Coming Apart at the Seams (10 page)

She had been so excited when Nick had asked her to go sailing. She knew he had limited free time during the season, and she'd been flattered that he wanted to spend one of his days off with her.

She'd told him that she had been looking forward to it all week, but she had purposely made it sound as if she had been excited about sailing. The truth was she'd been looking forward to spending time with him. She didn't care what they did as long as they were together.

Being with Nick always made her feel good, but it also was
a little unsatisfying. It was like having a gourmet meal but being denied dessert.

Teagan got most of Nick, but not all of him. She knew the minute he dropped her off at her condo, he'd be on his phone with one of his harem to schedule a time and a place to meet for some hot sex.

She tried not to think about it, and most of the time, she was successful. But sometimes, when she felt especially wistful, she let herself think about what it would be like if she got to have her dessert and eat it, too.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and a moment later, Nick joined her at the rail. She peeked at his crotch to see if he'd been able to dry his pants, but he had untucked his shirt, and she couldn't tell without being obvious that she was looking.

She glanced up, hoping he hadn't caught her staring. Mirrored aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, and he held two huge chocolate sugar cookies. He passed one to her along with a paper napkin, and she studied the large sugar crystals sprinkled on top of it.

Most people preferred plain sugar cookies or chocolate chip, if given the choice, but they didn't know what they were missing. Homemade chocolate sugar cookies were similar to Oreos, without the cream filling, and they were soft and delicious.

“Did you ask Letty to make my favorite cookie?”

He nodded, leaning his hip against the rail so he could face her. The sun shone on his blond hair, and it looked as if he had a halo around his head.

Behold the angel Nick Priest.

“How did you know they're my favorite?”

Shrugging, he took a big bite of his cookie. She did the same, moaning a little when the rich cocoa flavor hit her tongue. She wished broccoli tasted that good.

As she chewed, she wondered when she had mentioned that chocolate sugar cookies were her favorite. Because Nick was so quiet, she had way too much opportunity to prattle on and on about stupid subjects. At one time or another, she'd probably blurted out her favorite brand of tampons, and he had likely committed that fact to memory as well.

Nick was so different from most guys she knew. He paid attention.

“You're not a normal guy.”

“Excuse me?” he replied, his dark gold eyebrows arching above his sunglasses.

“Except for you, I truly believe all men have attention deficit disorder, even my dad.”

He barked out a laugh. “Oh, yeah?”

She frowned. He thought she was joking, but she wasn't. Unlike other men, Nick listened to her with complete and total focus. He never seemed to tune her out the way Jason always had.

Her ex-boyfriend had liked to talk about the things that were important to him, but he'd never shown much interest in the things she cared about. She hadn't realized how self-absorbed he was until they'd broken up. Spending time with Nick reinforced the fact that Jason had been an ass.

“I'm serious,” she insisted. “Men don't listen when women talk. Jason didn't listen to me. He didn't care about what I had to say or what I thought.”

Nick's laughter abruptly stopped. Moving closer, he swiped his thumb across the corner of her mouth, brushing cookie crumbs away. The touch of his finger against her lips sent a tingle down her spine.

“He's an idiot.”

“For not listening to me?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Or for not wanting to be with me?”

“Both.”

Nick's phone buzzed with a text message. After pulling on his T-shirt, he grabbed the phone from his open locker before sitting down on one of the wooden benches in the Colonials' training room.

He'd run routes for five exhausting hours, and he was eager to head home. He was starving, and Letty had promised lasagna.

The text was from Teagan:
Free for some Friday night fun?

It was the first time he had heard from her since he'd dropped her off at her condo after they had gone sailing nearly a month ago. The Colonials were playing at home on Sunday, so he was free to hang out with her if he wanted to.

“Hey, Priest, what's up?”

He looked up, seeking the source of the question. He zeroed in on Andy Duncan, a rookie running back who could tear through 300-pound linebackers as if they were made of paper.

“Did you get some good news?” Duncan asked, pointing to Nick's phone. “You got a goofy smile on your face, dude.”

He shook his head, and the other man gave him an assessing glance before sitting down next to him on the bench. With his bright red hair and freckles, Duncan was a grown-up version of the kid on the cover of
MAD magazine
. He was cocky, and he liked to run his mouth, but damned if Nick didn't like him anyway.

“Then why are you smiling?”

Because Teagan wants to spend time with me.

“It's a chick, right?” Duncan asked, slugging him on the shoulder with his meaty fist. “Is she hot?”

Hell, yes, Teagan is hot. So hot I nearly combust when I'm near her.

“Does she have big tits or tiny, bite-sized ones?” Duncan continued, bringing his hands toward his chest to outline a woman's figure. “What about her ass? I love a woman with a soft, pillowy ass.”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think about Teagan's luscious breasts and her round ass. Wasn't it bad enough he dreamed about them?

“Have you fucked her yet? Is she a screamer?”

He stood abruptly and shoved his phone in the front pocket of his Rileys. He couldn't listen to this anymore.

Grabbing his gym bag, he said good-bye to Duncan by slapping him on the back of the head and made the trek to his Escalade. Nick popped the locks, threw his bag in the back, and jumped in the driver's seat. But instead of starting the SUV right away, he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure it was a good idea to hang out with Teagan anymore. They always had a good time when they were together, but it was getting harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself.

He'd told Letty all he felt for Teagan was friendship. But that was a lie. A huge, giant whopper.

He wanted Teagan—wanted her more than he'd ever wanted a woman. Part of it had to be the fact that she was forbidden fruit.

If she weren't his best friend's sister and his friend, too, he would have done anything and everything he could to get inside her pants. If she were anyone else, he would have fucked her nine ways to Sunday by now.

He had been fighting his desire for Teagan for months. At first, he'd tried to deny it, and when he couldn't do that any longer, he'd tried to ignore it.

But ignoring it only worked for so long, and at that point, he'd pushed the desire down deep, determined never to act on
it. That didn't stop his subconscious from dreaming about her almost every night, though. He regularly woke up with an erection so hard it could cut diamonds, and she was the one he thought about when he pleasured himself.

I'm teetering on the edge of fucking disaster.

He groaned, recalling their sailing trip. She hadn't even noticed what her touch had done to him—more proof she saw him as a friend and nothing more. And even if Teagan
were
interested in getting naked with him, it would be a huge mistake for them to get involved. She had “relationship” written all over her. Hell, it was practically tattooed on her forehead.

She was made for marriage, babies, white picket fences, and minivans, and he wasn't cut out for that kind of life. Other men might want those things, but he didn't.

All the experts said communication was the key to long, satisfying relationships, and he could barely speak. He couldn't imagine any woman who would be willing to put up with a guy who was minimally coherent under the best circumstances and completely mute under the worst circumstances.

His stuttering doomed his chances for normal relationships. It had ruined the most important relationship in his life—the one with his father—and it would ruin any romantic relationships, too.

He'd spent twenty years and hundreds of thousands of dollars on speech therapy, and his stutter was still classified as severe. He had learned techniques to work around it, and more important, he'd learned tricks to hide it from even the most observant person.

Normal people had no idea how horrible it was to stutter. They just opened their mouths and words came out. They didn't know what it was like to want to speak but not be able to do so.

Stuttering was emotionally and socially debilitating. It obliterated self-esteem and corroded self-value because no one liked to talk to a stutterer. It was painful to hear and painful to see. People became impatient waiting on words to come out, so they just interrupted or talked over you. Some even walked away, regretting that they'd engaged you in conversation in the first place.

But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that people
associated the ability to speak with intelligence, and more often than not, they treated stutterers like idiots.

Nick had been the object of pity and ridicule for most of his childhood. When he'd turned fourteen, though, three things had happened to change his life.

The first thing was a blank slate. His father accepted a tenured position at Syracuse, and they moved away from the place where everyone knew Nick and his stuttering. He was able to start fresh as a no one from nowhere.

The second thing was a trick. By the time they moved, Nick had learned to hide his stutter, so the other kids never noticed his speech impediment. The teachers, meanwhile, were happy to have a quiet student who didn't cause trouble.

The third thing was football. When he enrolled in high school in Syracuse, his dad forced him to try out for every sport. He excelled at football, and his dad made it clear that football was Nick's only chance for a decent life.

Football had given him purpose. It had given him a way to make a living without having to talk. And it had given him more money than he'd ever dreamed of.

But it hadn't solved everything. Nick still stuttered—and he still tried to hide it.

Frankly, it was a miracle he had any friends. If he put his hands on Teagan, eventually he would mess up the friendship he had with her, and in doing so, he would risk his friendship with the rest of her family. The O'Briens were pretty much the only people who cared about him, and the thought of losing them made him break out in a cold sweat.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a reply to Teagan:
Sorry. Busy.
He placed his finger on the Send button but pulled back before pressing it.

Shouldn't he at least find out what kind of fun she had in mind?

*   *   *

“Sorry it took me so long,” Bebe said as she entered Teagan's condo. “The food wasn't ready when I got there.”

Teagan grabbed the brown paper bag from Bebe's arms so her best friend could remove her jacket. “Thanks for picking it up.”

Taking a deep breath, she pulled in the spicy scent of Indian food. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

“No problem,
kanya
,” Bebe replied as they headed to the kitchen.

Although she'd grown up in the United States, Bebe spoke several languages that were native to India, and she often called Teagan
kanya,
which meant “girl” in Hindi. It was the way she showed affection.

Teagan pulled two plates from the cabinet while Bebe gathered silverware from the drawer. She opened the bag, removed the takeout containers, and began to dish up the food.

“I'm starving,” Bebe announced. “Don't be selfish with the tandoori chicken.”

“You said you didn't want any.”

“I changed my mind,” Bebe replied, narrowing her eyes. “Don't make me hurt you.”

Teagan laughed. Despite her small stature, Bebe
could
hurt someone. She was a master at Muay Thai kickboxing.

“Wine or something else?”

Bebe gave her a look that said,
Do you even need to ask?
Smiling, Teagan pulled a bottle of Riesling from the fridge. It would complement the spicy food better than one of the red wines she had on hand.

The two of them had to make a couple of trips to the living room to transfer food and wine, but eventually they got settled on puffy pillows on either side of the coffee table. Bebe raised her wineglass.

“To the end of yet another round of exams.”

“Hear, hear,” Teagan said, clicking her glass against Bebe's and taking a sip of wine.

“How do you think you did?”

“I'm sure I'll get A's on every exam because I had a really smart study partner,” she answered, winking at Bebe.

“My study partner is smarter than your study partner.”

Teagan laughed, raising her glass to the other woman. Bebe would deny it, but she had a cheerleader personality. Her “You can do it, I know you can” attitude was the reason why Teagan hadn't dropped out their first semester.

She owed a lot to Bebe, and she was going to miss her when they graduated. Her best friend had her heart set on working
for one of the big biotechnology companies, so she'd probably stay in the Boston area.

Teagan's phone dinged, and she vaulted to her feet to get it. She was anxious to see if Nick would accept her invitation. She thought she'd left her phone in the kitchen, but it wasn't there, so she hurried to her home office, the only other place it could be. It was on her desk, and she lunged for it.

She exhaled noisily when she saw the message was from Marshall Brants. He wanted to confirm their date on Saturday night, and she quickly responded before heading back to the living room. She plopped down on her pillow, and Bebe shot her an inquiring glance.

“It was Marshall,” she said, answering Bebe's unspoken question.

Marshall was in the same joint program she and Bebe were in, but this was his first year at Harvard. They'd met in the common area in the business building.

Since she had promised herself that she would start dating again, she'd said yes when he had asked if she wanted to meet him for coffee. Their mini-date had gone well, and later that day, he had called to ask her out to dinner. Since then, they'd gone out a few times.

“He seems nice,” Bebe noted. “And he's really good-looking.”

Teagan nodded. “He
is
nice.”

Marshall was from Houston, and he was friendly and outgoing. He was thirty years old and had undergraduate degrees in chemistry and geology.

“And you're right, he is good-looking.”

Marshall was a couple of inches over six feet with a fit physique from all the cycling he did in his free time. His dark brown hair was thick, and his brown eyes reminded her of bittersweet chocolate.

“He's not as good-looking as Nick Priest,” Bebe pointed out.

Teagan snorted. “No one is as good-looking as Nick Priest.”

Bebe gave her an appraising glance. “Tell me again why you're going out with Marshall.”

She sighed. They'd had this conversation before, but Bebe was like a dog with a bone.

“Because I'm a single female looking for male companionship.”

“That sounds like an ad for a gigolo.”

“That's not a bad idea.” She snickered. “Maybe I should post something online.”

“Seriously, Teagan, why are you going out with Marshall when you really want Nick?”

“To quote the Rolling Stones, ‘You can't always get what you want.'”

Bebe cocked her head. “Why not?”

Teagan blew out her breath in frustration. “Bebe! I don't want to talk about this again.”

“I'm just trying to understand why you would waste your time with another guy when you could be with the one you really want.”

“A starving man doesn't bypass a ham sandwich just because he would prefer prime rib.”

Bebe's eyebrows shot up. “So you're the starving man, Marshall is the ham sandwich, and Nick is the prime rib. Do I have that right?”

“Yes.”

“So what you're really saying is you're just going to take what you can get instead of going after what you really want.”

Teagan huffed in exasperation. “It's not about what I want. It's about Nick, and what he wants and doesn't want. He wants to be friends. He doesn't want me
like that
, and I'd rather be his friend than nothing at all. Why is that so hard to understand?”