Between Us Page 3

  "Opening the god-damned door, Reid.”

  He was probably right on that score, but I wasn’t done with my guilt-purging yet.

  “She’s been calling me.”

  The room went silent again for a full thirty seconds, until Matty raked a hand over his face.

  “How did she get your number?”

  I bristled at that, but tried not to let my irritation show. “How the hell do I know? I sure didn’t give it to her.”

  He nodded, almost to himself, like he’d come to some sort of unspoken decision. “Okay. It’s done now, so there’s no point in crying over spilt milk. Now that we all know, we can make sure it doesn't happen again. Don’t answer the phone. Don’t tell her where we are. If she takes it further, we’ll talk more then.” He eyed me long and hard. “We all in agreement?”

  I reached a hand in my pocket and ran my thumb absently over the smooth handle of Lola’s penknife that I’d forgotten to give back, recalling the expression on her face when I'd first walked into that alley. The horror there was something I'd seen a few times up close. On the faces of my brothers. Matty, mostly. Always at the hands of my mother.

  She was poison. Always had been. And the most insidious, treacherous kind. The kind that crept up on you, slow at first and then coursed through your veins, taking over before you even knew what hit you. And then you did. Because she'd be what hit you.

  Hard.

  As hard as she could.

  Young Reid had been quick to forgive. Grown Reid? Not so much. I didn't need my brothers to remind me of the destruction she'd wrought. My battered soul carried the mark of it every day.

  They might have been annoyed with me right now, but my brothers had nothing to fear. There was no way in hell I'd ever let Sherri McDaniels back into our lives.

  “Roger that, big brother.”

  And suddenly it didn’t matter that I’d spent all day in the gym. I needed to move before I exploded. I rolled to my feet and headed for the door.

  “Don’t wait up for me.”

  Running was always my solace. Even as a little boy, it was like freedom. I could forget all the screaming at home, all the fights and the hitting, and I could just fly. Let my mind run wild, thinking of places I'd travel when I grew up, imagining I was the Flash and would be able to rescue kids who were hurting or sad.

  Now was no different. Sure, I ran as a facet of my training, but it was a part of me, and if I stopped fighting today, I'd do it anyway. Because I could escape.

  Bash was mad. Matty was mad and worried, but with every pound of my feet on the pavement, they got farther and farther away.

  I don't know how long I ran. Five miles? Eight? All I knew was that, by the time I stopped, my muscles trembled with fatigue, the sun was setting, and I was standing in front of a very familiar house.

  I leaned forward and rested my hands on my knees, sucking in a gulp of air, still so hot and dry that it burned my lungs.

  I eyed the tiny abode and noted that the lights were on.

  That didn't mean much, but somehow I felt like I could sense her there. Inside, maybe putting together a meal in her little kitchen that probably looked a lot like mine.

  Or maybe she was getting ready for work now, putting her hair up in that fat bun on top of her head that made me want to take it down and run my fingers through it.

  I straightened and glanced back the way I'd come, and then to the back of my own house, just visible through the slatted fence that separated my house from hers.

  What I should've done was go home. I'd finally gotten out of Southie and left all that drama behind. What was wrong with me that the first girl I found interesting in our new hometown was as FUBAR as I was?

  I shifted my gaze back to Lola's house and, almost like they were moving independently, my legs carried me up the walkway and onto the porch. It didn't have to mean anything. I was checking on her because she'd had a scare the night before. Surely, that was what any good neighbor would do if they were in my shoes.

  Maybe it was bullshit, but my conscience bought it hook, line and sinker, and I raised my hand to rap on the wide, oak door.

  For a second, it was silent, but then I could hear the shuffle of footsteps.

  "Who is it?"

  Lola's response was cautious, and the door didn't budge, even though the sound of footsteps had ceased and I could sense her standing on the other side.

  "It's Reid. I wanted to see how you were holding up.” A bead of sweat rolled off the tip of my nose onto my lip and I wiped it away, suddenly very conscious of the fact that my clothes were dripping wet and I'd just shown up at a beautiful girl's house in pretty rough condition.

  Before I could feel too bad about it, though, the door was swinging open and she was standing there, staring up at me with her exotic, onyx eyes.

  "Hey," she murmured, wetting her lips and glancing past me before meeting my gaze again. "Is someone chasing you or something?"

  She looked a little surprised at seeing me there, but the fact that she was comfortable enough to make a joke made my gut unclench some.

  "Nah. I was out for a run, and was passing by. Figured I'd see how you were feeling today."

  At least somewhat true. I was running. I did want to know how she was feeling, but I also wanted to just...be around her. Stand in her presence. Soak her in. Getting involved might mean trouble, but something about her drew me in. After the blowout with my brothers and the stress of the night before, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.

  "I'm feeling all right. I decided to take the next few nights off, though." She folded her arms around her waist and looked away, and I could tell she was reliving it, just by the way her face fell.

  My heart gave a squeeze and I resisted the urge to reach for her. "I think that’s a great idea. Take care of yourself and give it a little time. Have you given any more thought to calling the police?”

  She shook her head with grim resolve. “Nope.”

  I could tell if I pressed any more on that issue, it would only make things worse, so I backed off.

  “Your call.” I shifted from foot to foot, wondering what else there was to say. The words fell from my mouth before I even had a chance to think them through. “Why don't you invite me in? We can order a pizza, and I can keep you company for a while."

  “You don’t have to…I don't need company."

  She didn’t seem so sure on that count, and I watched as she chewed her bottom lip. “Ok, well I could sure use some right now. So maybe you could keep me company?”

  Her dark eyes narrowed and she studied me, a dubious expression etched on her face. "I don't need your pity, Reid. I'm fine staying home by myself, you know."

  "I do know. But I'd still like to hang out for a while, if that's okay with you."

  For a long moment, I was sure she was going to send me packing. Part of me almost hoped she would. Opening the can of worms could backfire huge. Day one, out the gate, it was already more complicated than just about any relationship I'd ever seen—besides the ones my brothers were involved in. And I'd long since decided I wanted to break the cycle. Be the youngest, and smartest, McDaniels brother, and take an easier road.

  I just had to put my head down, do my job and start making a name for myself in kickboxing before ever even thinking about getting involved with a girl.

  But pizza and a little conversation didn't a relationship make, and both of us could obviously use a friend right about now.

  She’d apparently come to the same conclusion because she stepped back, making room for me to pass. “Yeah, I guess it's okay."

  She walked through the entryway and I followed, doing everything in my power to ignore the hypnotic sway of her hips.

  "I'd give you a tour but your house is probably the same except for the extra bedrooms. We can hang out in the living room and watch some TV while we wait for the food."

  She plucked her cell phone off a charging station on a side table and thumbed in a number. "Mind if we do pepp
eroni from Guiseppe's? There's really no place that can compare in the area."

  I nodded and grinned. "I'm sure you're right, although my pizza bar is set pretty low in general. I don’t discriminate, from Domino’s on up.”

  She wrinkled her nose and opened her mouth to say something but then paused as a voice on the other end of the line sounded. "Hi, I'd like to place an order for delivery."

  She turned away and rattled off the order as I took in the decor of the house. It was funny, because as much as our two places had the same layout, the way she'd decorated hers was way different from what Liv and Kayla had dome with ours.

  Lola had covered every square inch of wall with old movie posters. Mostly dancers, it seemed. I recognized Gene Kelley and Fred Astaire, but there were dozens of others I couldn't pinpoint.

  "That's Gregory Hines. He's the coolest," she murmured, setting her phone down and reaching out her index finger to touch the old, black and white image. "I can't help but wonder if I'd taken tap if I'd have had a better run."

  "Are there more jobs in tap?" I asked, surprised. I knew there were some tap shows on Broadway, but didn't think it was nearly as popular as it had been back in the old days.

  "No," she said with a short laugh, stepping back from the poster and offering me a tight smile. "I probably wouldn't have been considered too fat for tap, is all."

  "Wait, what are you talking about?"

  She padded over to the sectional couch and sat, reaching for the remote as if the conversation was casual. Nothing more than small talk. Her posture and the pain in her eyes told another story, and I listened carefully.

  “I started with ballet, and it’s…super competitive. Behind every prima ballerina are a dozen hopefuls just waiting for her to fail. One of the things that choreographers are most concerned with is weight. I started out at a disadvantage because of my bust size. They like 'em small on ballerinas. An A or B cup. C, on the outside, and then, only if the girl is super slim everywhere else. My thirty-four D's were a big problem." She paused and laughed at her unintentional pun, but I didn't join in.

  “That sounds really shitty,” I said softly.

  "Hey, Boy Scout. It's okay. I'm over it, you know.”

  But her tinny laugh told me otherwise.

  “I still get paid to dance, and that's something. Plus, I’ve got plans.”

  Her false reassurances didn't interest me. Getting to know her better—the real Lola—did.

  "So when did you know? That it wasn't going to happen for you with ballet?”

  It was something that a lot of athletes and artists struggled with at some point. The day you got pigeonholed or the day you realized things weren't going to be the way you planned and everything you thought had to change.

  She wasn’t quick to respond, so I decided to open up first.

  “My day came at the age of fifteen. I’d spent years trailing behind my brothers, mimicking them in the ring, giving my whole heart to fighting, only to be told by the gym's owner that I didn’t have the reach.” I shrugged, lost in the memory. “It was a tough blow at first. I thought I had to give it up all together. When I finally got my head out of my ass, I picked myself up and dusted myself off, and I found kickboxing and I never looked back."

  She nodded slowly and settled into her seat a little. “For me, it was different. I didn’t give a shit what anyone said. It wasn't so much me who gave up ballet. Ballet gave up on me. I wish I could say it was dignified. That I realized I wasn't going to make it, and accepted it. Walked away with dignity. Instead, I fought, tooth and nail for even the smallest role. Finally, after two girls got injured and I was the only understudy left, I got my chance. I whirled onto the stage as the queen of the sugar plum fairies. I fucking nailed it."

  My stomach dropped as I waited for the rest of the story, part of me wishing she wouldn't finish it.

  "The next day, the reviews came out. I read them." She shook her head slowly and bit her lip. "I shouldn't have. I can still remember the first one, word for word.”

  Her slender throat worked as she swallowed hard and raised her chin to begin reciting. “'While Ms. Taylor is more than adept in her movement, one cannot truly immerse themselves in the experience when her body is so distracting and clearly ill-suited for the dance. The word “sturdy” comes to mind in regard to her legs, and she is fatally top-heavy, to the point that I wondered whether I was at the ballet or a gentlemen’s club. One can’t help but question the vision and judgment of the director of this company. She sticks out like a sore thumb. Can he not see that this young woman is a bassoon in a world of pan-flutes?’”

  “That son of a bitch,” I bit out, anger coursing through me like a crimson tide, blurring my vision as I imagined pummeling the face of the blowhard little twat-waffle behind those hateful words.

  The pain faded from her eyes as she tucked her feet under her bottom and studied me silently.

  “That makes you really mad, doesn’t it, Boy Scout?”

  I wanted to straighten her ass out right there. Tell her, if she could read my mind, she'd know I was the furthest thing from a Boy Scout.

  In fact, I’d spent the past twenty hours hard as a crowbar, imagining her in every possible position and harbored dreams that involved acts so dirty, even I was surprised. And that was just the sex stuff. Since we’d met last night, I'd also struggled with the very real desire to straight-up murder someone.

  Two someones, actually.

  Boy Scout my ass.

  Rather than argue, though, I willed my body to relax and blew out a long sigh. She needed a good guy right now who truly had her best interest at heart. I wasn’t as nice as she thought I was, but I took pride in at least fitting that bill.

  "I don't think it's right for someone to sit on the sidelines and make a whole career of judging something someone else is working their ass off to do. It pisses me off."

  That was underselling it, but she seemed to accept it as fact.

  "I appreciate that. And the rational part of me agrees with you. But deep down, there's a part of me that agrees with him. And that's what I'm working on.” She shook her head slowly and forced a bright smile. "Bet you're wishing you just kept on running now, huh?"

  The doorbell rang and she made to stand but I waved her off.

  "I got the pizza. It's the least I could do after barging in on you out of the blue.”

  Plus, I needed another second. Because the anger was still there, right beneath the surface. Seething and hot. Along with something else just as animalistic.

  The desire to take her in my arms and make her forget the pain.

  The pain of last night. The pain of that stupid fucking article. The pain of having to give up on her dream, and replace it with mind-blowing, heart-pounding pleasure.

  Because I knew I could. And damn if I didn’t want her to know it too.

  Chapter Four

  Lola

  I turned to stare at Reid’s back as he paid for the pizza and made idle small talk with the delivery guy.

  He was nice like that. Affable. Sweet. But both last night and tonight, I’d seen a flash of something else that both terrified and compelled me. An intensity that couldn’t be denied.

  Even more scary, though, was that he was a great listener. I didn't realize that had been something I was missing in my life until he'd sat across from me as we talked.

  His gaze never wavered. His attention never strayed.

  He was connected.

  He was in it.

  And when I'd told him one of my most shame-filled memories, he'd felt for me. In a real, deep way.

  You like him.

  He chose that moment to turn and I could feel the heat in my cheeks as our gazes met. I had no hours in the day for this. And once summer was over, I was heading back to New York to teach dance for the fall. I had no choice but to work nights at the club and days at the coffee shop to save for an apartment in the city.

  But, damn, he was tempting. Those dark, chocolaty eyes. That t
hick, black hair. I had a sudden vision of sliding my fingers through it and holding him close while he-

  "Plates?"

  I shook my head to clear it and realized he was staring at me expectantly.

  "Um, yeah, in the cupboard over the sink." I rolled to my feet and followed him into the galley-style kitchen. He set the box down and opened the cabinet.

  "Paper good for you?"

  "Sure." I gathered a couple bottled waters and the grated Parmesan from the fridge and then led the way back out to the living room.

  "Smells fantastic," he murmured, sniffing the air appreciatively before laying the box on the coffee table and tugging open the top.

  My stomach growled instantly in response and he chuckled.

  "I feel the same way."

  We hardly knew one another, but in spite of the tense and often confusing moments between us, I never for a second felt awkward. Not even when a strand of cheese clung to my cheek and he plucked it off, shrugged, and then ate it.

  "Ah, god. That's embarrassing," I said, swiping at the remaining sauce on my face with a laugh.

  But it wasn’t. It felt natural and easy. Nothing had felt that easy for a very long time, and I was enjoying myself far more than I should’ve been for a night at home eating pizza.

  Twenty minutes later, taste buds still humming from the tangy sauce and the greasy cheese, I sat back against the cushion with a groan and smiled. "Four slices. Holy cow. Imagine what Bernard Forsythe would say about me now."

  "If that's the name of that shit-for-brains reviewer, then who cares what he says?" Reid shrugged, eyes lighting on my face. "You're perfect. You couldn't be more gorgeous, and he's clearly blind not to see it."

  His compliment was one he probably would have given any girl in that situation, being the nice, polite guy he was, so it shouldn't have thrilled me the way it did, but I found myself beaming on the inside nonetheless.

  "Do you have to go or?"

  He glanced at his watch and offered me a guilty smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to overstay my welcome." He pushed himself to his feet and I rushed to stand next to him.