Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Read online

  “I didn’t cheat,” she argues.

  “Catching a head-start without me even knowing what’s going on, then settin’ your own conditions isn’t cheating?” I flick her on the end of the nose playfully. “I’d have paid for your ice-cream regardless, Stars. I’m your best friend. AND I’m the dude. Guys are the ones that are supposed to pay.”

  She huffs, and I feel the argumentative energy beginning to blow my way. “I don’t need a man to pay my way. I just wanted you to get your slow ass in the water.”

  “Oh, trust me, I know. You’re independent as fuck about certain things.”

  “When’d you start cussing so much?” She questions in displeasure.

  “When I became a man,” I answer simply.

  She bursts out laughing at this. “And you say you’re my friend. What makes you think I’d even claim you with such absurd notions? I’m a man,” she deepens her voice, mocking me with a puffed-out chest.

  Which only makes my eyes drop to her showed-up-outta-nowhere tits again.

  “Not just your friend. Your best friend,” comes my cocky reply.

  “Who said you’re the best?” She argues, popping a brow in challenge. Her voice comes out a little breathless as she continues to tread water, and even though I know it has to do with her physical activity and not because I’m having any kind of effect on her, my dick jumps in response.

  “Shit. You know I’m the best. I’m the best at everything…”

  She side-eyes me. “Right. Well, you’ve definitely got the cocky attitude down-pat. I’ll at least give you that.”

  A grin stretches over my face. “I have my reasons for that—one big one.” Yeah, I don’t know why I said that. I usually reserve the self-assured remarks for girls I’m trying to hit on, but for some reason, I just can’t help myself.

  She sputters a little nervous cough, and her face burns red. Seconds later, she shoves water at me, hitting me square in the face.

  “Oh my God,” her exasperated voice cries out, as she turns to swim away, gaining some distance from me. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Damn Stars, you know I can’t keep up with you and your big words. I don’t spend day in and day out reading like you do. Pretty sure you read the dictionary like you’re a nun and it’s the Bible.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t read the dictionary, dickhead.”

  “Oh, I know what you like to read…” I trail off, waggling my eyebrows in suggestion.

  Her lashes lower as she inspects me. I know what she’s fretting over right about now. Do I, or don’t I, know about her reading material of choice?

  “I know everything about you…” I hint again, which is mostly, not a lie. With of course the exception of not noticing her—ahem—changes.

  She holds her ground, not giving herself away by remaining tightlipped. Finally, she holds up her hands in annoyance, kicking harder with her feet to keep her head above water. “Fine. You caught me. I read the Twilight series. Ya happy?”

  “Oh, did you now? Didn’t know that…” I muse. “I was simply referring to those dirty books with the shirtless men or the couples locked in a sensual kinda embrace plastered all over the covers.” I toss her a wink. “Know how much you love those, Stars.”

  Her mouth drops open with an audible gasp. “How did you…” she trails off, unintentionally admitting to her dirty little secret.

  I swim closer, stopping in front of her and leaning in to whisper against her ear.

  “I already said—I know everything about you. Like the fact you prefer your cereal in a cup as opposed to a bowl, but only because you like to put about a quarter of a cup of milk in it. Just enough to wet the cereal on its way to the bottom, but not enough to get it soggy. Or, the fact you like coffee ice-cream when you’re in a reading kind of mood, but you prefer peppermint when you’re bummed out about something.”

  Her aqua eyes shimmer into mine as she eyes me warily, not quite sure what to think about her ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. I take my fingers and rake a loose strand of wet hair from her face.

  “Can’t forget to mention the fact you think Miles Huntley is cute. Every time he walks into class you cut your eyes away and your face goes all red. You got the hots for him… But I don’t think you like him quite as much as you like someone else…I haven’t put a finger on who it is yet, but some days, you take extra care with getting ready when we hang out. Like maybe we’ll see this mysterious gentleman out and about, and you want to ensure you make a good impression should you randomly encounter him… It’s common knowledge that Miles’ family leaves for Europe every summer, so I know you’re not expecting to run into him.”

  “Wrong,” she whispers, shaking her head as her eyes flutter closed.

  “Right. Always am. I see everything about you no one else does. That’s how I noticed the sexy reading material tucked under your pillow when I sneak up into your room at night, or stuffed in your backpack sometimes. Don’t worry, though. I’ll figure out whose attention you’re vying for. Make no mistake of that.”

  She stares at me for a second, fear in her eyes that further proves I’m right on some level, but it’s quickly washed away by a mean glare followed by a huff.

  Then, she smirks—not at all what I’m expecting.

  “Well that may be, but I know you stuff your Playboy and Hustler magazines under the backside of your mattress closest to the wall. I’ve seen you do it. On more than one occasion,” she smarts, sticking her tongue out at me childishly. Her arms fly overhead and she quickly descends below the surface…Only to fly back out after reaching the bottom and pushing off for momentum, bursting out of the water as leverage to push at my shoulders and effectively taking me under.

  That’s how the dunking and splashing war gets started. It’s an ongoing battle for about thirty minutes but we finally agree to a breathless treaty.

  “Ready for ice-cream?” I ask in between little pants of inhalation.

  “Always,” her tongue peeks out to slide over her pink lips.

  My eyes trail the motion without permission, and for a moment, I’m in some sort of trance, leaning closer. Her jewel-toned irises shine with some unknown emotion, jolting me back into reality. Damn it to Hell. I jerk away, swiftly turn my back to her. I nearly kissed Lyra!

  “Let’s go then,” my scratchy voice replies. I tilt my head toward the riverbank, timing my strides in a rapid march so that she straggles behind.

  “We riding bikes all the way there? ‘Cause I don’t know if I can handle it after all that swimming.”

  My lip tips at the corner of one side.

  “Nope. My Pops is gone to the tractor supply store the next town over. We’re stealing the dirt bike to take into town again.”

  After this raging hard-on settles the hell down.

  When she flashes me an excited smile, my heart kicks it up a notch and my stomach does something weird it’s never really done before.

  “Sweet,” she agrees, ever the carefree troublemaker—but only when it comes from my prompting.

  That’s why she’s my best friend, hands down; she’s always down for me like that.

  No matter the consequences.

  ~XoXo~

  A goofy-ass grin finds its way to my face as I think about the rest of that day—the way we got into our first big argument because she found out I’d messed around with Amy Swanson. When I asked what the big deal was, she just shook her head, fuming silently and unable to offer a definitive explanation. She was just protective over me, I guess.

  But as my mind continues to live in the past, irritation simmers, something not unlike the feeling of jealousy—although I’m sure I can’t call it that—settles over me when I realize something… I never did discover who she had the crush on like I promised I would.

  I guess my hatred for unsolved mysteries is what lead me to my profession as a PI. I realized I had a knack for investigation back in college and came to love the chase. My drive to discover the undiscoverable, to bring peace to t
hose who couldn’t figure out why their spouses were suddenly treating them so differently, and to help those who wanted to track down lost friends, morphed into something I could make a living from.

  Knowledge is power.

  It’s the key to the world, and I like to understand everything, especially where Lyra is concerned.

  There’s no mistaking that shared feeling—that spark that hasn’t died out—and there’s no mistaking she still feels it too. It’s evident in the way she’s nervous as fuck when she’s around me, the way she undresses me with her eyes then jerks them away at the last second.

  There’s something there, and bad blood aside, it needs to be acknowledged, explored and defined.

  I need answers.

  So why the Hell hasn’t she called yet?

  Chapter Nine

  Lyra

  “You’re coming tonight,” Sara, one of my only lasting gal-pals besides V, insists. “You’re coming if I have to doll you up and drag you out of the house myself.”

  She’s been on my case for a few weeks now, and I kind of feel bad for blowing her off repeatedly. I guess tonight’s the night to give in.

  I toss my hands up in irritated surrender with a groan, weaving in and out through the parked cars as we head to our vehicles after shift’s end.

  “Fine. I’m just not in the mood to head all the way home, get ready, then ride thirty minutes over to the next town, all just to hit up a bar.”

  “Well, we ain’t got much choice. It’s the only bar around—that’s halfway decent at least. Come on,” she urges, pulling on my arm lightly. “You didn’t go with me for my birthday last month. Consider it a late celebration. You know you want to. And just think…you might even pick up a hottie mcbody.” She elbows me teasingly.

  “What the Hell is a hottie mcbody?” I scrunch up my nose.

  She gives a quick shrug of the shoulders, pursing her lips. “Don’t know, but it rhymes. You wanna just leave your car here, ride with, and borrow something of mine to save time?”

  I huff, realizing she’s not going to take no for an answer. “Sounds like a plan.”

  ~XoXo~

  “Shit,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “What is it?” Sara demands, cutting her eyes toward me from the driver seat.

  “I forgot my freaking wallet under the counter at work. It has my money. My i.d…” I trail off. “Piss.”

  “Chillax, boo. We pass right by work. It won’t take but a minute to run in and grab it. Won’t even mess with our schedule.”

  I sigh, still frustrated with myself, because seriously? I’m lucky if no one messes with my stuff, especially considering the upstanding position of respect they hold me in.

  Sara pulls her civic up to the curb, and I bolt from the car, offering a wave at the other workers as I hurry through the dining area and behind the bar. Bending down, I squeal with happiness to find the brown leather clutch lying right where I left it. I pop it open though, just in case, to ensure all my belongings are still intact. Thankfully, they are.

  I wave the wallet victoriously in the air, so that the other workers figure out why I’m there, jogging back out the door. Only, the double-knotted loop of the thigh-high boots Sara picked out for me catches on a loose screw in the door frame.

  What are the freaking odds?

  My ankle twists, but I go with the flow and don’t try to resist. I end up landing on my ass, flipping all the way back around to face inward toward the restaurant again in the process. Blush immediately starts creeping up my neck, the hot and unwanted coloring settling all over my cheeks.

  I huff out loud irritably. Reaching out, I unhook the material from the troublesome screw angrily.

  Right about that time, a hand shoots out in front of my face, palm side up in helpful offering.

  Perfect timing.

  Not giving it much thought, I take it, allowing the person to pull me up to my feet.

  I brush off a tender spot on the back of my thigh, squinting when my fingers return with a slight tinge of pink to them. Hopefully the cut isn’t too bad, it burns more than anything, so it’s likely just a scrape. Giving a cursory glance to my clothes—Sara’s clothes actually—I’m relieved to find they’re still in alright condition aside from a pick in the fabric.

  “Thanks,” I issue to the person who helped me back up, still not chancing an embarrassing glance their way.

  A deep throat-clearing comes in return. “Anytime, Stars.”

  Fuck me. I groan, unable to control myself.

  It just has to be him every single time I do something stupid. No fail.

  “You just get more graceful each passing day. Turn around.” He arches an eyebrow, then lifts his finger in the air, twirling it around as he silently orders me to spin. I glare at him, and he gives the same look right back at me, only intensified. Something about it has me thinking of kindergarten and playgrounds and the boy I was drawn to from day one.

  Rolling my eyes, I humor him, whirling around with an audible huff of displeasure. When I glance back over my shoulder seconds later, he’s squatting down to get a closer look. His fingertips rise up to skim over the wound, ever so softly, and I hiss from the stinging sensation that follows. Even through the tinging of pain, my body seems to be well aware that he’s up close and personal.

  Suddenly, the stinging dulls when a cool gust feathers across the wound, and I realize he’s blowing on my skin. Is this what he does when Ari is hurt? The thought is as adorable as it is endearing, turning my insides to mush. Cared for, that’s the mushy sensation I’m feeling.

  But warm and fuzzy quickly escalates to hot and bothered when he brushes his finger across my skin once more, and I realize his palm a mere hand’s width from the curve of my ass. The fact he’s so close, studying me like this while I have on a short dress—never mind the fact I coupled it with some dressy thigh-high boots, there’s still that two inches of naked skin. And that strip is skin is heating from his lingering gaze, which in my opinion, has lasted much longer than necessary. I swear I even catch his eyes sliding up right at the apex of my legs. Can he see more than he should be seeing? It’s certainly a high possibility at that angle.

  His throat bobs up and down, before he slowly lifts his gaze to meet my own. “It’s just a scrape.” His voice comes out gravelly as he voices the assessment.

  I push my feet closer together, squeezing my legs as I give a shaky nod. “Figured.”

  “Go home and put some Bactine on it just in case,” he orders like some kind of expert.

  “Yes, sir,” I shoot my index finger at him with a smirk.

  When he stands again, turning his back and walking away dismissively, I can’t help but voice my thoughts.

  “Nash, wait.”

  He stops mid-stride, slowly turning back to face me with an arched brow.

  I stare at him for a few seconds dazed—struck like lightning by his emerald gaze—before my lips curve playfully.

  “Not gonna offer to kiss my boo-boo better this time?”

  He averts his sight for two seconds, before taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it. When he does, his eyes are back on me, taking the time to slowly regard me from head to toe.

  He doesn’t say a single word, but when he turns back around, I don’t miss the small twitch of his lips, or the way his head shakes from side to side as he walks away.

  Finally, he calls back over his shoulder.

  “I’m sure you’ll find somebody to do so, wearing an outfit like that.”

  I glare. Fuck. You. Asshole.

  I, of course, continue obsessing over one of my oldest memories.

  ~XoXo~

  I sit on the ground, blinking back tears. My hand and my right leg has an owie—a bad one. It burns and stings like a bunch of bees got me. One second I was swinging from the monkey bars. The next, the ground was coming for me.

  I hit it hard and the playground mulch cut my skin.

  I’m still sitting here stunned a minute l
ater when my friend, Nash, drops down to his knees in front of me.

  “Yo’kay, Lyra?” His green eyes stare at me in concern, and I force myself to nod so that I don’t look like a baby. Gray tells me I need to stop acting like a sissy so much. I don’t want Nash to think I’m a sissy.

  While I might be nodding, I don’t feel okay, and I still don’t get up from the spot I fell.

  I think Nash notices too, because he grabs the hand I’m holding to my stomach, turning it over to study it with care. When he lifts it closer to his face, I yank it away in disgust. He’s about to put his mouth on me.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  He simply pulls at my injured hand again, his brows pushing in toward each other.

  “Don’t you want me to kiss your boo-boo, better? That’s what my mom does for me. I feel better every time,” he reassures me.

  I shrug my shoulders, giving him the okay, and when he presses his lips to my boo-boo, I realize he’s right.

  It does feel better now.

  Nash’s kisses are like magic.

  ~XoXo~

  That little memory wasn’t the reason for our shared amusement. It was the event that followed a week or so later that still makes me laugh every time I think about it.

  I had bitten my lip so hard it brought blood. Nash offered me the same loving medication again, kissing my boo-boo better, only it was a real peck on the lips. Of course, our classmates ratted us out, and both sets of parents were brought in for conferences.

  Upon hearing our reasoning behind the kiss, my mom thought it was funny. “Adorable,” she had said.

  My dad, though? He didn’t quite think so. If it weren’t for Mom easing his mind about it all as we grew, continuing to be friends, I never would have been able to hang out with him. Eventually, my dad came around. He finally understood it was all some innocent act and any reservations he had with Nash faded.

  I get back into the car with a stupid smile on my face.