Page 5 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

“I can’t like what I see, Nellie.” I grab her hand, bringing it to my lips and kissing it tenderly. “Have your drink. That’s your present. Happy birthday, and let’s just forget this happened.”

“Nothing even happened…”

“In here,” I say tapping my head, “it did… If you’ll excuse me.”

I get up and walk toward the edge of the booth, where Jean Luis stands.

“Rejected, Gusti?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

“More like that’s jailbait. Erase that damn smirk off your face.” The music is louder, or at least, it feels like it is.

“Is she a minor?” Jean Luis asks with a frown on his face.

“Nah, just a family friend’s daughter. My mom would kill me if I touched her. So would Allie.” I finish my drink and try to call the server for another one, but he’s already walking my way with one.

“Can’t tap that,” I tell Jean Luis, who laughs with his drink in his hand. “But you can do her friend. Go talk to her. I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

I step away as the music changes and the crowd goes wild. I don’t recognize the song, but the upbeat tempo makes everyone bounce more than before. I walk quickly past the people rushing to get to the dance floor, slipping into the bathroom like a coward, trying to escape this unfortunate situation.

I walk back to the booth, expecting for it to be empty, but I find Nellie sitting by herself instead, phone in one hand, drink in another, and a scowl on her face.

I signal the waiter to bring me another drink before I take a deep breath, mustering the courage I didn’t have ten minutes ago, and sit next to her.

“Sorry about that. All that water went right through me,” I tell Nellie, flashing her a casual smile.

“Cut the bullshit, Gus. It’s fine. Our friends are having fun, and you and I are stuck I guess.”

“You can also go and have fun. I can watch the goofs to make sure they don’t fuck up.

” The truth is, I trust them more than I trust myself when it comes to girls.

We all might be promiscuous, but we’re not assholes, at least not completely.

They won’t do anything without consent, and neither will I.

“Nah, I’m more interested in why you’re here than anything else.

Plus, I hate this song.” She shrugs, and this is the first time I notice she’s not moving to the beat.

The whole song and half I watched her earlier, she was moving to the beat effortlessly.

Her body language was music in itself, matching the rhythm as if she and the song were one, but not this one. She’s perfectly still.

“I can tell.” Fuck, Gus. You couldn’t stop yourself huh?

“You can tell what?” Nellie’s eyes snap to mine, and I swear, I can see them darken as she waits for my reply. I swallow hard, trying not to think of all the ways I can make them even darker. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“You weren’t dancing like you were before, so I assume this song doesn’t speak to you.”

“Oh yeah? What were the other songs telling me, since you seem to know so much about me?” she replies with a smirk, not dropping my gaze.

“That’s a secret I’ll never tell.” I wink at her and notice the waiter walking up with my drink. I grab it and place it on the table.

“That’s three that I’ve seen in what? Ten minutes? Are you going to be fine, or am I going to have to drag your ass out of here and call you an Uber?”

“This?” I hold my drink up and laugh loudly at the assumption. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a comment on how much I drink or how well I can hold my liquor, but that’s just it: I don’t drink anymore. “Just tonic water and lime. It’s hot as fuck, so I’m trying to stay hydrated. I don’t drink.”

“Oh, sorry. I just assumed. Does it matter to you if I drink?” She truly seems concerned, worried, which makes me soften the walls I put up the minute I saw it was her. I don’t get that question.

“If I cared, I wouldn’t be at a club, nor would I’ve sent those drinks. I don’t have a problem with alcohol. I just don’t consume it anymore.”

“Oh good,” she adds, taking a sip of her drink and swinging her gaze back to the dance floor.

The song changes again, but none of our friends come back to the booth.

They keep dancing and seem to be enjoying themselves.

I relax on the couch; there’s absolutely no need to stay on edge when they’re having a good time.

“So tell me, Nellie. How was your birthday weekend?” I ask her, trying to have a neutral conversation and taking advantage of the moment to catch up. I kinda feel like shit I don’t know much about her anymore, so there’s no better time than the present.

“It was fine. We had fun. Drank too much, slept too little, but overall fine. I was hoping to end it with a bang tonight, so we’ll see.”

“Figuratively?” I ask, and she arches a brow at me.

“Literally.” Nellie smiles, sipping her drink without taking her eyes off me.

Her gaze makes this moment so much more sensual, and my body has a visceral reaction.

My fingers tingle to touch her, my mouth goes dry at the thought of kissing her, my body uneasy and ready to be near her.

I’m fucked; really there’s nothing I can do other than sit here and talk to her.

She sits up straighter and, like before, my eyes dart down to her chest, to her perfect cleavage, to the little clasp calling my name.

“Gus, you need to make up your mind, my guy. You either stop looking at me like that, or do something about it. Figuring out where I sit between your annoyed stare and your ready to fuck stare is getting hard to handle.”

This girl. “Are you always this honest?” I ask her, not wiping my smirk off my face.

“What’s the alternative? Act like you’re not stripping me with your eyes? Play coy? Play hard to get? Which one would you prefer?” Her eyes sparkle with mischief and confidence, and her posture reflects it too.

“I would prefer to ignore the fact that Cara’s little sister is making me think those thoughts.”

“I’m more than Cara’s little sister, but you would never know, since you really don’t know me.” I don’t. She’s right. She seems hurt, and I try to rectify that.

“No offense, Nellie, but I never thought getting to know you like this was an option.”

“It’s an option now. How about we start over?” she clarifies, letting go of the glass with her right hand and offering it to me. “Nellie Thompson, nice to meet you.”

I could ignore it. I could wish her a good night and head back to the hotel.

At this point, anything I wanted to do tonight has been soured by the past thirty minutes.

I could do the right thing and say no. But with her looking at me like that, like I hold all the answers to her prayers, it makes me wonder if that’s the case. So fuck it, let’s find out.

“Hi, Nellie. Augusto Zabana, but please call me Gus. Nice to meet you too.” I take her delicate hand and notice how small and slim it is compared to mine.

I may be an office guy, but my rough hands would say otherwise.

Living my life to the fullest includes sailing and rock climbing, hardening my hands.

“What’s your drink of choice, Gus, if you’re not an alcohol consumer?

” Out of all the questions she could’ve asked, she chose one nobody has ever asked before.

People always assume I’m either an alcoholic or that I just drink soda all the time.

She seems genuine, though, and I would love nothing more than to answer her honestly.

“In the morning, tea. In the afternoon, water. When I’m out and about, tonic water with lime, and before going to bed, tart cherry juice.”

Her eyes widen before she asks, “Tart cherry juice?”

“So I can sleep like a baby,” I reply, relaxing on the couch and crossing one leg over the other. I smile at her and roll my eyes.

“Is there any research to back up that statement?”

“From big pharma? No. From the crunchy groups online? Sure.”

“Crunchy groups?”

“People choosing more natural ways to approach life.”

“Are you a big ole hippie, Gus?” Nellie asks, leaning forward, getting closer to me. I get a whiff of her soft almond scent, and it makes me want to lean in even closer to see if my guess on her perfume is right.

“More like I have some issues with taking medication for every little thing. I struggle with peaceful sleep, and the cherry juice helps.”

“You know what else helps a good sleep? A good fuck right before bed,” she adds with a soft but sensual tone that makes my head spin. I cock an eyebrow at her, and she smirks. “It’s true.”

She’s not wrong. I sleep better after having sex, but the women I sleep with usually don’t sleep over, and getting up to walk them to the door or convincing them to leave gets me wired again, destroying my chance to rest.

“Maybe…but it’s not always the case. I can count on the juice to always be there.”

“And you can’t count on women?”

“Next topic. How’s school going?” I ask, because I know she’s in college.

I don’t want to focus on those other women.

Nellie is some sort of genius. When she was younger, her parents were always talking about how challenging it was raising her, the struggle of matching her learning capacity without forcing her to grow up too quickly.

I don’t know if it’s been different now that she’s older.

I know some kids who show a lot of potential early at school slowly fizzle out as they grow into their capabilities or the school system makes them compliant instead of creative. They tend to make them fit in the box.

“Almost done. I graduate next month.”

“Congratulations, what are you majoring in?” I ask, and her smirk lets me know I’m in for a treat. Whatever her answer is, I know it will be the least expected. I can feel it.

“I already finished my bachelor’s in Psychology with a minor in clinical psych. I graduate from my master’s next month in counseling.” Holy shit.

“Aren’t you twenty one?” I ask, because how on Earth is this girl graduating that early from graduate school?

“I am, but I finished high school early, so I finished my bachelor’s early too. I didn’t want to waste any time, so here I am. I’m excited to be done, though, and put my skills to good use as a school counselor.”

“A school counselor, huh? You could make so much more money as a clinician, you know that, right?” I ask. It’s surprising to me that someone as smart as she is isn’t making a more financially-driven decision. Or maybe it’s just my finance brain making me think this way.

“Should I pick the career I will spend the rest of my life doing by how many zeros will be added to my direct deposit, or by what feeds my soul?” she replies, crossing her arms as a barrier between us.

“Not what I meant. Sorry, that’s what I do for a living, so sometimes the questions just come out like I would talk to clients.”

‘“You stick your nose in other people’s career decisions for a living?” Nellie snaps back.

“No, I help people make informed financial decisions, so discussing client’s choices in career sometimes comes up, especially for their children. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” I’m usually better at communicating, but damn, if she didn’t build that wall ten feet tall the minute I mentioned that.

She sits back, relaxing her shoulders, takes a sip of her drink, and closes her pretty eyes gently.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I snapped. I have heard the educators don’t make money spiel for years now, especially when I graduated at eighteen with both a bachelor’s and a minor while being a Summa Cum Laude student…

Yes, I should think about money, but right now, I want to think about impact.

I want to think about what seed I want to plant in society.

I’m twenty-one, I have my whole life to make money if I want.

Right now, I want to make children’s lives better.

Not just any children—middle school children specifically.

Nobody likes working with them. Nobody has the patience to deal with them.

And when you finally find someone who does, they get burnt out and leave their jobs.

It’s a flaw in our education system—one I’m very aware of, but also one I want to help solve, at least for right now. ”

Damn. What an answer. “Noted, Nellie. Damn that was deep.”

“Just how I like it.” She smiles devilishly as she sets her glass down. The fact that she can go from talking about how she wants to make a difference in the world, with an action plan, to making my dick hard with five words is more than I can grasp. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what, Nellie?”

“Like I’m the woman of your dreams.” I look at her dumbfounded, because it would be stupid for me to even acknowledge that comment. We both know that couldn’t even be a thought, and definitely not after one interaction.

“I’m just kidding. Come dance with me. I love this song,” she says, standing and stretching out her hand for me to take. I hesitate because I’m not entirely sure this is a good idea. It also catches me by surprise that she noticed the song changing when I forgot where we were.

“Come on, Gus. I don’t bite. Just a dance.”

“‘Promise?”

“Promise,” she replies. Her eyes dance playfully while she awaits my reply.

Who am I kidding? As if there was ever another answer than yes. I shake my head and give her my hand. “You’re so much trouble.”

“The best kind.” She drags me out of the VIP booth, her hand tangled with mine, and walks us to a dark corner far away from our friends and the ounce of clarity I may have had before this moment.