Blue Colla Make Ya Holla (68 page)

Lifting his head, he looked to Joanne for any sign of what she wanted him to do. He found her watching him, and she lifted an eyebrow at his stare. Her oval face, usually so expressive, held no clues as to what she was really thinking.

Finally, he faced Stan again. “All right. For Joanne. On one condition.”

“Anything,” Stan agreed quickly.

“Don’t mess with her head anymore.”

Joanne touched Nate’s arm. “Nate, it’s fine. I’m not—”

Nate continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “If you want to win her back, do it like a man. If you want to be my competition, let’s make it a fair contest.”

Both Joanne and Stan stared at him open-mouthed. Joanne spoke first. “Nate? I don’t understand. I thought…I thought you wanted to be with me.”

Nate put his hand over hers and searched her eyes, which were now wide with confusion. “I do.” He brushed her hair behind an ear, and her face turned toward his palm. “I like you. I want to see where this will go. But I know you’re still hurting over him.” He nodded towards where Stan stood. “I don’t want that to come between us. I don’t want his games to hurt you anymore.”

Stan sighed audibly, and they both looked at him. “You don’t have to worry about me. There’s nothing I could do to win Joanne back. Is there, Joanne?”

Joanne shook her head slowly, and silent tears slipped down her cheeks. “No.”

Stan nodded. “I will always love you, Joanne. I wish you the best.” He left without another word.

Joanne and Nate stood there in the silence for a long moment. Drawing a deep breath, Joanne spoke. “Nate, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I hope you’re not breaking up with me already,” he joked. She looked so serious, he felt he had to break the tension somehow. She gave him her brilliant smile, and his chest eased at the release of tension.

“Not a chance.” She wiped away her tears. “When I spoke to Stan earlier, I realized something.”

“Oh?”

“I realized that I’ve already let him go. Thanks to you, I know he wasn’t the man for me. I’m actually glad all this happened. Well, not all this.” She touched his arm where a brilliant blue was already spreading over a knot the size of a golf ball where the tire iron had hit him. “But him cheating on me, I mean.”

Nate took her face in both his hands. “What are you trying to say, Joanne?”

“I’m saying there wouldn’t have been any competition between you and Stan even if he’d tried.” She moved closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Now, when are we going on that date you promised me?” She smiled up at him. Here in his arms, she felt at peace for the first time in a long time, and she tried to memorize his face to keep this moment in her heart forever.

“How does tonight sound?” His lips lowered to hers and brushed against them.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

The End

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Cat Mason

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission from the Author. For information regarding the subsidiary rights, please contact the Author and/or Publisher.

First Edition: December 2014

Edited by: Asli Fratarcangeli

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, localities, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

Her heart.

Back in Kittery, Maine, for the first time in over four years, she is instantly bombarded with plans that her parents have made for her life. Expensive clothes, the perfect man ready to marry her, the life of privilege.

Or is it?

Memories flood back and, as if conjured from her dreams, there he is, the man who has owned her body and soul since she was a kid. Adam James, the man who has haunted her every day since he broke her.

Adam is the complete opposite of everything Ainsley is told she should want. The hard working roofer rides a Harley, his clothes are ripped and faded, and he wouldn’t be caught dead walking into the country club her father helped build. After breaking it off with Ainsley, he’s bitter. He despises everything about the way Ainsley and her family use money to make problems go away.

What happens when they collide and those still simmering fires ignite and explode?

Ainsley

‡

S
tanding in front
of the full length mirror, I scrunch my nose in disapproval. My plane touched down just over an hour ago and here we are shopping. My mother’s favorite thing to do, other than empty her bourbon decanter, and I hate it. Give me jeans and my chucks any day, that’s all I need, but don’t tell her that.

It isn’t like she would listen anyway.

“That one too. You should wear it now and save the blue halter for the club on Friday. Just throw away the old clothes she had on,” my mother says to me while giving instructions to the sales clerk, as she tosses a card at her. No please and no thank you, no recognition that she is even a human being. That is my mother, everyone is beneath her. “All the shoes too. Oh, Ainsley, I’m so glad you’re finally home.” Shoving my unruly brown waves over my shoulder, so that they tumble freely down my back, my mother scrutinizes me in the mirror.

It makes me want to curl into myself, to enroll for another four years and hide away at college from this constant push to be perfect. Being the daughter of Anthony and Julia Carter, I am not allowed to slink into the background. No, Ainsley Carter is destined to marry a man who will take over my father’s empire and become a decorative show piece in the home, just as my mother is.

That is how our world works, I’ve been told.

Shrugging her off, I step down from the mirrors and slump into a chair. Tapping my heel on the tile floor, I stare out the window of the dress shop my mother insisted we stop at as soon as we left the airport. “I couldn’t be happier that you’ll be joining your father and I at the club this week for dinner. Elliot will be thrilled to see you. He’s talked a lot about you since we visited you in California last month.”

“How nice,” I deadpan, completely uninterested in anything my mother has to say about Elliot Becker.

Elliot and I have known each other since we were babies. Our parents have always joked about us growing up and getting married. Now, it’s no longer a joke, it’s anticipated.

That would be all wonderful and good, if I could stand being in the same room with him longer than five minutes.

“Is there a reason you’re sitting there like a petulant child in time out?” My mother’s voice pulls me from my thoughts of asking her to lunch just so I can fake food poisoning.

“No, of course not.” Standing to my feet, I remember my manners and smooth down the front of my dress. “Can we stop closer to home and have a late lunch?”

Looking at her watch, she nods. “We should have plenty of time.”

Once she collects her card, my mother leads the way out to her Mercedes, parked at the curb for the bags to be placed in the trunk. The unusual muggy heat hits me right in the face as we exit the store. Sure Maine has summer, but this shit is ridiculous. “Thank you,” I say as the door man of the shop closes the trunk lid. “I hope you have a way to stay cool in this heat,” I add, knowing it has to be horrible standing out here in a suit when it’s damn near one hundred degrees.

“Yes ma’am. You have a nice day now.”

“You too,” I reply as he walks up to the passenger side door.

My mother says nothing, her heels click on the pavement as she makes her way around the car where the valet holds open her door. Without any greeting or any hesitation, she slides in to the low car effortlessly. When the doorman opens my door, I fumble in with a lot less grace than my mother, but of course she makes everything look easy.

“Ainsley,” my mother scolds the moment the door closes and she pulls from the curb. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”

Arching my eyebrow, I turn in my seat and push my slipping glasses up my nose. Staring at my mother as she drives, I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the steering wheel, she stares straight ahead, lost in her thoughts.

I haven’t been alone with my mother in four years. Not since they sent me and my broken heart abroad for the summer to my aunt’s before I started college. Hell, I even took summer classes so that I didn’t have to leave the apartment that my father rented near campus for me. I have so many things I want to ask her. Things that I need to say before it’s too late, but I don’t know where to start.

How do you have a conversation like this with someone you never felt a close bond with? We merely existed in the same habitat for eighteen years. Nothing more. They have their wing of the large estate my father built, before I was born, and I have mine; there’s no doubt in my mind it has been left untouched by my parents. The only time I am obligated to be their daughter is when it is needed to maintain the façade they work so hard to portray.

*

It feels like
hours have passed by the time we finally pull into
The Garden Grille
, the silence is deafening between us. My mother says nothing, except to the hostess who leads us to our table. It isn’t until we are seated in the far corner of the gazebo that she finally blows out a frustrated breath. “Out with it.” The blue eyes that are nearly identical to mine burn into me. “You’ve been stewing over something the entire drive. I want it out and dismissed before we see your father.”

Taking a deep breath, I slouch and stare down at my fingers. “I’m fine, just weird being back home after so long.”

The waiter steps up and show my mother the wine list. Pointing out her choice, she dismisses him quickly. “Four years is a long time, I know,” she nods, sipping her water. “Though, it was needed, don’t you think? You needed to get your head on straight after things with that boy.” Her face turns up in disgust. “No need to go drudging up old ghosts. You’re older and wiser now, aren’t you, dear?”

Choking back the tears and the twisting in my gut, I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Seventeen years old is hardly an age to know what’s best for your life,” she continues once the waiter sets two glasses down in front of us filled with white wine. Mother spouts off the order before waving him off again.

“No, but I don’t want to be married to a man I don’t love either,” I blurt, before I can call the words back.

My mother’s eyes snap up from her wine glass, widening as her mouth turns up in amusement. “Ainsley, love is nothing more than a mixture of lust and adoration. It’s also something you can turn on and off when necessary or when it financially benefits you.” Lifting the glass to her lips, she sips slowly as she studies me. Lowering it again, she covers my hand with hers. “Before you know it, you’ll be head over heels in love with Elliot.”

“Hello Darling.” The sound of Elliot’s fake British accent behind me makes me cringe. What he believes makes him comes across as refined and more dignified only makes him sound like more of a pompous ass than usual.

You have lived in Maine your whole life, you’re not British you jackass!

“Elliot, how lovely to see you,” my mother croons, standing to kiss each of his cheeks. “We were just talking about you.”