Page 66 of Fault Lines
Nate lived just minutes from the bookstore. When I pulled up, Rachel and Jackson were already there, climbing out of their car. We all headed for the elevator together, Jackson hitting the button, trapping us in that little metal box.
Rachel barely waited for the doors to close. "About that kiss.”
My eyes darted to Jackson, embarrassed.
“He knows,” Rachel said. “We have no secrets.”
I huffed. “Not telling my business isn’t the same as lying.”
Jackson just shrugged. “I know about the open marriage. If a man’s dumb enough to risk what he’s got, then he deserves to lose you. I think you and Nate would be good together.”
“What about his past?” I tried. I needed to know he was stable. I didn’t want another man who would break me.
Rachel looked at Jackson, then at me. “Bestie code. I had to tell her.”
Jackson’s voice dropped. “Nate’s done really well since he got help. You could be exactly what he needs.”
“What kind of wrong track was he on?” I asked.
Before anyone could answer, the elevator doors slid open.
Nate was waiting on the other side, that dimpled smile impossible to ignore. I felt my heart stumble a little.
“Hey, guys. Food just got here—it’s still hot.”
Jackson clapped his shoulder. “Perfect. I’m starving.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “You just ate at my place.”
“I’m a growing man,” he shot back.
Rachel and I both said it, in perfect unison: “Men.”
Chapter Nineteen
We all drifted into Nate’s kitchen, circling the table, the clack of plates and the muffled scrape of chairs our background music. Jackson and Rachel were already piling food on their plates, hands quick and greedy, while I just waited, patient, hands folded in my lap.
Nate caught my eye, took my plate over to the food with a quiet, “What would you like?”
“I’m not picky,” I told him, giving him a gentle smile. “Whatever you think is good.”
He must have liked that answer; he didn’t hesitate, just loaded my plate with pad Thai, topped it with a poached egg, then made a neat row of fried calamari and shrimp dumplings beside it. He brought the plate over and set it in front of me, his lips quirked.
“Thank you,” I said. I took a fork instead of the chopsticks—not even going to attempt the show and drop half the food on the table.
We opened a bottle of wine, letting it breathe while we ate. Jackson immediately launched into stories about Nate and himself as kids, laughing around mouthfuls of food. The past felt close in the room, like it could spill out and land on the table between us.
“One time,” Jackson started, his voice already shaking with laughter, “we both got suspended off the school bus becausedummy here set a garden snake loose and the bus driver almost crashed when the thing crawled up to the steering wheel. Scared him so bad he pissed himself. I’ve never seen anyone’s face so red! I thought he was going to strangle Nate.”
“That was an accident as you well know!” Nate shot back, brandishing his fork. “I wanted to set it loose in my English teacher’s class. That old bitty? We all hated her, you included, Jackson.” He pointed at Jackson with his fork, waving it for emphasis. “But the snake slipped out of my backpack before we even got to the exit.”
“And I was blamed as an accomplice and suspended too,” Jackson said, pretending to sound wounded.
“You caught the snake!” Nate retorted, grabbing a pea and flicking it at Jackson, who doubled over laughing.
Jackson pushed back from the table, still wiping tears from his eyes and stacking up plates. “Alright, alright,” he said, “I’m ready to check out this game. You’ve built up the suspense, man.”
“I haven’t even tested it yet myself,” Nate replied, standing. “Let’s go.”
