Page 23 of Best of Me

I try my best to shake off the weird thoughts filtering through my brain. Several deep breaths and a pep talk later, I exit my car and head up the little paver path toward the front door. The whole way there, I can’t help but feel like agreeing to meet him here might just be the beginning of the end. The only question is, will it be a happy ending or one of those messed-up ones that leaves everyone feeling displaced and disgruntled?

I ring the bell and wait—impatiently. I’m more than ready to get this show on the road. After a few seconds pass and he doesn’t come to the door, I ring it again. Still, no answer.I swear to God, if he had me come out here just so he could stand me up, I’m gonna freaking scream, and then I’m going to hunt him down and kill him.It doesn’t escape my notice that a lot of my thoughts about Duke center around his fictitious demise—when I’m not lusting after him that is. I’m also astutely aware that it’s beyond morbid to even joke—internally—about killing my dead sister’s boyfriend. Clearly, I have issues.

I give the bell one last ring, punctuating it with two sharp knocks. Finally, the door swings open, revealing Duke dressed in only a pair of low-slung jeans with the button undone. He looks as though he’s cut from stone, and my eyes greedily eat him up, feasting on the way his ink-adorned skin stretches taut over his corded muscles. His hair is damp and pushed back from his face, and little rivulets of water drip from the end of his hair and streak down his chest. The urge to follow one with my tongue hits out of nowhere. My thighs clench involuntarily, and heat pools low in my belly as I fantasize how his warm skin would taste.

Duke clears his throat, halting my slow perusal. My eyes fly up from his defined pecs to his eyes; they glint with an almost feral sort of amusement, like he can’t decide if he wants to pounce or play. My traitorous libido pulses with want, telling me she’d be down with either.

“Are you gonna invite me in? And if so, put on a god-dang shirt.”

He smirks. “Whatever for? Surely a little bit of skin doesn’t bother you? I mean, a swimsuit would show more, right?”

My lust transforms to indignation. “Are you freaking kidding me right now?”

Duke steps back and opens the door wider, making room for me to pass. “Not at all. It’s just a little skin, right,Mally?”

My fists clench at my sides. “Don’t call me that. Only friends call me that.”

His stupid smirk widens. “You wound me.”

Ignoring him, I march right past his arrogant ass and into the house, only to draw up short. “How long have you lived here?”

Duke closes the door and steps up behind me. “Bought it shortly after—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know how it ends; he bought this place after my sister died. Meaning he’s called this place home for almost two years, and yet the space is so bare it looks completely unlived in.

His living room consists of a threadbare couch, an overturned pallet turned coffee table, and two mismatched, sagging armchairs. Oh, and there’s a massive seventy-five-inch flat-screen mounted on the wall.Why on earth would he invite me here? Why would he live like this?A million questions swirl through my mind, but I refuse to give voice to any of them; he already seemingly resents me and I don’t want to make it worse.

He unceremoniously drops down onto the couch, his broad chest still very much on display. I head for one of the chairs but he pats the cushion next to him. Against my better judgment, I claim the seat next to him. The cushion sags, angling me close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin. “Bet you’ve got a lot of questions, huh?”

I laugh through my nose. “I can definitely think of a few.”

Duke nods. “Then let’s play a game. A question for a question. You only get one free pass, so use it wisely.”

My eyes widen at his proposal. “You’re being serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Okay. I guess you can go first,” I tell him, that way he can set the tone of this little game we’re playing.

Duke

If Mallory thought she’d ruffle my feathers by asking me to go first, she’s sorely mistaken. We both have questions, and I’m damn ready to get some answers. I know if I start strong right out of the gate she’ll clam up, so I begin with something small, slow, and easy.

“What’s your favorite color?”

She eyes me dubiously. “Teal.” I’m expecting her to ask something similarly mundane, but as it turns out, Mallory’s not pulling any punches. “Why don’t you have real furniture?”

I twist my head from side-to-side, cracking my neck. “I do. It’s…” I hesitate, unsure if I want to share so much of myself with her. She eyes me expectantly, and I decide to just roll with it. “It’s in storage. Val and I bought it together for the house we were going to buy back in Orchard Grove.”

Mallory stares at me intently, her expression giving nothing away. “Your turn.” Even her voice is carefully neutral.

I decide to stick to my original plan of light and easy. “What made you want to be a teacher?”

Unconsciously, she rakes her fingers over her thighs, drawing my attention to the fact that she’s wearing a pair of slick galaxy-print leggings that cling to her like a second skin. My eyes then move to her shirt, a flowy black tank that reads ‘So long, andthanks for all the fish’with a pod of dolphins leaping through space above planet earth.She really is an odd girl.

“Um. I wanted to be able to offer light to kids stuck in darkness. Kids with bad home lives, kids who are bullied and misunderstood. I just...wanted to be able to…I thought if I could help at least one kid, make one of their lives better, then my pain would’ve been worth it.”

My initial reaction is to brush her off. What in the hell does Mallory Parsons know about pain? So what if she and her mom don’t get along…ninety-nine percent of teenage girls and their mothers don’t. The only difference is most people fucking grow up at some point. Not Mallory, though. Here she is, over twenty-five and still mad at her mommy for God knows what. Don’t get me wrong, Nancy’s a piece of work, but what mother wouldn’t be after losing a child? I’m about to call her on her bullshit, but when I see her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, I bite back the words. Instead, I grunt out an unintelligible response, gesturing for her to take her turn.

“Did you and Val live together?”

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