Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(51)
Author: M. Leighton

“But what if I blow it? What if I can’t be this person?”

“You already are. The fact that you’re worried about it is proof. Marissa, a month ago you wouldn’t have given a shit about this kind of thing. You didn’t think there was anything wrong with you, and you certainly never considered for a second that you might actually fail at something. Like it or not, that girl is gone. Forever. You just need to find the strength to let her go and be who you are now.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I don’t know the answer to that because it’s not going to happen. You can. And you will.”

“I wish I had your faith in me.”

“Surround yourself with people who do. Kick those plastic people you called ‘friends’ to the curb and find yourself some real friends. Good ones.”

I think of Jensen. He’s definitely not the kind of person I would normally have spent my time with. His type of law is frowned on in my circles. Maybe that’s a good thing. “You’re right. And I’m taking the first step today. I’m having lunch at Petite Auberge with someone who isn’t my normal kind of friend.”

“Good for you!”

I’m glad she doesn’t ask any more questions. Although I’m sure she’d wish me luck, for some reason I don’t want her to know I’ll be meeting Jensen.

We chat a little more, but I have to get off the phone to freshen up for lunch. Even though my heart’s not really in it, I try to strike a good balance between friendly lunch and professionalism. I don’t want to give Jensen the wrong impression about where I see “us.” I figure a pencil-slim skirt that nearly touches the floor, a thin peasant shirt with cap sleeves, and some strappy sandals will keep things in perspective.

I arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early. Jensen is already at the table, wearing his work clothes, of course. Surreptitiously, he looks me over and his pale eyes sparkle with appreciation. That feels nice. Nice in a complimentary way, not nice in an exciting way. Not like when Nash would look at me.

Damn you! Stay out of my head.

Even as I think it, I smile pleasantly at Jensen as he pulls out my chair.

“You look amazing, as always.”

“Thank you.”

Jensen immediately launches into an effort to entertain me. Surprisingly, he does a good job. He’s witty and smart, and he has a great sense of humor. I find myself laughing quite often, enjoying a lighthearted, casual lunch.

Until I look up and see Nash standing just inside the door of the restaurant, watching me.

My heart skips a beat and then picks up to a much faster pace. I feel warm and flustered. And I’m certain I’ve never seen a more handsome, more welcome sight than him.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t smile or nod or wave me to the door. He doesn’t approach the table. He just stares at me with his black, fathomless eyes.

“Nash’s brother, right? The one you’re helping?” Jensen says, drawing my eye and my mind back to him.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Would you excuse me for a minute, please?”

“Of course,” he says, standing when I do. Like a gentleman. Like someone I should be with. Like someone I don’t want.

On shaky legs, I make my way across the room to Nash. The closer I get, the more flushed and flustered I feel. There’s something about him today, something that makes me feel hotter than usual. Stimulated. Ravenous.

Something is niggling at the back of my mind. Like trying to dig up bones from a deep, deep grave, I wrestle it to the surface until I’m able to put my finger on what’s bothering me.

“Your hair . . .” I say dazedly when I stop in front of him.

Nash reaches up to run his fingers through it. It’s loose, the long bangs framing either side of his face. I’ve only seen it pulled back or tucked behind his ears. Never hanging loose like this.

Yet it’s so familiar.

“It was wet when I left,” he says flatly, by way of explanation.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you. You weren’t at the condo and you weren’t answering your phone, so I called Olivia to see if she’d heard from you. She said you were here. Having lunch. She just didn’t say you weren’t alone.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks over my shoulder at Jensen. But I’m not paying much attention to that. I’m busy digging up bones. Old bones that have never really seen the light of day.

Until now.

Until today.

But today they’re out of the ground, battering me like a thousand tiny knives, penetrating me all the way to my heart, to my soul.

I can’t stop the gasp. Or the pounding of my pulse. Or the crumpling of my lungs.

“It was you. In New Orleans, it was you,” I whisper, feeling breathless and crushed.

Nash’s brow wrinkles, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Or make any denials. He’s quiet as he waits. Waits for me to finally put two and two together.

All at once, every detail comes rushing back. I’d written that night off as part of my excessive drinking, especially when Nash (who was really Cash) had said he wasn’t in New Orleans that weekend. I’d thought it was surely an erotic, drunken dream or hallucination.

Only it wasn’t.

Standing here staring at Nash, feeling the way I feel about him, feeling the undeniable connection to him that I felt even back then, I realize that it was this Nash at Mardi Gras that night so long ago. It was this Nash who came onto the balcony and turned my body and my world upside down. It was this Nash who made every day and every kiss with his brother seem like . . . less.

After that night, I always felt like there was something missing when I was with the Nash I knew. It seemed that I was always searching for more with him. Yet I never found it. We never quite clicked.

Not like this.

And now I know why.

It was never him that I was supposed to click with. It wasn’t him I was searching for. It was never him that stirred me to the point of complete abandon.

It was his brother.

And from the moment I saw the real Nash, from the moment he took my blindfold off in the car when he rescued me, I was drawn to him. I didn’t really know why, other than that he saved me, but I was. Inexplicably, undeniably drawn to him. And now I know why. Now, with his hair hanging loose to frame his pained face, I see what my memory has kept hidden from me.

I remember.

I fell in love that night. Almost two years ago. In New Orleans. On a balcony. Overlooking a crowd. With a complete stranger. I fell in love with a ghost.