Lucas : A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 1)(22)

“It’s not so bad,” he interrupts, smiling over at me. “I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

I look away because he’s giving me that look. The same one Luke gave me right before—

“Lo?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to be late for your shift.”

I’m hot, burning flames under his scrutinizing gaze, and my emotions hit me. Hit me hard.

Guilt.

Shame.

Both things I should not be feeling.

“You can kiss me,” I croak.

His smile is quick to consume him. Then he nods toward the building. “You better go.”

“But…”

“Oh,” he says, his grin growing. “You want me to kiss you right now?”

My stomach turns, my embarrassment flooding me. “No.”

He chuckles. “Sanders, I didn’t ask if I could kiss you. I asked when you would finally let me.”

“Okay, I get it.” I wave my hands between us. “I got my wires crossed.” I open the car door, quickly get out and shut it after me.

“Lois!” he calls, window lowered. He leans over the center console, makes sure I can see him. “I’ll pick you up after your shift. Take you to dinner.” He winks… not so creepy anymore. “First-date kisses are always the best.”



He shows up to my work ten minutes before my shift ends and sits inside the ticket booth with me as if he owns the place, and going by his car, his house, and the way his parents throw around their money, he probably does own it. When I’m done, he waits for me to clock out and then walks me to a black truck. “Where’s your car?” I ask.

“In my garage.”

“So… whose is this?”

“Eddie’s.”

“And Eddie is… a friend?”

“Our gardener.”

“Of course you have a gardener.”

He smiles. “I traded cars for the night, threw in a room at a hotel for him and his wife, too. Trust me, they’re in for good times.”

I get in my seat, buckle my belt, and wait for him to get in. “So why change cars?”

“Because I’m taking you out on a date.”

“And you need a truck because…?”

He smiles. “Because this is where we’re having said date.”

I shake my head, clear the fog. “I’m so confused.”

“I’ll explain later.”

He drives to a Mexican restaurant, orders a bunch of food to go, then drives back to his place, past the guard at the security gate and through the pristine, quiet streets of his neighborhood. We don’t go to his house, though. Instead, he drives to the outskirts of his prestigious little community until we’re parked in a spot that gives us a view of all the cookie-cutter mansions from a distance. And as I look at the houses, I feel my heart plummet because he’s taken me on a date, a date far away from everyone who can judge him for being with someone like me.

I’m thirteen again. Sitting in a cinema next to a boy I’m crushing on who doesn’t feel the same and I feel

So.

Fucking.

Stupid.

“You ready?” he asks, handing me a drink. He picks up the bag of food, steps out of the car, and I stay in my seat while I work out what would be worse: sitting with him through our “date” or calling him out on it. He opens my door, and I step out, take his hand as he leads me to the bed of the truck.

For a few minutes, he eats in silence, and I feel too sick to take a bite.

“Did something happen at work?” he finally asks.

I shake my head and face him. “What are we doing?” I ask him, my voice cracking with emotion.

“You don’t like tacos?” His smile fades when I look up at him, attempting to hide my true feelings. “You’re mad,” he says, not a question, a presumption. He exhales loudly, puts his food down. “When I said I would take you to dinner, you expected something fancy, right?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Is it…” I take a breath and then another, and I decide to be honest because history shows that keeping my feelings hidden, secret, only lead to disaster. “I feel like you’re ashamed of me. Like you want to keep me to yourself… your dirty little secret.”

“Never!” he says quickly. “That’s not…” He rubs his eyes, his frustration evident. “Look, I’ve done fancy before, Lois. I was twelve the first time my dad made me suit up and sit through one of his pathetic business dinners in the most expensive restaurant in town. And I’ve sat through many more since. For me, those places are nothing but lies and deception and no, it’s not that you’re my dirty little secret but yeah, I kind of do want to keep you to myself. Or, at least, I want to keep you separate from that. Because you’ve experienced enough lies and enough deception, and I don’t want that for you. I really don’t. But this is me, the real me.” He waves his hand around us. “And if you’re not into this then I can go home, change, and we can go somewhere else.”

“That’s not what I want,” I tell him, my voice low, my shame high. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I want you to be honest with me because it makes it so much easier to be the same with you. Because I like you, Lo. Like, really like you. And I’ve taken a lot of girls to a lot of fancy places and it all ends the same way.”

My nose scrunches in disgust.

He laughs. “But I’ve never done this before.”

“Tacos in a truck?”

Smiling, he says, “I’ve never been comfortable enough to just be me. And I don’t know… you being here right now—it kind of gives me a reason to like who I am, you know? If you like me, then I can’t be that bad.”

I return his smile. I can’t help it. “You make me happy, Coop.”

His grin widens, but mine falls. And then I ask him something I’d been wondering my entire shift. “How is this going to work? Us dating? Is it, like, an alter ego for you? You go to college during the week and be this other guy you speak of and come home on weekends and be with me? Are you…” I clear my throat. “Are you going to see other girls while you’re there?”

He chuckles. “I figure it’ll pretty much be the same way it is now. I call you every night, beg for you to speak to me. Lose myself in your voice during the week, then satisfy all my cravings on the weekends.”

“Your cravings?” I giggle.

“I crave you, Sanders. I crave your company.” He cups my cheek, his lips meeting my forehead. “And your laugh, your smile, your touch. I miss you when I can’t be around you, and when I am here I want more of you. Just you. There are no other girls. And there won’t be.”

“Promise?” I whisper, my eyes drifting shut when his lips hover over mine.

“I could promise you the world, Sanders, but it doesn’t mean anything unless you trust me. And you have to trust me. You have to realize that I’m not him.”

I exhale, slowly, drink in his words. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

He pulls back, his grin promising. Then he releases me, picks up his food again. He stares ahead while I stare at him, at the movement of his jaw as he chews his food, his mind elsewhere. And I no longer feel guilty that I want him to kiss me. And soon.

“You always walk with your head lowered,” he says out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Yeah.” He nods, wipes his mouth on a napkin. Then he turns to me. “It’s like you’re afraid of the world seeing you. Or, maybe, you’re afraid that they do see you.”

I drop my gaze.

“You’re a pretty exceptional girl, Sanders. It sucks you think the world doesn’t see you that way.”

“You can’t assume to know that about me,” I tell him.

“Oh yeah? You’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?”

“Look up,” he says.

So I lift my gaze, and I do as he says. There’s nothing but acres and acres of empty land. “What am I looking at?” I ask him.

“The world. Untouched.”

I sigh, look over at him.

He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to be the first to touch something? To reach out and grasp onto the world around you? You can’t touch it if you can’t see it.”

A sob forms in my throat and I keep it there, his words replaying in my mind, over and over, because he’s right. I’ve lived my life, almost eighteen years of it, but I’ve never really lived. Every hour, every action, every decision was made with Lucas in mind. I didn’t go to parties, hoping he’d show up at my door, wanting to get in bed with me, praying he’d see me differently. But the four walls of my basement bedroom aren’t enough anymore, and when I’m done with senior year, there’s nothing waiting for me but those same four walls.

“Are you cold?” Cooper asks, and I realize I’m shivering. Whether it’s from the temperature or my sudden fear about my future, I don’t know.

Still, he moves to sit behind me, his legs on either side, his arms around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder, his thumb stroking my stomach. “I didn’t say that stuff to hurt you,” he says.