Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (22 page)

There’s a long pause where we simply stare at each other, eyes locked, breaths mingling. His words wash over me, seep into my soul like balm on a long-aching wound I thought would never close.

I won’t let you
.

“Promise?” I ask finally, voice shaking.

That possessive look flashes over his face again.

“I promise, little bird.”

***

We don’t speak as we ride back upstairs and cross through the darkened loft to his bed, but his hand never unlaces from mine and when we climb beneath the sheets there’s no pillow barrier between us. He holds me close, his big hands on my stomach beneath the large t-shirt, his body curled around mine perfectly, like we were made to fit together.

Nothing’s changed — not really. Not on paper. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment everything between us shifted. But somehow, in the space of an hour, my whole world has flipped upside down and I’m living in an alternate universe where Nate and I hold each other close and aren’t afraid to show weakness.

I fall asleep in his arms and, for the first time since I got out of that basement, I sleep soundly.

Let’s be honest: in ten years, the man-bun of the 2010s

will be equivalent to the rat-tail of the 1980s.

Phoebe West, whose tastes sway more toward clean cut

men with short, soft hair and deep chocolate eyes.

“Well, isn’t this cozy.”

Parker’s voice is the first thing that permeates my subconscious — followed quickly by the realization that there is a large hand under my shirt, nestled warmly in the space between my boobs, along with a male thigh sandwiched firmly between my legs.

Nate.

“I guess you didn’t mind sharing the bed after all,” Parker says dryly.

Frack!

I spring away from Nate. Well, I
try
to spring away from him. His arms are so tight around me, I only make it about half an inch before he pulls me back into his chest and buries his head deeper in the space between my neck and the pillow.

“Piss off, we’re sleeping,” he grumbles against my skin. He’s not talking to me.

There’s a scoff from the end of the bed.

I turn my head and catch sight of Parker, who’s got Boo cradled in his arms like a stuffed animal and is staring down at us with a knowing look. My wide eyes meet his amused ones.

“He’s half asleep,” I explain desperately, doing my best to squirm away from Nate. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Sure he doesn’t.” Parker’s voice is skeptical.

“Nate!” I hiss, elbowing him in the side. “Let go of me.”

With a deep sigh, he unwinds his arms from my frame and rolls onto his back. His hair is mussed and his eyes are sleepy when they peel open to meet mine.

“Christ, West, it’s not even seven. You always wake up like this?”

I glance from him to my brother and back again in total confusion.

Parker just caught Nate and I twined together like wisteria vines, and neither of them is acting like it’s a big deal. In fact, they’re both staring at me like
I’m
the crazy one in this scenario.

What the hell?

Before either of them can say another word, I hop out of bed and practically run to the bathroom, muttering a short, “Gotta pee!” under my breath before slamming the door behind me.

I stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds. My eyes are bright with anxiety and something else — something I barely recognize.

It looks a lot like hope.

Unfortunately, that does very little to detract from the ugliness of my black eye which, while slightly less swollen today, still makes me look like Hilary Swank in
Million Dollar Baby
. I’m not going to be winning beauty pageants anytime soon. 

I can hear murmured conversation through the door, but I can’t make out any of the words. I quickly decide I don’t
want
to hear any of their words, especially if they concern me, so I strip down to my skin and pull open the shower door. Nate’s shower is ultra-modern — opaque glass extends down to the tile floor and a chrome rainfall fixture drops a torrent of hot water straight down on my head. I stay in there for far too long, experimenting with the different settings, smelling Nate’s shampoo like a creepy stalker, and generally pretending the world outside this glass cube of steam does not exist.

If only.

Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the maybe-crisis of my big brother knowing about my not-so-secret feelings for his best friend of all time who, coincidentally, is forbidden from ever so much as touching me.

I think I’m developing an ulcer.

I dig through my bag until I’ve located my toothbrush, some makeup, and a fresh outfit. My choices are severely limited, but I eventually settle on a red silk wraparound top that fits me like a glove and brings out the hazel in my eyes, a pair of slim-fit black jeans, and few simple silver wrist bangles. Staring at the burn on my neck, I mourn the loss of my sunshine necklace and wonder again if Cormack kept it as a souvenir or tossed it in the garbage.

Bastard
.

Knowing it’ll drive Nate crazy, I forego the practical Tory Burch flats Lila packed in favor of my sky-high classic Louboutins — jet black with a cherry red sole. After a few swipes of mascara and a failed attempt at concealing the bruises around my eye, I steady my shoulders and take one last look in the mirror.

My hair’s a bit wild — towel dried, since Nate doesn’t own a blow dryer — and there’s no missing the ugly black eye… but still. I’m not half bad.

Not half bad?
I glare at myself.
You’re hot. Go out there and show Nate what he’s been missing all these years, the idiot.

If my hands weren’t shaking so much as I reach for the doorknob, I’d almost believe it.

***

Of course, Nate’s not even there when I get out of the bathroom. Only Parker and Boo, who watch me from the couch as I wander into the kitchen and fix myself a cup of coffee. When I settle in on the chair across from them, two sets of eyes follow my every move.

“What?” I ask, taking a sip.

“How long have you and Nate been screwing?”

I splutter, sending coffee shooting up my nose. “
What
?”

He looks at me. “You really want me to ask again?”

“No.” I shake my head swiftly. “Definitely not.”

“So?”

“We aren’t… it’s not…” I take a deep breath. “You’re way off, Parker.”

“Really?” His eyes narrow. “That’s not what he told me.”

“Nate told you we were
screwing?
” I wince at the sound of my own voice — I’m yelling so loud, I bet they can hear me in the control room.

“No. He didn’t say screwing. He just didn’t deny it when I asked if he was crossing a line with you.”

“He’s not,” I deny immediately. “
We’re
not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

“Downstairs grabbing a shower and checking in on things in the control room.” He grins. “Why? You missing him already?”

“No. I’m going to kill him.”

Parker laughs. “Don’t do that. Then I can’t punch him in the face.”

“Why would you punch him in the face?”

“For screwing my little sister.”

“Ugh!” I scream. “For the last time —
I AM NOT SCREWING NATHANIEL KNOX!
”

“Good to know,” a dry voice says from the doorway.

Crap on wonder bread.

I turn slowly from Parker, who’s grinning like an idiot, to Nate, who’s leaning casually in the door frame, looking serious and badass with still-damp hair and that wicked looking leather jacket I’ve been plotting to steal for years. I’d think he was pissed, if not for the way his eyes are crinkled up at the corners.

He’s so gorgeous it takes my breath away.

Dammit
.

“You’re annoying,” I tell him, then turn to my brother. “And so are you.”

Parker’s grin widens. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Doubtful,” I lie. My eyes drop to my dog, who’s perched on Parker’s lap. He’s licking my brother’s hand with such reverence, you’d think it’s made of rawhide. “Come on, Boo. Come see me.” I pat the cushion next to me. “Come on.”

His tiny head cocks to one side, considering my words, before he yawns, closes his eyes, and snuggles closer to my brother.

“Traitor,” I hiss, rising to my feet and stalking toward the kitchen. I need more coffee.

I swear, all three of them laugh at me as soon as my back is turned — Boo included.

***

Seven hours later, I’m so bored I’ve skipped passed regular old stir-crazy and gone completely insane. Parker and Nate both left hours ago — Parker to check on his yacht, Nate to deal with some of his existing clients and continue the search for Cormack. Which means I’m sitting in the loft for the second day in a row, going totally out of my mind.

Within the first two hours, I finished every bit of work I had outstanding for WestTech, cleared out my junk folder of several dozen male enhancement emails, and watched four consecutive YouTube video compilations of people nailing their X Factor auditions. Hour three, I did the dishes and brushed out Boo’s coat, much to his chagrin. Hour four, I finally remembered Nate left me a phone for “emergencies only” and texted Lila.

Dying of boredom was technically an emergency. Right?

Phoebe
: Hey! It’s me.

Lila
: Darren?

Phoebe
: No.

Lila
: Oh. Tom?

Phoebe
: No.

Lila
: Well, this is awkward. Um… Martin?

Phoebe
: How many dudes are you texting at once, Lila?

Lila
: OH, it’s you. Hi Phee.

Phoebe
: How’d you know it was me?

Lila
: I’d recognize that semi-judgmental-but-loving tone anywhere. Even in text form.

Phoebe
: Cute.

Lila
: So, you’re still alive? I haven’t heard from you.

Phoebe
: I saw you yesterday.

Lila
: Yesterday
morning
. You could’ve called last night.

Phoebe
: Phone was swallowed by the Atlantic, remember? That time mobsters kidnapped me?

Lila
: Excuses, excuses.

Phoebe
: If you’re free now, I can call.

Lila
: K.

Oh no. She texted me the letter
K
.

That’s never good.

In BFF-code, there’s nothing quite as terrible as the
K
text. It’s the DEFCON 1 of texting. The holy grail of passive aggressive communication.

She’s pissed.

I chew my lip as I dial her number and hit the call button.

“Well, well, well,” she snaps through the speaker. “If it isn’t my former best friend.”

“A little harsh, Lila.”

“Maybe, but you know what else is harsh?” she asks. “Being totally out of the loop about the things going on in your best friend’s life.”

“Aw, were you concerned about me? Don’t worry. I’m okay. The bruises are healing and Cormack hasn’t made contact—”

“I don’t care about
that
, idiot. I want to know about the important stuff.”

“Threats to my life aren’t important?”

“Clearly not.” Her voice is exasperated. “I want to know about Knox.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”

“Did you wear the nighty I packed? Did you jump his bones?” she hisses. “I was picking up a serious vibe yesterday morning. Tell me I’m not wrong.”

“Lila—”

“Phoebe Evangeline West.” Her voice is rising. “After all the things I do for you, you’re going to hold out on me?”

“What do you do for me?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I give you hair ties whenever you need them, even when it’s taken me two solid weeks to stretch them out to fit my wrist perfectly.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Why would I kid about that?” She huffs. “Not to mention the fact that I always tell you when you’ve got food stuck in your teeth or a weird, rogue eyebrow hair.”

“Lila—”

“And I bought you a ticket to Burning Man.” Her voice drops lower. “You owe me $1500 for airfare, by the way.”

“
What
?!”

“My point is, you owe me. So spill about Nate. If there were sexy-times, I need to know about them.”

“It’s possible there were…” I hedge. “…A few moments.”

Silence blasts over the line and I realize she’s waiting for me to continue.

“He kissed me. Or maybe I kissed him…” I shake my head. “There was definitely kissing.”

“Just once?”

I hesitate.

“More than once!?” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yes,” I say, groaning. “And I think we almost did it on the counter, but then Parker showed up. And honestly it’s kind of a mood killer when your big brother almost walks in on you getting naked with his best friend.”

Indecipherable squealing erupts through the phone. I stare at it, baffled, and wait for Lila to contain herself.

“You done?” I ask, when the squealing stops.

“For now.”

I sigh. “I don’t know why you’re so excited.”

“I don’t know why you’re not doing cartwheels down Summer Street,” she counters.

“Because I don’t know what any of it means.” I tap my fingers against my kneecaps. “And I know your genius plan is for me to just have sex with him and walk away but…”