TROUBLE, A New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (14 page)

“What’s wrong?” Colin asks.

I realize that we’re the only ones still out in the backyard.
 
As I’m contemplating an escape plan, he whips off his t-shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat and dirt off his face.
 
My ideas about leaving fly right out of my head as I gape at his muscles and the giant tattoo that takes up most of his chest.
 
My heart is doing a weird staccato rhythm thing that may be a precursor to an actual cardiac arrest.

“A dragon?” I ask, before I can think to keep my thoughts to myself.

“Yep.
 
Big fantasy fan,” he says.
 
He takes a couple steps closer to me.
 
“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A fan?”
 
He winks at me and my heart does a double flip. Speaking of fans … if I had one of those, I’d be blowing it on my face right now full blast.
 
“A fan of what?”
 
Is he asking me if I’m a fan of him?
 
Should I lie?

“Of dragons. You know.
 
Fantastical creatures.”
 
He grins all sexy-like.
 
“What did you think I meant?”

I turn away with plans to head inside and halt the humiliation in progress, but he stops me with a hand around my wrist.
 
I look down at it and then at him.
 
“What?”

“I need your help.”

He looks so serious and innocent, I stop trying to get away.
 
“With what?”

“Remember how you did all that financial stuff to help Quin and Teagan?”

“I didn’t do very much.
 
Quin did almost everything.”

“Yeah, well, that’s cool.
 
You’re good with numbers and you’re organized.
 
I need some help with my painting.”

“Uhhh … painting is a creative endeavor.
 
I’m not a creative person.”
 
I pull my wrist out of his grasp and fold my arms over my chest.

“No, I need a business person, not a painter.
 
I’m the painter, but I’m terrible at the business stuff.”

“I don’t get it.
 
You want me to work for you?”

“Kind of.
 
Just, you know … keep track of the money part and maybe make some phone calls to some galleries.
 
Maybe talk to some buyers who keep calling me.”

I shake my head.
 
“No. I can’t help you.”
 
The idea of being around him that much is just too freaky.
 
I’d surely make a fool of myself.
 
Plus I have the baby coming and zero plans for my life.
 
Although … some money would be nice …

“Can’t or won’t?”
 
He’s using his shirt to rub his head all over.
 
Maybe it’s sweaty.
 
Maybe it’s itchy.
 
Why does he keep doing it? Does he know that it makes me crazy to watch his muscles flex all over the place like that?
 
Is he manipulating me on purpose?

“Put your stupid shirt on,” I say, annoyed.
 
And then I turn and head back into the house without another word, leaving him out in the yard.

“If I put my shirt on, will you help me?!” he shouts, laughter in his voice.

“No!”
 
My heart-rate is way too elevated as I make my way to the stairs.
 
I go up as fast as I can and shut myself in my bedroom.
 
Once inside, I hesitate with my fingers on the knob, wondering if I should lock the door.
 
If I do, he won’t be able to come in behind me.

I leave the door unlocked and lie down on my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening for the sounds of footsteps following me up the stairs.
 
I’m trembling over the idea of Colin coming in after me.
 
Fear and excitement sure do create a heady mix of chemicals.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I’M TEMPTED TO LIE IN my bed and daydream or take a nap for the next several hours, but I’m just not tired enough.
 
And since Colin seems to have abandoned the idea of pursuing me, there’s no point in lying down and trying to come up with come-backs and responses meant to sound indignant instead of pitiful.
 
Plus, this room is making me crazy.
 
I don’t know why.
 
It’s arranged all wrong or something.

I get off the bed and try moving the giant mattress and frame.
 
It’s either way too heavy or they’ve glued the wood legs to the floor, because I can’t even get it to budge an inch.
 
I try the chest of drawers too, and all I’m able to do is lean it backwards and bang it into the freshly painted wall.

“Darn it,” I say, nursing the finger that got squashed in the process.

There’s a tapping at the door but no voice.

“What?” I ask, not very politely.
 
My finger is pounding with every heartbeat.

“Can I come in?”

Now my head is pounding too.
 
I turn to face the window with my back to the door.
 
“No, Colin.
 
I’m sleeping.
 
Go away.”

The door opens and my breath catches in my throat as I imagine him coming in.
 
Is he going to touch me?
 
Whisper into my neck?
 
Slide his hands under my arms and onto my breasts?

He stops behind me.
 
“Did I just hear you moving furniture in here?”

My face flushes over the idea that I’m having sexual fantasies about Colin when his only intention is to be helpful to me.
 
And he’s standing just inches away; I imagine I can already feel him touching me.
 
I’m definitely delusional and possibly in need of medication.

“I tried, but I gave up pretty quick.”
 
I turn partway around and hold up my finger, trying to make light of my efforts and get those thoughts out of my head.
 
“I’m on the injured list now.”

He moves closer and takes my finger, bringing it to his lips and kissing it before I can stop him.
 
“There.
 
Now it’s all better.”

I pull my hand back and move towards the window.
 
“Thanks.”
 
Thanks for sending me into cardiac arrest.
 
Thanks for fueling my pregnancy-hormone-induced fantasies and sending them into overdrive.
 
“You can go now.”

“Where do you want the bed?” he asks.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
 
I can’t turn around and face him until my cheeks are no longer beet-red.

“I want to.
 
You shouldn’t do heavy lifting stuff, you could go into labor.
 
Where do you want it?”

I gesture to the other wall and then have to scoot out of the way as the bed swings around in my direction.
 
My sense of survival takes over, and just like that I forget to be embarrassed around him.

“Dresser?” he asks, resting his hand on the top of it.
 
He’s breathing heavy again.
 
I wish he’d take his dirty shirt off and give me a cheap thrill.
 
I giggle at the very idea.

I point to the other wall, not trusting myself to speak at this point.

He ignores my nutty mood swings and picks it up like it’s made of cardboard and not solid wood, easily transporting it across the room.

“We gonna leave the crib and small dresser there?” he asks.

I nod.
 
“I think it looks good.
 
What do you think?”

He studies it for a few seconds.
 
“Well, if it were me, I’d just turn the crib around a little.
 
Like this.”
 
He walks over and shifts it ninety degrees.

I wouldn’t have thought to do it like that but I realize instantly that he’s right. “I like it.
 
It’s perfect now.”
 
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I look around the room and smile.
 
This is my place.
 
My little slice of heaven.
 
A raft of tranquility floating on a sea of madness.

He sits next to me and takes my hand, holding it lightly against his thigh.

I do everything in my power to act like it’s nothing.
 
Nothing at all.
 
Just like he’s thinking.
 
Two friends, just hanging out, moving furniture.
 
No big deal.

“I really do need your help,” he says.
 
He’s looking at me.

I sigh but don’t return his gaze.
 
I stare at my small hand in his giant, callused one.
 
“Why do I get the impression that you’re either asking me to work for you so you can spy on me or so that you can stop feeling sorry for me?”

“Because you’re having paranoid delusions brought on by elevated estrogen levels?”

I look at him and frown.
 
“Are you serious?”

“What?” He shrugs. “That stuff happens.
 
It’s not your fault, you know.
 
It’s just hormones.”

I yank my hand away.
 
“I’m not having paranoid delusions about anything.
 
And my hormones are my business, not yours.”

“Work with me.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Okay, fine.”
 
He lets out a long and dramatic sigh.
 
“I guess I’ll just have to tell the gallery I can’t do that show … you know … the one I was going to donate the proceeds of for Teagan’s legal fees.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you talking about? I thought they took her case on contingency.”

“Oh, you didn’t know?
 
Huh.”
 
He walks to the door.
 
“Never mind.
 
I’ll see you later.”

He’s out the door and shutting it behind him before I can get my feet under me. “Colin!”
 
I wiggle off the bed and run to the door, throwing it open.
 
He’s already down the stairs.

“Come back!”

“Gotta go!
 
Game’s on!”

The volume goes up on the television and some announcer is talking about a goalie.

I’m tempted to follow Colin down and insist he tell me what he was talking about, but I don’t.
 
Instead, I slowly close the door and lie down on the bed to stare at the ceiling.
 
I’m exhausted and my legs don’t want to move.

Before I realize it, I’m drifting off into a nightmare that has me right in the middle of Charlie’s arms, and he’s staring at me with soulless black eyes once more.
 
Just as I think I’m about to be swallowed whole by them, Colin is there and he’s yanked me back from the abyss.
 
Together we run away fast and far.
 
I don’t even know where he’s taking me, but I don’t care.
   
So long as I can be with him, I feel like I can’t lose.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I WAKE UP AT SEVEN in the morning still fully dressed.
 
Rushing around and taking the fastest shower a pregnant person is capable of taking, I’m downstairs and ready for the day when Teagan shows up in the kitchen in her pajamas searching for a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” I say brightly, handing her a mug I unpacked out of a box just minutes earlier.

“Hey,” she says, scowling and looking at me sideways.
 
“Why are you so chipper? It’s too early for that nonsense.
 
Don’t make me hurt you.”
 
She pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot I just made.

“I fell asleep right after dinner, so I’ve had about twelve hours sleep.
 
I think it helped clear my head. This is the most awake I’ve felt in a long time.”

She grunts in response and then stirs in about four teaspoons of sugar and a bunch of milk.

“So … I was wondering if you could let me ride into work with you today.”
 
I think I’m smiling too hard.
 
I try to tone it down when she scowls at me again.

Teagan sits down at the small table against the wall.
 
“Sure.
 
What are you going to do all day, though? You could do some filing if you want, but there’s not enough to keep you busier for longer than an hour max.”

“No, I’m not going to work.
 
I’m meeting someone.”

Suddenly she seems interested, her eyebrow goes up as her cup lowers to the table.
 
“Oh, yeah?”

Shoot.
I shouldn’t have told her anything.
 
“It’s no big deal.
 
If you can’t, I can meet her some other time.”

“Her?
 
Her who?” She takes a quick sip of her coffee before continuing.
 
“Or is it a big secret?”

I feel busted and then silly because it’s not a big deal.
 
“No, it’s not a secret.
 
I met another girl who’s pregnant and she’s giving her baby up for adoption, so we were going to talk about it.”

“What … she some kind of recruiter or something?”

“What?” Now I’m lost.

“You know … trying to convince you to give yours up too. Adoption recruiter. Are you sure she’s really pregnant?
 
Maybe she’s just stuffing pillows in some Spanx or something.”

“Oh, gosh, no.
 
She’s really pregnant.
 
You can’t fake water retention in the ankles like that. She’s no recruiter, she’s a high school student.
 
We were just talking and she was trying to figure out what to do and I offered to help her.
 
I’m not going to do it myself.” I fiddle with the coffee pot, trying to get it to be centered exactly over the heating part.
 
The idea of giving my baby up makes me feel desperately sad, but I’m not sure why because having her makes me scared to death.
 
There is no winning for me in this situation.