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

I snort as more floating dots appear.

  BiggestContender: Trust me, if I had decided on a profile name based on the size of my dick alone, it wouldn’t have fit. They don’t allow nearly that many characters as to accurately portray this bad boy I’m packin’.

  I burst out laughing. I just can’t help it. Of course, Valley—who’s been sneakily reading over my shoulder the entire time—giggles herself.

  “Yeah, he sounds dreamy…” she licks her lips.

  I shoot her a scowl. “Um, no. What he sounds like is a freaking full-of-himself, cocky, prick, who’s not at all the kind of man I should be interested in getting to know,” I assert, adding in an eyeroll for full effect. Only, I have to admit, on a subconscious level I am the tiniest little bit interested.

  “Well, if this prick’s prick is as big as he alleges, then he’s got something to back said cockiness up with. Guys with big pricks—assuming he knows how to use it—kind of have a reason to be that way, don’t you think?” She smirks at me, as if she can tell I’ve mildly enjoyed this little exchange with the mysterious Biggest Contender.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Quit being nosey and proceed with your clothing perusal.” I shoo her away and turn my back on her when I start typing back.

  CuteN’Colorful: Anyone ever tell you you’re cocky? Because you are.

  BiggestContender: Being cocky is fine when you can back it up.

  Uh, mind-reader much?

  CuteN’Colorful: OKAY…moving right along now…I don’t know the size of your member, so I can’t comment on that, but you also said something about being the biggest contender for my heart. Another cocky statement... Seeing as this is the first time we’ve ever spoken, how can you be so sure?

  BiggestContender: Is that your roundabout way for asking for a dick pic? JK. But is it really the first time?

  Uh, what the fuck? Is he alleging I might know him, or have spoken to him, at some point in my life?

  BiggestContender: Don’t want you to go freaking out or anything, but what if I told you I ran across your profile and immediately recognized you despite the fact you don’t show your face? Those tattoos and hair aren’t very subtle, by the way. Anyway, it felt like a sign of sorts that I should make a move.

  CuteN’Colorful: Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to say. Other than, why can’t you make a move in real life?

  More floating dots…

  “Uh, wow. Do you think he actually knows you, or do you think he’s just messing around?” Valley asks out of nowhere.

  I pull the phone out of her line of sight as she’s now peeking over my shoulder again.

  “Dude, can I have some privacy please?”

  “Nope. Not when you’re messing around on my phone.”

  She does have a point there…

  “Fine.” I pull my arm back close to my chest where she can view it again, sighing. “I think he’s just messing with me. There’s no way he could know…”

  The phone dings again, and I glance down.

  BiggestContender: Having doubts?

  I swear! It’s seriously like he can read my mind. Maybe it is someone who knows a thing or two about me.

  CuteN’Colorful: Naturally. Can you actually PROVE you know who I am? Without telling me my name. For all I know, you could have hacked into the system or something and be some cyber-stalker of sorts.

  BiggestContender: You don’t trust people, do you?

  CuteN’Colorful: Nope. Least of all strange ass men I just met on the internet…

  BiggestContender: Fair…but you’re making this tough. I don’t want to give away who I am just yet, so choosing a way to prove I know you is kind of evading me right now. And to answer your other question from earlier about why I don’t just make a move in real life…It’s because you scare the hell out of me.

  CuteN’Colorful: Me? I make you nervous? Ha ha. What a laugh.

  BiggestContender: *Ahem.* Point made. If you’re laughing at me for telling you my feelings now, you’d definitely do it to my face. Or worse…like sock me in the eye. I hear you have a mean right hook.

  Chuckling, I shuffle toward the end of the aisle, eyes practically plastered to the phone’s screen as I type.

  CuteN’Colorful: Seems to me, you’re trying to distract me and change the topic. You still haven’t proven you actually know me at all…

  {BiggestContender signed off.}

  “See. They don’t know who I am. They just signed off,” I sigh, slightly disappointed, as I hand Valley’s phone back to her.

  “Let me see your phone a just a second. I have an idea.”

  I hand it over effortlessly. “Did you think of some clever way to find out who they are?” I ask hopefully.

  She hands it back a few seconds later. “Nope. Just decided to download the app to your phone for you. I also signed you in so you can keep up with the action. You’re welcome.”

  I groan inwardly. “Then you better sign out and stay that way.” I give her a pointed look. “I don’t exactly want my sister-in-law reading whatever exchanges I have with these men. What if say, I do get adventurous and partake in a little sexting. Er, whatever you call it when it occurs over direct messages instead of texts.” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “Well if you’re shutting me out, I better still get all the deets.”

  “Yeah. Right.” I glance back at her as I round the end of the clothing rack we’ve been inspecting, proceeding to the next aisle. Instead, I run smack into a solid wall of warmth.

  “Oof.” The collision takes me by surprise, and I jerk my head forward to see what exactly I’ve hit, coming face-to-face with a fancy button-up shirt. I’m so close the end of my nose brushes the crisp yet still somehow soft fabric, and the scent of juniper and sandalwood is so freaking nice I actually do rub the end of my nose against it, relishing in both smell and texture as I contentedly inhale deeply.

  Aunt Pam has really upped her game when it comes to the clothes she procures for the boutique. This fabric is sensational…

  “Lyra.” A husky voice utters in greeting, and I feel my eyes growing round as I realize the shirt I’m currently rubbing my face against is attached to a person. Instead of taking a step away to recreate the boundaries of personal space, I stupidly tilt my head back.

  Emerald eyes peer back at me, a hint of amusement sparkling in their depths.

  “Nash…” I drawl the name out, my lashes fluttering as they try to blink away the humiliating image before me. It doesn’t work of course.

  “Er, my bad.” My voice cracks, my cheeks growing exceedingly warm.

  His hands slide up my naked arms, coming to rest just below my shoulders as if to make sure I’m not about to fall over. Goosebumps instantly pop out, and I’m scared I might accidently purr from the friction.

  Clearing my throat, I take a step back, finally making a rational decision by removing myself from his grip before I do something stupid—like make strange feline noises and rub up against him for attention.

  He smirks at me. “You okay there, Stars?”

  My head begins nodding, and I have to force myself to find my voice. “Yep. Uh-huh.”

  His smile widens even more. “Good. You had me worried there for a second. I don’t smell bad do I?”

  Fuck. Motherfuckin’ shit. Was I that obvious?

  “As good as a man can smell, I think.”

  Oh my god, I’m an idiot. Deflect! Distract! “Uh…what exactly are you doing in the boutique?”

  “Shopping.” Duh—I’m such an idiot. He holds up several hangers of clothes as proof. “Ari needs some new outfits. He’s staying with my aunt because he’s not big on picking out clothes. I figured I could go at it alone, but to be honest, I have no idea what to get him. This is all pretty new to me…”

  “What kind of stuff does he usually like?” I ask, taking a step forward to grab the items out of his hand and check them out, just because I’m nosey like that.

  “I don’t really know…” He trails off, his brow furrowing. His h
and comes up to cup the back of his neck—and I can’t help but think it’s the same thing he used to do when were kids if something made him anxious.

  I eye him speculatively, because really, what kind of Dad doesn’t know what their own kid likes?

  His eyes meet mine, and as if he can read my mind, he offers, “He just came to live with me a few months ago. His mother had passed away and his grandmother sought me out because her health was failing. I never even knew he existed before the day she showed up with him…”

  My throat begins to burn.

  My eyes begin to burn.

  I begin busying myself with the few shirts he’s picked out because I’m afraid he’s going to see me shed a tear, and if there’s one thing I know about Nash, it’s that he hates when people pity him.

  The remorse I’m feeling isn’t the same as pity, but I’m still afraid he’ll confuse the two. It’s just—I can relate to losing a mother. I still miss mine, and she’s been gone for more than a decade now.

  Instead of acknowledging the admission out of pure fear I’ll handle it wrong being the socially awkward mess I am, I focus back on the task at hand. Nash needs help shopping. I happen to be a pro at it. I should definitely help out.

  I begin inspecting the few items he’s holding.

  The shirts he’s chosen for Ari are all ones you’d expect to see on a kid who was going to church. I tamp down my emotions immediately, attempting to offer him a small smile.

  “All of these shirts you’ve picked out are dressy clothes,” I point out, handing the items back to him.

  “So?” His voice sounds slightly defensive as he shrugs his shoulder.

  “So, that’s all fine and dandy if you’re going to church or having your pictures taken, but this is a four-year-old kid we’re talking about. He’s going to need some cotton t-shirts and loose-fitting stuff to just play in. There’s nothing wrong with what you’ve chosen, but you need more casual clothes in the mix.”

  He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

  “Come on. I’ll help you.” I still don’t know why I’m volunteering my services, but the slightly helpless look on his face is a little comical.

  Warmth blooms in my chest when his arm brushes mine, and I’m still undecided whether it’s because he’s in close proximity or because of the knowledge he’s a newly single dad who’s mostly clueless but still seems to be trying his best.

  I glance over my shoulder to where Valley was just at, knowing she had to have heard the awkward exchange, but she’s not even there anymore. She probably took Aunt Pam up on the offer to check out the items that aren’t put out on the shelf yet. I know she won’t mind my ditching her. She’d probably feel bad for the guy and do the same thing I’m doing.

  Focusing back on the mission, I pull a few plain-ish cotton tees from the rack in the same size as the shirts he already has.

  “Oh, look--dinosaurs. Kids love those.” I hand it over, a smile playing at my lips as I think of the adorable way Ari roared the last part of my name when he bid me farewell on Saturday.

  Moving on to the next section, I pluck a few more things from the rack and thrust them at Nash. “Does he need some blue jeans?”

  I’m so in the zone, I don’t even bother to award him a glance when I ask the question.

  “I’m sure he does,” Nash responds, although his voice seems to be holding back laughter.

  I stop, turning to see what he’s so amused about, only to find he’s nearly got more clothes than he can hold.

  “Oh, shit. What’s our budget?”

  “A little late to be asking that isn’t it?” he continues to laugh. “There’s no budget. I’m putting it on my card. By all means,”—he attempts to wave an arm in front of him, failing because of all the hangers—“have at it.”

  Ten minutes later, Ari is well on his way to a whole new wardrobe, thanks to yours truly.

  As Pam rings up the items, my mind begins to wander; first stop, things that are not my business.

  “If Ari’s staying with your aunt, why isn’t your fiancée here shopping with you?”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. After all, that’s what I told myself yesterday in the diner when I noticed she was absent at breakfast.

  But today, I just can’t help myself.

  I stare at the side of his face, which remains stoic. His body language tells a different tale, as he visibly stiffens at the question.

  Crap. I should have kept my big, fat mouth shut.

  Taking a deep breath, he pulls his billfold from his back pocket.

  Aunt Pam reads off the grand total and my eyes probably jump out of my head just from hearing it, but he shows no sign of distress, passing over his credit card like it’s nothing.

  He seems to be ignoring my question altogether, signing the slip of paper, then returning his wallet back into his pocket. Thanking Aunt Pam, he takes the largest bags the store carries, all stuffed to the brim, from the counter.

  Then, he turns to me, his gaze suddenly burning with an intense expression of displeasure.

  “You never could keep your invasive questions to yourself could you?” he muses, and although his words seem accusatory, his mouth is curling at one side as if biting back a smirk.

  My mouth pops open, then snaps shut as he shakes his head.

  “I’m…sorry.” I offer, even though I know it’ll probably piss him off more. Especially because it’s clear I don’t mean it.

  Unsurprisingly, he ignores my apology.

  “Thanks for helping me out today, Stars. I would have ended up with a whole bunch of nothing if it weren’t for you. Then, I’d have had a very unhappy little boy who wouldn’t get to play outside because all he had was church clothes.” His fingers make air quotes as he speaks, but he offers me a half-smile.

  The tension I’ve been feeling over bringing up the apparent sore subject quickly dissipates.

  “You’re welcome. I guess I’ll…see ya around?”

  He nods. “See ya ‘round, Stars. I’m still expecting that call from you,” he gives me a pointed look. “And I’m thinking I owe you double now.”

  Before I can manage a protest, he’s out the door.

  Chapter Seven

  I crawl into bed after an eventful day of shopping followed by a successful face-stuffing endeavor. We went out to eat for both lunch and supper, opting to partake in dessert during both meals. In other words, it was the perfect day.

  Picking up the remote, I flip through the channels, settling on a documentary about serial killers to fall asleep to. Right now, they’re featuring H. H. Holmes and the murder house, so I automatically zone out. I’ve heard his story a hundred times before.

  I pull my flask from my night-stand and take several long pulls from it. True, I had a good day today, but going home alone, leads to too much thinking. Sometimes I drink. I’m no alcoholic by a long shot—I’ll never turn into my father in that aspect. He’s better now, but for a while, he was completely lost. Using alcohol as a coping mechanism however, well—like father, like daughter.

  I’ve just closed my eyes, my mind beginning to settle into a calm blankness, grogginess swimming through me, when my phone beeps.

  Grrrrr. Who is it now?

  Squinting with one eye shut, I peek at my lock screen; it’s a message from BiggestContender on my Qpid app.

  I’m instantly on high-alert, fully awake as I punch in my lock code—1111, not exactly a smart choice but definitely a convenient one. Especially if you’re already halfway to soused.

  BiggestContender: Hey, you up? Sorry I just logged off on you mid-conversation earlier.

  I truly consider leaving him hanging like he did me, especially after saying all this and that about being a secret admirer and knowing me in real life.

  Sadly, I’m unable to exhibit any self-control.

  CuteN’Colorful: Whether or not I’m up depends on your next answer. Have you decided on something that will prove we know each other?
>
  BiggestContender: I have…

  CuteN’Colorful: Well?

  My stomach feels like a ball of dough, as if a thousand hands are kneading my insides as I await his response. Watching the floating dots while he types might literally drive me crazy with anticipation.

  BiggestContender: Reason # Sixty-Eight… (Isn’t that where we last left off?) You’re never far from my thoughts.

  A gasp slips from my lips, and I hardly notice when the phone slides out of my grip and clatters to the floor.

  “Holy Shit,” I mutter to myself, unconsciously beginning to rock back and forth. There’s no way I can sit still right now.

  It’s him.

  It’s been seven—no, eight years since I graduated high-school. Eight years since the last time we communicated.

  As my mind begins to recall that period in my life, I instantly cringe, the same shockwave of anxiety rolling through me that always emerges when I recount those not-so-fun memories.

  I wasn’t always the “reject” girl who nobody wanted to partner up with or have in their group for projects. In middle school, I was one of the popular kids. I had friends. I was picked first or second for our P.E. teams.

  That all changed my freshman year of high-school. After my father’s accident, I was chucked down to the bottom of the totem pole. If we’re being blatantly honest here, I wasn’t even at the bottom—I was the dirt everyone else trampled on. I quickly learned to adapt to my new social status, to blend into the background and become a wallflower, which is exactly what I did the majority of the time.

  My senior year was probably my best year in high-school. I met a new friend. Went to a few parties. Surprisingly, the best part didn’t have anything to do with my social life, however. There was one project that stood out from everything else that year, really leaving a mark on me.