Page 7 of Assigned

Chapter Three

Lucas

I’m on edge and antsy as I stomp back to my truck, like all of my nerves are misfiring, and I could use a good workout to chill the fuck out. Riley in my house is causing my head to spin, among other things. She always did have that effect on me. Never in a million years would I have expected her to pop back into my life like nothing ever happened. To be my second wife no less. Talk about crap luck. And yeah, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, what her father said that day did stick with me. It was why I’d purchased the real wood furniture instead of the cheaper prefab stuff. I wanted her to see from the get-go I could take care of her just fine.

But it’s more than injured pride or a need to prove myself. I’d loved Riley, and her lack of faith in me back then had cut deep. The way she’d stood up there on the landing above me at their big old house and never said a word as her father had dressed me down and made it all too clear what he thought of me and my family and my prospects still cut me. My heart took a long time to mend. If it ever did.

Along the way, I’d entertained a few elaborate fantasies. Scenarios where I became a wildly successful entrepreneur or movie star, and Riley’s family lost all of their money in a big scandal. In my dreams, she’d come crawling to me, begging me to take her back. I’d look down my nose and tell her, sorry, but she made her choice. Now she had to live with it.

All of my fantasies somehow ended with me flexing my biceps and leaving with the one girl she’d always hated, Bailey Landry, stuck to my side like Krazy Glue.

In my defense, I was still a kid at the time, and teenage boys aren’t really known for having class.

But I’m older now. Married, divorced. I even have a kid. So while I’ve never forgotten how awful Riley and her dad made me feel in the past, that doesn’t give me an excuse to be a full-on dick now. Fate has decided to bring us back together. Seems the least I can do is help her feel at home.

Even if her presence is damned distracting.

Besides, picking her up in that tiny apartment and bringing her to the four-bedroom house I bought with my own hard-earned money is at least a little taste of that fantasy. I cast her another sidelong glance while she’s busy grappling with another box, frowning. I’m still not sure why she left Texas to begin with. And that studio apartment of hers... not where I’d expected to find her living. This picture is not adding up. She’s not telling me something.

We trudge our boxes back up the stairs and into the guest room. I place the one I’m carrying on the bed before surveying the space with a critical eye. As I take in the white wooden dresser, bed, and desk, heat creeps up my neck. Fucking hell. Riley has a point. The bedroom is a close match to what I remember of her old house, right down to the layout. I’d even placed the bed on the opposite corner of her desk.

It was a girl’s bedroom. Not a woman’s. I’d meant well, yet managed to screw it up again. Story of my fucking life.

I rub the back of my neck. “Okay, I see it now. We can switch the room around if you’d like. Get different sheets and stuff.”

She leans against the dresser, wrapping her arms around her abdomen, color draining from her face. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to snap. Just everything took me by surprise.”

She says fine, but her body language doesn’t match the words. Is the room really that upsetting? I scratch the top of my head and think of something to say, something to ease the tension. “Why don’t I give you a tour of the rest of the house, so you can find your way around when I’m at work?”

She nods and hoists herself upright. When we step out of her room I point down the short hallway to our left. “My room is there.”

Then we pad down the hallway back to the stairs until we hit the main floor. Since the entrance of the house opens up to the living room on the right and the dining room on the left, I don’t bother giving a tour, instead leading her into the kitchen. “Pretty standard kitchen. The island just has cabinets.” She doesn’t comment, so I fill the silence. “Stove is here on the right against the wall and the sink and dishwasher are on the left by the window.”

I grimace and shut my mouth. I sound like an idiot pointing out appliances she can see for herself. Must be nerves. Despite our rocky start, I want Riley to like my house.

Still. I’m probably better off sticking to single word responses, like earlier.

Luckily, Riley doesn’t notice. She’s too busy admiring my favorite kitchen feature. “I love the table in the alcove. The bay windows makes it so appealing.”

I chuckle, recalling the struggles of trying to get Mason to eat when he was younger. “Except for when you have a toddler who’s too distracted watching the birds and squirrels in the trees outside to finish his food.” I turn to leave the same way we came in. “Come on, let’s head to the den.”

We walk down the short flight of stairs to the lower level. I point out the other guest bedroom, the bathroom, and the laundry room. The entire time, I find myself sneaking peeks at her face to gauge her reactions. She’s so damn beautiful. More angular than she was in high school, and not nearly as tanned, but with the same wavy blond hair, cerulean-blue eyes, and toned calves, which are bare beneath the loose, flowered dress she wears.

With effort, I tear my attention away from her legs as we enter the open area that became the den. “This is where we spend time watching TV or hanging out. Lisa wanted to have a place to entertain, which is why the living room upstairs has no TV.”

Riley quirks a brow. “You mean she wanted one place for those who want to watch sports to disappear to without distracting those who would rather sit and talk.”

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Something like that.”

Riley walks around the room and stops in front of shelves surrounding the flat-screen TV to snag a framed photo. “Is this your ex-wife?”

Shit.

I walk over and look at the picture. It’s one of Lisa, Mason, and me at the zoo from three years ago. We were happy then. Everything was great. We’d even been talking about having another child. How fast things change. “Yes, that’s Mason’s mom.”

She returns the photo to the shelf. “She’s pretty.”

I nod. Lisa’s a looker. Long, dark hair, tall and thin. But that’s not why the picture’s there. “She’s my son’s mom. I want him to feel at home here.”

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