Page 3 of I Could Be Yours

This time the zipper comes down, but I’m not prepared. Too busy processing his last comment, perhaps? I grab for the bodice a moment too late. It slides down my torso, stopping at my hips.

I’m not wearing a bra. Nate freezes. My eyes lift as his drop. His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

His hot gaze flashes back to mine. “I’ll be in the car.”

He spins around and leaves me in the fitting room with perky pierced nipples and a whole lot of embarrassment.

I sigh. “Dinner should be fun.”

CHAPTER 2

NATE

Igive my crotch an annoyed look as I shift around in the driver’s seat, waiting for Essie. The next several weeks are going to be long AF.

Spending all this pre-wedding time in proximity to Essie has been bad enough. She’s frustratingly beautiful—irrationally stunning in a way that makes my palms damp and my heart rate spike every fucking time I look at her. She’s also an eternal optimist. Her zeal for romance and falling in love is a barely tolerable irritant. She’s the glorious ray of sunshine peeking through my rain clouds to create a rainbow.

But the real kick in the balls, and the thing that takes up an unreasonable amount of my mental bandwidth, is that I know exactly how her lips feel and taste.

It’s been six years. That kiss should be like a photograph left in the sun too long. Faded. Barely a memory.

But it’s not.

That kiss is as vivid as a sunrise. Every time I look at her soft mouth, I’m reminded of her cotton-candy-flavored lip gloss and the feel of her curves pressed against me.

And now.NowI have a new memory to add to the one I wish I could erase. Essie’s pierced nipples are forever burned into mybrain. Etched in stone. Permanent. Irascible. And so fucking fantastic.

Tiny buds framed by heart shields with pink jewels. It’s so laughably, perfectly Essie. And based on the reaction below the waist, I like it.

My phone buzzes with a call. I’m happy for this distraction—until I register the number. Then my heart rate spikes and sweat breaks across the back of my neck for completely different reasons. I send the call to voicemail. And like an idiot, I check the message once it registers.

“Hi, Nathan. It’s your mother. This is the fourth time I’ve tried to call you with no answer. I understand that you’re upset with me, but we can’t work things out if you don’t talk to me. Please call me back.”

I swallow past the tightness in my chest and erase the message so I don’t listen to it again. I don’t want to dissect it, to read into her pleading tone, to give in and call her back. I haven’t seen her since the morning she walked out on our family more than a decade and a half ago. I haven’t heard her voice in more than ten years. I don’t want to miss what I never had, what she robbed me and my brothers and my father of when she abandoned us.

My phone pings again, this time with a text message. Thankfully, it’s my older brother.

Tristan

We’ll be at the restaurant in 15. You get Ess okay?

According to my GPS, it will take us nineteen minutes to get to the restaurant if we leave immediately.

Nate

We’re a few minutes behind you, but we’ll see you soon.

Tristan

Cool. Thanks for picking her up. We appreciate it.

Another call comes through. This time it’s Essie. My stomach pitches with equal parts relief and anxiety.

“Please tell me you’re not still in the store,” I bark.

There’s a beat of silence. “I don’t know where you’re parked.”

Of course she doesn’t. Because I didn’t tell her, and I couldn’t get out of the dressing room fast enough. “Turn right out of the store. I’m half a block down.”

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