Chapter Seven
Avery
A re. You. Freaking. Kidding me?
I bite down, trying to control the quiver in my bottom lip. I glance ahead at Benji, who’s now clear on the other side of the lot. How much did that little traitor tell Nash about our living situation?
I’m praying Nash doesn’t know about the termites or about how we’re shacked up at the Roach Coach Inn for the unforeseeable future.
But judging by the pitiful look in his eyes—along with his incredibly indecent proposal—I’d say he knows enough for me to secretly will the ground beneath my feet to open up and swallow me whole.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” Nash blabbers on, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything he says when the fingernails digging into my palms are deep enough to break skin.
“Listen, Benji told me about the hotel. I mean… he didn’t mean to tell me. But he seemed off this morning, and I was worried. So, I thought maybe—“
“Worried?” I cut in. “So what? You think I’m some damsel in distress, and you’re the knight in shining armor who swoops in to save the day?
Look, I don’t know what Benji told you, but just because we’ve been on our own for the past five years doesn’t make us a charity case.
How about you spare me the lecture on good parenting and let me worry about my little brother. ”
“Whoa, Avery. You’re the last person I’d ever lecture about parenting.
Heck, if it were me, I wouldn’t last a day in your shoes.
I mean, come on. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive.
True story.” Nash holds his hands up in surrender with a stone-cold sober look on his face, and something in his eyes completely disarms me. Have they always been this green?
I hold his gaze long enough to feel the heat creeping into my cheeks, painfully aware of the deep dimple forming at the corner of his mouth as his lips curl into a smile. Is it wrong to wonder if he’s a good kisser?
No! I am not the kind of girl who gets to go around dreaming about kissing Nash Fontaine. Besides, I have way too much going on right now to waste time pretending I’m another one of his fangirls.
Certain my face must be cherry tomato red at this point, I tear my eyes away from his and—not knowing where else to look—decide to focus on my feet instead. Right. Like that’s not obvious.
“Okay.” I take in a slow breath, mustering the nerve to look up again. “So, let’s pretend for a minute this wasn’t just another attempt to stroke your own ego. What’s in it for you?” I ask, crossing my arms indignantly.
When I finally look up, his gaze doesn’t meet mine. He grips the steering wheel, staring out at the parking lot like suddenly he’s the one being put on the spot.
“Who says there’s anything in it for me?” he asks with fixed eyes. “Not trying to brag, but have you seen my house? It’s not like I don’t have the room to spare. Besides, I’ll be on the road half the time. Thought maybe you and Benji could look after the place when I’m gone.”
I blink hard, suppressing a laugh. “You think by coming to live with you, Benji and I would be doing you a favor?“ I blink again. Man, this guy is good.
“I do. The neighborhood is safe, and it’s close to the stadium. No one would even have to know.”
“And what about when you’re not traveling?“ I ask as if I’d even consider such an insane idea, but then I think about Benji, and I wonder if what’s really insane is me not considering it.
“Like I said, I have a lot of extra room.” Nash finally looks back at me and I swear his eyes grow three shades darker.
Or maybe it’s just his smolder. Whatever it is, it should be a crime for a man to have that much power over another human being.
Geez, if this is any indication of what it feels like to be one of the Fontaine fangirls, maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to count myself out.
“I don’t know. It sounds…” Too good to be true is what I want to say. A million thoughts race through my mind, and a part of me aches, wishing life would throw me a bone for once. And while Nash’s offer certainly feels like a bone, I’m not so sure it’s one I should be chasing.
What if we moved in, and Nash realized what a handful Benji can be? Benji would be heartbroken if the man he idolizes the most suddenly saw him as a burden. The last thing that poor kid needs right now is another adult letting him down.
And besides, who even knows what kind of bachelor pad a man like Nash would have?
I imagine him owning some bougie penthouse suite on the top floor of one of downtown Chicago’s premier luxury high-rises.
One where all four walls are made of glass, giving him a 360-degree panoramic view of the city.
And, of course, he’d have to have a giant hot tub in the center of it all.
You know—to keep the fangirls satisfied.
Probably one with a stripper pole pre-installed.
Okay. So maybe not a stripper pole… but I digress.
All I’m trying to say is that anyone who knows anything about Nash Fontaine will tell you he’s a man who comes from money and isn’t afraid to flaunt it.
Nash is a walking definition of the word vanity.
He may be Benji’s mentor, but that doesn’t mean I want Benji exposed to that part of Nash’s lifestyle all because I failed to keep a roof over his head.
“Sounds… what?” Nash asks, snapping me back from my freight train of thoughts.
I take in another deep breath, then let it all out in a huff. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Really? Great!” The way he perks up in his seat reminds me of a dog realizing he’s about to get a treat, even though I haven’t agreed to anything.
”I said … I’ll think about it.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say no.” He flashes another stupid smile, almost blinding me with his perfectly white teeth, and I resent him even more. He probably has some unheard-of premium insurance plan that includes dental.
Back at the hotel, I return to our room after a visit to one very sad—and very overpriced—vending machine I found three flights down from our floor, and the room key sticks three times before the green light finally blinks.
Inside, Benji is sprawled across one of the double beds with his math book propped against his knees, trying to balance his notebook on a pillow while the AC unit rattles like it’s on its last leg.
But hey, at least it’s working, right? Unlike yesterday.
“I’m never gonna finish like this,” he groans, erasing so hard his paper tears. “Can we go to the library?”
I check my watch. Almost eight. “Sorry, B. The library closed an hour ago.” The closest twenty-four-hour diner is only a few blocks over, but after working my third double in a row and my feet now burning like they’re on fire, I feel guilty for not offering to take him.
“Maybe you can use the dresser as a desk.”
He slides off the bed and tries to position himself in front of the dresser, but the chair I move from the corner of the room is too short, causing him to work standing. After watching him hunch over for the longest minute and a half of my life, I can’t take it anymore.
“That’s it. Homework can wait until morning. Let’s get ready for bed.”
“But it’s due tomorrow!”
“I’ll write your teacher a note.” I ruffle his hair, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach as Nash’s offer echoes in my head.
It’s fine, I tell myself. We’re fine.
Everything is fine.
“He offered you what ?“ Summer nearly drops the entire tray of champagne flutes she’s loading. We’re prepping for the lunch rush in an empty club, and I immediately regret telling her about Nash’s proposal.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, even though there’s no one around to hear except Miguel in the kitchen. “And it’s not happening, so can we drop it?”
“Girl, are you insane?” She sets down her tray and plants both hands on her hips.
“You’re telling me that the same week Salvatore says he’s considering you for the management job, Nash Fontaine—who, by the way, tips better than any one of these so-called trust fund babies—offers a perfect solution to all your housing problems, and you’re too proud to take it?
Come on, Ave. Good things are finally coming your way.
And aren’t you even a little curious about what the inside of his house looks like? ”
“No, as a matter of fact. I’m not,” I lie. “And it’s not about pride.” I focus on polishing already-clean silverware. “It’s about—“
“About what? Teaching Benji that it’s better to suffer silently than to ask for help?” Her voice softens. “Avery, I get it. You’re scared of owing anyone anything. But maybe this isn’t about you.”
I barely have time to process her words before the first group of guests enters through a heavy set of swinging doors on the wall across from us. Mrs. Henderson’s voice cuts through the silence as she complains about her “unbearable” weekend at her summer cabin on Lake Geneva.
I hide my smile as Summer shoves a finger toward the back of her throat in a mock gag. Then, my mind wanders to thoughts of Benji… hunched over that stupid dresser.
The final straw comes at three in the morning when a fire alarm starts blaring and wakes up the entire hotel.
I grab Benji’s baseball bag—the only thing he refuses to leave behind—and hurry him down six flights of emergency stairs, only to learn some drunk college kid on the floor above us thought it’d be a good idea to microwave aluminum foil.
I don’t know which one upsets me more: The fact that someone so incompetent has access to a credit card—or the fact that his room has a microwave.
It’s not until I’m standing in the parking lot in my pajamas, watching Benji shiver, that something inside me breaks.
Two hours later, we’re back in our room, and he’s finally asleep again. But not me. I’m wide awake, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looks suspiciously bigger than it did yesterday.
I glance at my phone and there’s a new text from Summer.
Stop being stubborn. Your brother needs a real bed.
I look over at Benji, twisted up in bed sheets on a lumpy mattress with his lucky glove clutched to his chest. Some luck it’s bringing him, though. Tomorrow, he has another early morning practice, and the kid can barely keep his eyes open during regular school hours.
That’s it. No amount of pride is worth watching my brother suffer any more than he already has. Maybe Summer was right. Maybe this isn’t about me anymore.
I grab my phone and start typing before I can change my mind.
This is Avery. About your offer. Can we talk?