Tequila High Page 4

“I wish he’d been a better man. Someone like Nixon.”

  “I seem to have a nose for the bad ones, don’t I?”

  “You were young. You went running from Jason into the arms of the first man you met. Don’t let that sour you on love. You’ll find the right one if you don’t give up.”

  “I’m not giving up. I’m just focusing on me for a while. I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve never been alone long enough to figure out who I am or what I want. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay for a while. Get back to my roots, sort of start over. Do things right. Make better choices.”

  “What about the store?”

  “It’s in good hands. Don’t worry. Unless you don’t want me to stay.”

  “Nothing would make me happier. This is your home, sweetheart. Take all the time you need.” The smile Dad gives me falters the tiniest bit. In fact, it’s such a slight and rapid shift I have to wonder if I just imagined it.

  “Mom would like us all being together again, wouldn’t she?” The pain that faded but never died rattles around my heart. “All of us right here at home, her favorite place in the world.”

  My father’s eyes get misty. “She’s the only missing ingredient.”

  We both fall silent, momentarily lost in our shared grief. It’s me who finally breaks that silence. “Well, I guess I’d better go get settled in. I’m sure all hell will break loose when the Heathers get back.”

  Because my sisters and I all have names starting with H and because we were all so fiercely protective of one another during high school, we were dubbed the Heathers. We would fight amongst ourselves, as sisters tend to do, but we were pure hell to anyone who bothered one of us. Just ask Toby Watkins, the boy who tried to feel up Hannah when she was in the seventh grade. After we Brandt girls “Heathered” him, he couldn’t show his stained-blue face at school for a week. Through thick and thin, we stuck together.

  Right up until I left the fold with wounds so deep no familial bond could heal them. Only time and space could.

  I’m still lost in thought, in yesteryear, when I start across the side yard toward the cottage. It isn’t until I reach for the knob on the door that I remember who I might find behind it. Nixon.

  Cautiously, I twist and step slowly inside. The interior is dark from drawn blinds, and it smells of the soap Nixon uses. “Hello?”

  I pause for a reply and get none. There’s not so much as a creak of floorboards in response. I’m relieved. I can’t deal with Nixon right now. Present or not, though, Nixon manages to turn my emotions inside out when I see what he left on the small table in the foyer.

  There’s a small, half-empty glass beside a bottle of tequila, and a note propped in front of them. “Couldn’t go another minute without a taste.”

  I stare at the note and then at the glass for a long time before I put my lips to the rim and toss it back. I’m sure it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but I could swear I taste Nixon on my tongue after the tequila has worn off.

  9

  Nixon

  I’m surprised, but pleasantly so, when I walk up to the cottage after dark and see light pouring from the windows. She stayed. I expected her to make other arrangements, and my mind races with curiosity about why she didn’t. Whatever her reasoning, though, this little game we unintentionally started is about to get kicked up a notch.

  When I step inside, she’s the first thing I smell, and then the first thing I see. She’s on the loveseat in the small living room, the lamplight turning her hair to copper. She’s watching me, and for some reason, all I can think of is what she looked like when she came apart in my arms—head thrown back, mouth open, brow wrinkled. I can still hear that hot panting of hers when it’s quiet. Like now.

  I grit my teeth. A hard on is not the way I’d like to start the night. Not unless she’s changed her mind and plans to do something about it.

  “Surprised?” she finally asks.

  “Yep.” I close the door and walk farther into the room.

  “I think we need some ground rules.”

  “You think too much.”

  “Regardless, we need to come to an agreement on some things.”

  “No, I don’t mind if you strut around nude after your shower. I can live with that.”

  She comes to her feet. “That’s the perfect example of what can’t happen, Nixon. I made a mistake coming to your hotel room, but I could at least console myself with the fact that I’d never see you again. But now here you are. And…and…”

  “And?”

  “And you just can’t say things like that.”

  “You grew up on a ranch, surrounded by rough ranch hands and cowboys. I’m sure you’ve heard worse.”

  “Of course I have, but this is different.”

  I take a few steps toward her. “It is. Wanna know why?”

  “I…I…”

  “Because you want me, too. You’re trying to play it off, say you made a mistake, pretend you didn’t feel a thing, but that’s not the case, is it?”

  I take another step toward her. She stands her ground even though I’m close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo, which smells like strawberries.

  “I’m not…that’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Sure you are. But I’m not willing to let it go so easily.”

  She straightens her spine, her eyes spitting fire and defiant determination. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  “That’s fine. Of the many, many, many things I want to do with and to you, sleeping isn’t even on the list.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You’ve heard the expression ‘never say never’, right?”

  “I didn’t say ‘never.’ I just said I’m not going to do it.”

  “We’ll see,” I say. “What other rules do you have besides not sleeping with me?”

  “I’d just like…I’d just like for us to be friends.”

  “I’d love to be your friend.”

  “You would?” Her expression softens, so much so that it tweaks my protective side. Suddenly, she seems tiny and fragile. Vulnerable and breakable.

  Or maybe broken.

  I reach up to smooth my knuckles down her cheek, putting aside all banter for the moment. “Yes, I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think you’re worth knowing.”

  I see her gulp. I see her eyes flicker down to my mouth seconds before she wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue. She wasn’t expecting that. Hell, neither was I. Not really. The last thing I need is for her to get attached to me or to let her get involved on an emotional level. That’s not what this is about. It can’t be. The situation is far too complicated. And I’m far too jaded.

  I grin down at her and try to recapture the previous tone. “If you want to kiss me right now, feel free.” Her eyes widen, confirming my suspicion. She definitely does. “Any time you have an…urge you need to take care of, consider me your man of the moment. Use me however you’d like.”

  Rather than backing away, Haley takes a step closer to me, peering up into my eyes. “Now I see.”

  I frown. “See what?”

  She searches my eyes in silence, her mouth spread into a small, bittersweet smile. “I see what you’re hiding.”

  “What am I hiding?”

  “You’ve been hurt.”

  I shrug. “Everyone’s been hurt.”

  “By someone you loved.”

  “Those are the ones who usually hurt us.”

  It isn’t until she reaches up to touch my face with the tips of her fingers that I feel anything other than nonchalant about it. “I’m sorry. Whoever she was, whatever she did, I’m sorry.”

  After a few seconds of staring into my soul without my permission, Haley drops her hand and turns to leave the room. I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.

  10

  Haley

  A few days later, I wake to the sound of grunting. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am and that I
don’t live alone.

  I sit up and grab my robe from the end of the bed, flinging it on as I go. The instant I step out of my bedroom, I realize I made a terrible, terrible mistake.

  Nixon is in the living room exercising. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. Probably something on his feet, I just can’t make it down that far. Rather, I’m held hostage by the miles and miles of glistening, golden skin on his back as he pumps out pushup after pushup.

  I stand in the doorway staring at him for what probably amounts to an inappropriate amount of time before I clear my throat. His head snaps right, and he springs up onto the balls of his feet, as agile as someone who’s not six and a half feet of hard muscle.

  He puts his hands on his slim hips and smiles over at me, his ripped abs contracting with each heavy breath he takes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I would think that’s fairly obvious.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “I do. Do you?”

  “Yes, it’s six forty-five. Way too early to be up exercising and grunting.”

  “Early mornings are the best time to grunt. And exercise, too, for that matter.” He gives me a wink that nearly blows my robe open.

  “Well, if you’re going to do it so early, mind taking it outside?”

  “If that’s your preference, I’d be happy to do it outside. Doing it in nature is…inspiring.” He’s still smiling, his feathers plainly unruffled by my mood. Me, on the other hand? I’m grouchy. Probably because I spent the better part of last night, and every night since I got home, fending off fantasies involving my new roommate rather than sleeping. His ability to turn everything into a sexual reference isn’t helping.

  “Yes, that’s my preference.”

  Before I can make my way safely back to my bedroom, he taunts me with, “Maybe you should consider getting up and doing it outside with me. I promise it’ll be an utterly unforgettable morning.”

  I send a withering glare over my shoulder and duck into my room.

  Cold shower it is.

  By the time I get out, skin wrinkled and freezing, my disposition is greatly improved. I feel prepared to ignore the determined flirtation of Nixon Holt. Right up until I set out across the yard toward the main house. That’s when I see him washing down one of the horses. I stop dead in my tracks and watch him for a few seconds. He’s at least wearing a shirt this time, but his jeans… Jesus! They fit him like he’s being dressed for a Wrangler commercial. His powerful thighs stretch the denim tight as he bends and moves and his butt…well, it’s probably the stuff prose was made of back in the early days of woman. I bet Eve didn’t care about Adam’s apple. She was obsessed with his ass.

  Nixon moves around the horse, working as he goes, until he’s facing me. And facing me means that another interesting body part shifts into view. The denim does nothing to hide the impressive bulge behind his zipper. It’s with a shiver that I remember what that felt like grinding against me that night in his hotel room.

  Heat pours into my core.

  I don’t know how long Nixon has stopped moving when I finally notice that he’s still. My eyes trail lazily up his abdomen, perfectly outlined beneath his wet white T-shirt, over his broad chest, and along his thick neck until they rest on his face. A face which is smiling wickedly at me.

  My gaze snaps to his, and I know immediately that he knows. He knows what I was looking at. He knows what I was thinking of. He knows. It’s right there in the sparkle and shine of his onyx eyes.

  I’m about to scurry off in humiliation when he calls out to me. “Change your mind about the outside thing?”

  I say nothing. I drop my head to hide my burning cheeks and pretend I don’t hear him. But I do. I hear every word, every silky syllable, as well as the laugh that follows me all the way to the main house.

  I practically launch myself through the back door and into the kitchen, leaning up against the door once it’s closed. As I rest there, panting, I realize I haven’t felt this way since I was a horny teenager, and that didn’t end well at all.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I jump at the sound of Hannah’s voice, clamping a hand on my chest over my racing heart.

  “Oh, God! You scared the shit out of me.”

  “I hope not. I’d hate to leave you shitless.” She strolls into the kitchen, licking something from a spoon. “Breakfast?” She holds out the spoon.

  “What is it?”

  She turns it over in her hand, examining the empty surface on both sides. “Well, nothing right now, but about three minutes ago, this was a spoonful of the most delicious pecan butter you’ve ever tasted. I’m making a seven layer cake, and I needed something sweet yet nutty to tone down the—” She stops abruptly.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  “Because I get the same look from Harper and Hope when I talk about my recipes.”

  “What look? I didn’t give you a look.”

  “Maybe not intentionally, but I could see your eyes glazing over.”

  “Glazing,” I say with a snort. “It really is all about food with you, isn’t it?”

  “Ha. Ha.” She makes her way around to the fridge and pours herself a glass of milk. “So, you want?”

  “Sure, I’ll try it.” I pull out a chair at the cozy little table in the breakfast nook. Momma always insisted that we enjoy a close, intimate family meal at least once every day, and this is where we had it. We laughed and argued and lived and loved over more meals here than I can count. And I loved every one of them, especially now that she’s gone. It feels familiar and oddly foreign to swing my legs under the table after all these years. It feels like home, but it also feels like I’ve been gone too long. Everything changed while I was away; yet, nothing has. Bittersweet.

  Hannah pokes around and eventually carries over a tray containing two small dishes, two spoons, and two glasses of milk. She sets one of each in front of me. The dish has four of what look like toast points stabbed into a dollop of the pecan butter. I take one up immediately, sinking my teeth into the firm wedge. It melts on my tongue like cotton candy.

  “Oh sweet God, what is this?” I wipe the corner of my mouth. “I’m literally drooling.”

  My sister grins. “That’s the offspring of a shortbread cookie and some sweet bread that I let sit out too long. You know, one of those oopses that turned into penicillin type things.”

  I stop chewing for a second. “It didn’t actually mold, though, did it?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, Haley. Like I’d feed you moldy food.”

  I resume chewing, saliva pouring happily into my mouth. “Sad thing is, if it tasted like this, I’d probably eat it.”

  Hannah beams. “Really?”

  I nod, scarfing down the sweet, nutty confection. “I’d risk food poisoning for this. No lie.”

  “I hope some of my clients feel that way.”

  “If they don’t, they don’t deserve taste buds.”

  “So,” she begins, nibbling her own cookie slash cake slash toast point. “What brings the prodigal child home?”

  I send a dry look across the table. “Don’t act like we haven’t talked once a week for the last ten years.”

  “And yet you never mentioned coming home. Why is that?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t want anyone to talk me out of it. Or into it.”

  “I wouldn’t have done either.”

  “You’d have had some kind of opinion about it. All Brandt women have an opinion about everything.”

  “I’d have kept it to myself. I know how hard it was for you to come back.”

  “But it was time.”

  “What made it time?”

  “All the stuff with Trevor I guess.”

  She nods. “You aren’t the first woman to be sent home by a cheating ex, that’s for sure.”

  “It wasn’t just that. I think finally realizing, really realizing, that he never really loved me, that he only wanted me because I looked good on
his arm, hurt me worse than the affair. How can you be married to someone for that long and care so little about them?”

  “Do you still care about him? Did you ever?”

  “Of course I cared about him, but…” I take a moment to think about my marriage. I scroll through a decade of memories, most of which are perfunctory events rather than intimate moments. Parties I hosted, luncheons I planned, fundraisers I arranged. I organized and attended them all with a smile on my face and never a hair out of place. Because that’s what was expected of me. And for a long time, I was too weak to leave. But that truth is, our marriage was a sham. I was simply too deluded to recognize it until I’d burned ten years of my life.

  “But?”

  “He never allowed it to grow any deeper than that. Maybe early on, I could’ve learned to love him, but… He had a role for me to play, and emotions were never a part of it. He was using me to fulfill a need, nothing more. Like a secretary or a personal assistant. It just took me too long to see it. So, do I care about him? Well, I don’t want to see him hurt, I suppose, but I don’t ever want to see him again either. After all I did for him, day in and day out… For him to betray me for another nineteen year old in need of rescue, for someone who looks better on his arm and doesn’t require as much maintenance, is unforgiveable.”

  Hannah’s eyes round. “Is she really nineteen?”

  “Or twelve.”

  “Twelve?”

  At her shocked expression, I amend. “She’s just built like she’s twelve. She’s actually twenty-one. Not much better, but at least she can legally have a glass of wine, which she’ll need after about a year of hearing him talk about himself like he’s the headline news of the day.”

  “I only met him those two times, but I always thought he seemed like an arrogant peacock.”

  “Oh, he was. Good eye, sis.”

  “Is that why you never brought him around here?”

  “No, I…” I trail off to think about my answer. “I think I wanted to keep my new life as far from my old one as I possibly could, no cross-contamination.”