. “He’s dated some of ‘em.”

“I asked you if he
sleeps
with lots of girls.”

Michael understood what Tristan was
really
asking. And it was a fair question. He clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Noble is a good man. He won’t do anything to hurt your mom. I’m sure of it.”

Tristan seemed to take that in, then he took a breath. “One more thing.” His deep eyes didn’t falter.

“Okay.”

“You’ll probably think it’s strange.”

Michael’s brows wrinkled. “Okay.”

“And probably none of my business.”

“What is it?”

Tristan took a breath as if bracing himself. “I was wondering . . . have you noticed . . . can’t . . .” His eyes cast downward as his face began to flush. “Can Noble read?”

“You look like a girl who’s just been kissed.”

Braelyn glanced up into Ariel’s beaming face and couldn’t help but smile in return. Automatically her fingers moved to her lips, checking for remnants of that evening’s cherry pie.

Ariel giggled. “I think it’s just your lip gloss.”

Oh. Good. She was afraid for a moment her wayward thoughts had been broadcasting across the nursing home.
Braelyn Campbell is fantasizing about kissing her smokin’ hot neighbor. Again. And again. And all the other fun stuff that comes after kissing.

She hadn’t been this hormonal as a teenager. It had been several days since their dinner—not even a date—and kiss. If you could call it that. There had been no tongue and he had barely participated. Okay, fine. He’d stood there while she brushed her lips across his cheek, then his lips, in a gentle, friendly thank-you-for-being-a-good-neighbor kiss. But, if she was being really honest with herself, it was also a testing-the-waters kiss to see if there were any sparks there. Well, plenty were detonating on her end. She couldn’t be sure about his. He’d simply bid her a good night, ducked into his house, and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since.

But, man, he tasted heavenly.

She mentally chastised herself for going there—again—and tried to get back on track. She had a good life. The one she wanted. Things finally seemed to be going well for Tristan. They had a home and, knock on wood, they hadn’t had any more issues with it. She squelched the disappointment that no problems equaled no Mr. Sexy Fix-It.

Focus on Tristan!

But how was it that a tattoo artist had no tattoos?

Ariel honed in. “Why are you blushing?”

She reached up and felt her face. It was mighty warmish. “I’m just hot. Is it warm in here to you?” She was so busted.

Ariel studied her with her icy blue eyes. “Maybe it’s not the lip gloss,” she said, her finger tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you have been kissed.” She plopped down into the closest chair with a grin. “Do tell.”

Braelyn glanced around the small area they used as a reading room. The few stragglers left were snoring in their wheelchairs. The nurses’ aides had taken everyone else out to their rooms for their baths or to see the few visitors who actually showed up to the nursing home. The scarcity of family in the place made her heart ache because she’d give just about anything to have one more day with her grandmother and her loving arms, security, and unconditional love. But, she knew one more day would never be enough.

Perry Como’s static-ridden voice belted out about his Papa lovin’ the Mambo from the record player as Braelyn knelt down and tucked the blanket around Mrs. Roth’s knees before wiping a bit of supper from her wrinkled cheek.

She rose and spun around to tuck the home’s weathered copy of a much-used historical romance on the shelf to avoid Ariel’s question and all-too-knowing stare. Glancing at the sexy cover, she stifled a grin. She figured since her audience didn’t seem to care what she read, so long as she read, she might as well enjoy herself. It was just her sad luck the hunky hero in this one was a bodice-ripping Indian chief. An amped-up version of Noble back in the day. He could take her back to his tepee anytime.

Ariel put out a hand to stop her when she tried to slip past and make a break for the dining room. She wiggled her lime-green tipped fingers. “Well? Come on. I can keep a secret!” Her eyes were huge and eager and . . . compelling.

Braelyn pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “Nope. No kissing going on.” Not today.

“But?” Her multitude of bangle bracelets shimmied on her arm as she scooted closer. “You’d like there to be, wouldn’t you? Who is he?”

How could she be so perceptive? Besides, it didn’t matter what she wanted. She’d moved to Texas to start something new and fresh and better for her and Tristan. She couldn’t screw it up by starting something with some guy just because he was sexy as sin. She peered into Ariel’s eyes. “Nobody. I’m not worrying with men right now.”

Ariel’s dainty brows furrowed. “Well maybe you should.” She reached over and gripped her hands in a surprisingly strong hold. “Braelyn, I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I sense you’ve had your heart broken a time or two. Your son as well. But you seem like a wise woman to me.” She leaned in, her gaze intense. “And if I may be so bold . . .”

Braelyn held her breath, waiting, her silence permission for Ariel to continue.

“Something tells me your luck is about to change in a big way. Follow your heart. It won’t steer you wrong.” She released her hands and stood. “Now, look at the time. I have a meeting to get to.” She spun on her heel, her voluminous gypsy skirt billowing around her ankles.

Braelyn stared at her as she stopped to say a couple goodbyes. The woman was eerie. Sweet, but eerie. But could she be right? Was Braelyn’s luck in the love department about to change? And what did she mean ‘
follow your heart?’
She couldn’t very well force herself down Noble’s throat. And why was he the one who came to mind anyway? There were tons of men in Texas.

Ariel said her last farewell and was on the threshold of the lobby when she slowly pivoted around. Her iridescent eyes caught Braelyn’s gaze. “There are many men in the world. But only one for you. Follow your heart and go to him.”

For some reason, when she finally left, all Braelyn wanted to do was cry.