Jay Crownover - Nash

He shook his head and threw his hands up as far as the interior of the car would allow.

“Bullshit. I never even thought that about you, Saint, so there is no way I would’ve said it. I thought you were shy … and yeah, maybe pretty awkward and a little too studious for my taste, but I always thought you were pretty. Why do you think I said hi to you every day, tried to engage you? I thought your smile was beautiful, and when you finally loosened up enough to give it to me on a regular basis, I was stoked. Your hair is awesome and wild, I love that shit … and your eyes. Fuck me, but your eyes could inspire men to go to war, to paint works of art, to rip their goddamn heart out of their chest and offer it to you without a second thought … then and now. None of that has changed over the years, so there is no way I would have said that stuff about you … no fucking way. You heard me say, ‘Saint Ford needs a bag over her head to get laid’? I don’t think so.”

He was really, really mad. I could feel it burning off of him and I didn’t know how to react. For so long I had been the one feeling victimized, had used that turn of events to justify the way I acted with other people, but now that he mentioned it, as clear as that memory was, I had never heard him say my name.

“I—”

I jumped in the seat when the side of his fist slammed down on the dashboard in front of him.

“You what? Want an excuse not to like me because you know I’m attracted to you and you can’t handle it? I heard negative shit about myself every day of my childhood, Saint. I wasn’t smart enough, clean enough, polite enough, and Lord only knows my skin color and my eye color were all fucking wrong. You really think I would do that to someone else? Yeah, I might be guilty of not seeing you real clearly when you were right in front of me back then, and I may have inadvertently hurt your feelings by acting like a hormonal idiot at that party, but if you had said something to me, told me you were going to be there to see me, I can guarantee that wouldn’t have happened. I might have been running my mouth and talking shit, but I wasn’t talking about you.”

His eyes were almost black. I had no idea what to do. For my entire life I thought I knew, was so sure, and now I felt like I didn’t know anything.

I shoved my hair back behind my shoulders and looked at him.

“If not me, then who, Nash? Who else would you have been talking about? I know you said it. I heard you and I saw you. Even if it wasn’t about me, using hurtful words like that isn’t right.”

He slammed his hands on the steering wheel and growled at me, actually growled.

“Who knows? A teacher I didn’t like, a girl that I hooked up with, a girl that turned me down … I don’t remember because I was a teenage guy full of stupid shit and a lot of anger back then. We all said stupid stuff on the regular, but I never picked on anyone because I knew exactly how crappy that felt. Back then, all I wanted to do was get laid, party with my friends, and forget that my mom was a ruthless bitch. My life sucked, I had a lot of moments where I sucked. I was barely hanging in there most days. I’m not going to deny I was acting like a moron because I more than likely was, but I know there is no way I was verbally attacking you like that.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I wouldn’t have said anything like that about you because I didn’t think it. I thought you were pretty then, I think you’re unbelievably gorgeous now, and all along I’ve known girls like you don’t get into guys like me. Girls like Ashley Maxwell do.”

I reached out and put my hand on his that was curled so tightly on the steering wheel. I had always been into a guy like him, that’s why those awful words still haunted me.

“Nash …” The way I wanted to believe him, trust in him, was overwhelming and I had to admit he might have a point about telling him I was going to that party to specifically see him. Mostly I was caving and thinking there might be more to what happened back then because it made me feel less confused about the way I wanted him, the way he just lit me up with a mere look.

He looked at my hand and then into my eyes.

“Even if some jerk did say that about you, you should know that it was just kids being dumb and none of it was true. And I swear I never would have thrown away an opportunity to hang out with you if I knew you were offering it up. Back then, a party like that meant one thing—getting laid. I had a one-track mind. Words like that, others’ opinions of you, shouldn’t have that kind of power, Saint.”

But they did and therein lay the problem. I was always guilty of letting other people’s words and actions hurt me and dictate how I felt about myself, and it was costing me more than I ever thought. I wanted who he was with me now to be the real Nash, not the Nash that still haunted my memories with indifference and careless words.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and stuck it in his mouth. I gasped at him and reached over to yank it out of his mouth, which had him glaring at me even harder.

“No! I thought you quit?”

“I did, until last week.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. I knew what happened last week that would have made him start up again. I was to blame for that, but I could rectify it now if he let me.

I shoved the door open and bent down to look at him. “Come inside with me, Nash.”

He threw his head back against the headrest and shook his head in the negative.

“That didn’t work out so great for me last time, Saint.”

No, it hadn’t, but I was tired from holding on to who I’d thought Nash had been, when the Nash from now was all gorgeous and accommodating in front of me. He had dropped everything and come to pick me up without question. I threw his unlit cigarette on the ground next to me and lifted both of my eyebrows at him. It was time to make new memories to replace the old ones that haunted me.

“I’ve never wanted to have sex with any guy like that before. I couldn’t stop myself, didn’t want to stop. I want you, want to touch you, feel you, and it was amazing for me. No guy, ever, has gotten me off before, Nash. Not that there have been a lot, but you are the only one. I can’t promise you that I’m not going to freak out again. There’s a good chance I might start to cry because I don’t really have a handle on all the things you make me feel, good and bad, but I want you to come inside. I don’t want the past between us right now.” I didn’t want anything to stand between us anymore.

He looked like he was going to tell me no. I don’t know how I would have handled that, actual, undeniable, in-my-face rejection, but luckily I didn’t have to find out because he threw open his door and climbed out of the car and looked at me over the roof. He wasn’t going to disappoint me. That made my heart flutter and my tummy go all squishy and warm.

“Let’s give it ten minutes. Ten minutes, and if it isn’t going to work for both of us, let’s cut our losses and no one gets hurt or”—one of his black eyebrows shot up and a self-deprecating grin pulled at his mouth—“left hanging.”

“Ten minutes?” It didn’t sound like nearly enough time to touch all that smooth, burnished skin.

“Ten minutes.”

I could handle ten minutes without freaking out. Heck, when he kissed me the first time, it had lasted longer than ten minutes. I could do this, wanted to do this, but that didn’t mean my hands stopped shaking or the idea of getting naked with him didn’t have my stomach dipping and second thoughts trying to shove their way up from the depths. I talked a good game about letting sleeping dogs lie, but really I could feel they were always there, tugging hard on the leash.

On the plus side, getting naked with him again meant I was finally going to see the rest of that tattoo.

Ten minutes. No big deal, but something told me they were going to be the ten most important minutes in my life. Especially after what she had just revealed about the past and why she ran so hot and cold with me. That was some heavy stuff, made the way I needed kid gloves with her so much more understandable. She was into me, but she sort of hated me as well. That wasn’t a spot I had ever been in before.

I even remembered both those moments in question. It was all kind of hazy and foggy with time, but I recalled the main parts of it. That party had been one of many. I’m pretty sure I had already been drunk before showing up. Ashley Maxwell and I had an easy thing going where if I showed up without a chick, I usually ended the night in her bed. I can’t even remember what she looked like and I sure as hell don’t remember asking Saint if she was going to be there. Parties like that were below her and I knew it. Hearing her take on the situation made me feel like an asshole and it made why she had suddenly started treating me like a leper back then understandable.

The day she had caught me running my mouth was less clear. I didn’t remember what I had been talking about, or the words I had used, but I do remember seeing her come around the corner looking like she was going to be sick all over the place and crying big, fat tears. At the time I thought if we were actually friends, or if she wasn’t so shy, I would have asked her what was wrong. She was too pretty to look that heartbroken.

I wasn’t a saint. I was an angry teenager cast aside and trying to figure out what kind of young man I was ultimately going to become. That had been a rocky road for a while and I said dumb shit, used hurtful words when I was shooting off my mouth, but I had never been and would never be a gossip or a bully. Yes, whatever she had overheard me say was inappropriate and taken out of whatever context I was using it in, and probably made me sound and appear to be the biggest dickhead on the planet.