Finally, I say, “Thank you for going to dinner with me.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” she replies with a small smile. God, I love that smile.
I reach down into my pocket and take out my keys. I remove the small padlock key and slip it into her hand. “Take this,” I tell her.
Her eyes drop down to examine the key she’s now holding. She gazes back up with questioning eyes. “If you ever need it. It’s safe,” I tell her.
She gives me a nod and places the key inside of the front pocket of her jeans. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“I want you to call me if you ever need me,” I say.
“I don’t have your number,” she replies with a slight curve of her mouth.
I reach for my phone and pull up a new text message. “What’s your number?” I ask, keying it in as she recites the digits. As soon as I hit send and return my phone into my pocket, I reply, “There. Now you have it.”
Her phone dings within her purse. She gives me a small knowing smile, leans up on her tiptoes, and brushes those soft, sweet lips against mine. I close my eyes and just absorb the feel of her mouth against mine. I soak it up like a dry sponge. Man, do I love her lips.
She pulls away before I can even respond to the kiss. “Thank you.”
“You already said that,” I respond as I feel myself being sucked into those stunning eyes.
“And I really mean it,” she says.
“Good night, Lia.”
“Good night, Nate,” she says as she steps away and gets into her car. I watch her start her car and eventually pull out of the empty parking lot. She gives me one last glance and a little wave over her shoulder as she pulls onto the road.
I watch until her brake lights completely disappear before I slide back in my car. I head towards home, only thinking about supple, warm lips and deep, intoxicating eyes. I adjust my pants one more time before pulling into my driveway.
Contentment washes over me as I stroll up my stairs to the front door. Something felt right about taking Lia to my place. Knowing that she knows about the safe place and can go there whenever she needs to brings me a little comfort. I’ll get another key tomorrow from my dad.
Tonight, it’s a cold shower and dreams of the first woman to get under my skin since Jill. Every time I close my eyes, I want to see the sway of her hips, the curve of her neck, and the feel of her body pressed against mine.
Tonight, I will dream about Lia.
Chapter Four
Lia
I’ve talked myself in and out of going to the Stevens family dinner about two dozen times already today. Right now, I’m going. But there is still thirty minutes left before I am scheduled to be at their house for their weekly Sunday dinner. Plenty of time to change my mind. Again.
My family – if you can really even call a grumpy old man who resents my existence family – well, it sucks. I’ve spent most of my entire life being quiet, blending in, and trying to survive. My mother was a seventeen year old high school dropout who found herself pregnant with an unwanted child. And the best part – she has no idea who my dad is. Joe? Jack? Dominic? Bill? Take your pick.
My grandmother died before I was born. Apparently, home life was fairly normal before Sylvia Bryant’s death. My mom was a flourishing high school student and my grandpa, Stan, was devoted to his wife and child. He worked full time providing for his family, ensuring that there was plenty of food, a roof over their head, and all the necessities they could possibly need.
Then tragedy struck. My grandmother was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer and almost lived long enough for my mother to complete the last three months of her freshman year of high school. My grandpa turned to booze to cope with her death, leaving my mom to fend for herself. Mom, apparently, turned to drugs and sex. Grandpa wasn’t home, Mom partied, and nine months later, I arrived.
I have no baby photos. I have no mementos of my childhood. I have memories of my disappointed grandpa telling me how much my mom and I ruined his life. I guess I should be grateful that Mom stuck around until I was almost two, but I’m not really. And to make matters worse, I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen her since she walked out that door and hopped on the back of some dude’s Harley.
I was raised by my grandpa. I learned to scavenge for food from the measly contents of the fridge and cabinets, do the wash, and pick up the house by the time I was in grade school. Grandpa left for the factory at six-thirty in the morning and headed straight to the bar after work. He pissed all of his money away on alcohol and whatever quick fix he could get his hands on while I was at home getting whatever assistance I could get from the after-school specials on television.