Infinite Us Page 7

  But the dreams that felt like memories? They were chipping away at my drive. They were turning my ambition, my desire into stupid, simple things.

  Two taps on the door and Duncan was barging into my office. “There he is!”

  It was going to be one of those mornings where Duncan said a bunch of nonsense he must have thought I’d believe. Most of it would be flattery. It was how he rolled. He did this, I guessed, to show me he still was in; he didn’t want me rolling out on him, especially since he hadn’t convinced me to sign that little non-compete contract sitting on his desk.

  “Man, have I got some good stuff lined up for us.” He sat on the corner of my desk, folding his fingers together as he watched me. It was a tactic he used—give off that ‘I’m your buddy’ expression even though I always called him on his bullshit.

  I’d stopped paying attention to him the second he’d knocked on my office door. “No idea, man.”

  “Vegas.” Even the way he said the word sounded filthy, like he thought throwing money at me, getting me laid, getting me drunk would ease me into his contract. No denying it wouldn’t put me in a good mood. It would damn well keep my mind off those crazy ass dreams, but I doubted it would get me to change my mind.

  Duncan’s smile was tight, a little forced and I had to refocus on my monitor and the loop of code blinking back at me. This guy’s excitement was fake, just like everything else about him. Like his veneers and how wide and toothy his smile was because of them or the perfect fit of his suit, the gold and diamond tie pin he wore, part of a set as far as I could see, all with diamonds, all too much for our small office.

  He had a square jaw, something that reminded me of a Marine recruitment poster but his eyes were too narrow and his mouth too thin, both of which gave him the air of a weasel, sneaky, preying with a simple smile that never lit his eyes.

  Duncan had snooped around an MIT alumni meeting, something he’d begged off an invite from a guy he claimed was a friend but who hadn’t bothered to talk to him the whole night. Duncan had ditched him right away, I bet, listened in on conversations, trying to pick up a tidbit of info, anything that would finagle his way into an introduction. He must have liked the way I’d called him out right away. Must have liked my moxie, thought it meant I cared.

  “You’re coming off as a poser,” I’d told him as I’d handed over my glass to the bartender.

  “Excuse me?” He’d held onto a half drunk glass of Scotch that looked to be more water than whiskey. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” I’d said. “You don’t, but I’m gonna do you a favor and let you know you’re spooking the programmers. They don’t like the eavesdropping, and it’s pretty damned obvious that’s what you’re doing. You’re not nearly as smooth as you think you are.”

  A warning. A small one and I’d landed the shark, even though I hadn’t been trolling. He stayed and talked to me for an hour that night then found me on Facebook, brought me to lunch the next week. Squirmed his way into my life and I was still trying to figure out how I’d let that happen. I didn’t really like Duncan, but at least he did have a little imagination. He wanted Nations to succeed as much as I did. And to be honest, he was willing to handle the things I was not.

  “No time for Vegas, man.” A quick nod at the monitor and I started typing again. “I got work to do.”

  “See, that’s what I thought, but then I came in here this morning and you were just staring off into space.”

  He kept that smile tight and wide when I looked at him, my eyes narrowing. “You checking up on me, man?”

  “No,” he laughed, throwing a shoulder up in a shrug as though he thought I was simple. Then came a bigger laugh bunched up with an insult. “I pay your assistant to do that.”

  “I pay my assistant, Duncan. Don’t get it twisted.” He lifted his hands, a surrender he sure as hell didn’t mean and then laughed again, fast, hurried, failing at his lame ass attempt to squash the tension he’d caused. “What do you want?”

  “I’m just a little worried.” He was circling, Duncan always did that. The predator sniffing around, checking to see if I was full enough, juicy enough to warrant an attack. But Duncan was a poser, a player of the game I was trying to learn. He was better at it than me, we both knew it, but he still fronted like he was only concerned for me, not the buckets of cash my program would make him one day. The laugh was gone, so was the smile and Duncan pulled his eyebrows together, forcing mock concern I knew wasn’t real. “It’s been a couple of weeks now and you’re still working on the same code. And you missed the meeting on Wednesday morning…”

  “I can’t oversleep?”

  He waved, ignoring my question, speaking over me. “And then I pass by here this morning and you’re staring off into space, completely zoned out.”

  “Maybe I was thinking.”

  The head nod was slow, his eyes cool, as if he wanted to swish around his words in his mouth, like a shot of bourbon that would burn. The buzz was worth it and Duncan knew it. He had me. I had been zoned out, messed up with Willow and the damn crazy dreams that wouldn’t back off me.

  “Daisy tried buzzing you three times.” There was a lot of accusation in his tone, and I stood, meeting his stare with a head tilt that let Duncan know I wasn’t going to back down like a punk. Still, he watched me as if my bluster didn't matter, moving his teeth together like he wasn’t sure if he should let the words on his tongue fly. “Weird, isn’t it? Her calling, you here and still you didn’t answer.”

  “Maybe I was thinking hard.”

  He didn’t buy it, not when I sat back down, tired already of the interrogation. In fact, he actually thought getting angry would raise my hackles maybe, because he let his temper flare, knocking a fist against my desk. “Man, what’s going on with you? You…you thinking of fucking me over? Signing up with someone else, because if you are…”

  Here we go. This mess again. What an asshole. “Give me a break. No, I’m not going anywhere but even if I was, what of it? We got no contract.” Duncan stepped away from my desk, scrubbing his chin as he moved around my office. He looked like a tiger itching to pounce but I wouldn’t let it get that far. When I spoke, I made sure it was with less attitude, that my voice was lowered, calm. “Everything’s right down the middle until we land an investor.”

  “I’m not going to let you fuck me over, Nash.”

  I slumped in my chair, beyond tired of the argument and Duncan’s nervous ass. “Duncan, I have no intention of fucking you over. Look, it’s like I told you from jump, all this here,” I waved around the office, pointing at the Apple iBook that I’d bought on credit, “is 50/50.” The iBook came with me, so did the long coffee table made up of recycled palette wood and the sofa that Natalie had picked up at a thrift store and reupholstered herself. Even the file cabinets that looked slick and new were dinged up in the back, display models from Office Depot that the manager let me have for fifty bucks. I wasn’t like Duncan. I didn’t come to New York sucking on a silver spoon, or expecting I was owed one. Everything I had, I got on my own. It was mine and it came from years of scrimping, years of writing code that made somebody else money.

  “You brought in the contractors and your connections, I bring my skill set. And Daisy. We don’t owe each other a damn thing until there are investors and a board. Then we’ll talk contracts and commitment. You agreed to that, man.” He watched me, nodding so slowly it might have been a twitch but I kept at him, hoping like hell this time he’d pull his head out of his ass and see reason. “And if I sleep in, and spend a few minutes zoning out, so the hell what? That only means I need a break.”

  Duncan popped his knuckles, a nervous, annoying habit he did when he was on edge, maybe to buy some time to try to come up with a valid comeback. There was no damn reason for me to recount stuff he already knew, but I’d discovered over the past six months that this supposedly top shelf finder needed his hand held sometimes. He’d worry about the future without any real reason. Nothing was set and until
it was, we could both walk away without a backward glance. It pissed me off that he forgot that. I mean, yeah, his job wasn't as concrete as ones and zeros, but it still was as solid as it ever would be.

  “I need to hit this,” I told him pulling my laptop closer toward me. “Just give me a little space and I promise I’ll get my head right.”

  “Alright, Nash. I hear you, just…” He bit his lip when I exhaled, scrubbing my hands over my face. “It anything comes up and you need a break again, just say the word. We’ll take that trip to Vegas to unwind.”

  “I got you. Thanks.”

  But of course it wasn’t Duncan and the work that had me distracted. It was the dream. Sookie again. A face, a name that felt so familiar. A life I couldn’t shake and it had kept me distracted. I’d doze off and there she’d be and always behind her, next to that distraction was Willow and the soft slope of her mouth, those damn lips. She’d fallen asleep on my sofa after that cat rescue fiasco and the memory of her laying next to me, hair scattered like leaves all over my leather sofa, had kept me stunned stupid.

  There was a problem now and it had long chestnut hair and full, sweet lips. I knew that because last night while I avoided Sookie and that damn dream, sipping a beer on the roof deck, staring at nothing, at everything, Willow slipped into the seat next me like she’d known I’d be there. Like I’d invited her.

  “There’s no wind,” she’d said, her voice so low and soft I jumped when she spoke. My senses were out of whack, my instinct dulled because I’d gotten little sleep.

  “No, I guess there isn’t.”

  We’d sat there for nearly ten minutes, just watching the purple sky, staring up at the white dots of lights nearly visible above the smog in complete silence. I’d even passed over my beer and Willow drank from it, like it had been the most natural thing in the world to sit next to me, drinking my beer. It had felt natural. But when that realization hit me, all of a sudden I got flooded in worry and confusion.

  “I’m…I still can’t sleep.” That admission had left my mouth without much thought. That happened so damn much when Willow was around. Like being with her came with the permission to unload things I’d never tell anyone else. Except maybe Natalie.

  She’d stopped mid-sip when I’d said that, holding the bottle just in front of her mouth with two fingers as she’d glanced at me, eyes a little wide, curious. But then she finished her sip and handed the bottle back, and I noticed that her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

  “Sorry, but I can’t help you.” That’d surprised me. I hadn’t expected her to dismiss me like that, when normally she was the one pulling me in kicking and screaming. In fact, putting together her red eyes with how subdued she was, and with how pale she seemed, made me wonder if maybe Willow had caught my insomnia. She damn well didn’t look like she’d been sleeping much.

  “What’s going on with you?” I’d asked, gently. Or so I thought.

  When she wouldn’t look at me directly, instead seeming to concentrate on the sky sliding from purple to dusk, I’d leaned forward, setting down the bottle between us so I could catch her gaze.

  “I’m tired,” she finally said when she’d glanced away from the sky to look at me. “I’d be no good at trying to cleanse you again because I haven’t been sleeping much either.”

  “You got a mondo cupcake gig or something?”

  “Yes.” She moved back, laying down against the wooden lawn chair identical to the one I sat in. Her hair had fanned out in a brown frizzy bundle and slipped through the slats opened in the back of the chair. “Or something. But even when I’m not working, even when I’m bone tired, I still can’t sleep. Normally baking relaxes me, I’ve always made cookies or brownies or something when I’m distracted, mad or worried. Now I’m…it’s no good. I’m too…distracted.” She stared back out at the horizon.

  In the moonlight, even as pale as she had been—maybe because she was so pale—Willow looked like she glowed, like some wild child angel with her own aura buzzing around her pretty face and curvy body. Out of the stillness, a breeze finally rose up, meandering around us, and I caught the scent of jasmine coming from her skin and hair. Without thinking, I leaned closer, on my side, to get a better look at her, not understanding why I had the sudden urge to reach down and kiss her.

  But my motion made the chair scratch against the roof deck and the noise brought Willow’s attention back to me, which totally threw me off, like I had been caught doing something I wasn't supposed to. Not like she noticed, but still.

  “You look tired, Nash. I’m…I’m so sorry.” Willow reached for my face, like it was usual, natural, something she’d always done. She drew her fingertips along my bottom lip, a slow, steady trace, nearly touching my bottom lip and I hadn’t wanted her to stop.

  “It’s nothing I’m not used to,” I’d said, voice hitting barely a whisper. “Been like this a while.”

  There had been something in Willow’s expression I couldn’t read. A little sadness, a little confusion, enough of something to make her look withdrawn and tight. Still, she continued to move her fingers in a trace along my lip, and even though I’d never allowed such a thing before, it felt familiar, and intimate. Without stopping to think about it, I’d decided to crush the cautious whine in the back of my head and do more than let the moment pass.

  “You should be sleeping. I can try…” She broke off, failing to stifle a yawn and moved her fingers from my face, but I grabbed her wrist, holding her palm flat against my mouth, I kissed her hand.

  She was surprised, even more than I was.

  “Nash?”

  Her voice was soft, and sweet, and without stopping to try to make sense of it, I’d pulled her up, tugging on her hand until she lifted from the chair.

  “Come here,” I’d said, keeping my fingers against her wrist.

  It was stupid to do. It was something I’d never been impulsive about—taking a woman I wanted, leading, demanding, but right then it’s what I’d done. I hadn’t asked Willow to come closer but even with that small demand, she’d come to me, warm and wild and without hesitation.

  I hadn’t had to ask anything after that. She’d moved like the slow breeze, barely any direction, but constant, sure, and before I realized what happened, Willow was on my lap and I’d moved my hands to her face, my fingers in her hair and she’d opened her mouth, an invitation that was sweet, certain and I took it, kissing her as if I’d always done it, like my mouth, my tongue knew the contours of her lips and the taste of her breath.

  It’d occurred to me then that the kiss had felt right. The scent of her breath, the warmth that fanned over my face, how it warmed me from the inside, all felt so damn familiar; not like it was me kissing Willow, but something deeper. Something I couldn’t place, like a memory tucked far away in my head, hidden and waiting.

  It had felt too good, too right. It had scared the hell out of me.

  And right before the kiss had led somewhere else, had gotten us moving quicker, deeper, Mickey had banged open the rooftop door, letting us know he was going to replace the bulbs on the outdoor lamps, and we pulled apart, not reluctantly but kinda like kids who had almost been caught in the act of misbehaving. She’d blushed and laughed under her breath, I’d cleared my throat and held the door for her as she left, without looking back, but with a little sway in her walk that I’d known was just for me.

  And damn, but hadn’t that seemed like the right way for the evening to end? Don’t ask me why, but it felt pretty fucking perfect. Even the way her perfume lingered.

  And for once I slept well. Well, better than I had in a while. But when I did wake, it almost seemed like that night had been its own kind of dream, kind of like it, too, belonged to another place and time, and all the old cares and worries crowded in again.

  For years I’d stayed focused, driven, disciplined, always looking ahead. I didn’t hang out and get shitty in college because I knew as a scholarship kid there was no room for fucking up. At MIT I worked to prove myself, de
termined to do more, be more because it was expected. Now I worked to build the best program, the most efficient means to deliver a quality product to clients, with a board of potential investors who also believed in what I was trying to do.

  There was no space in my life for distractions. There was no room for anyone who’d have me deviating from the game plan. I had zero time for Willow, no matter how sweet she sounded when I kissed her. No matter how much I’d liked the way she gripped my collar like she needed to hold on to me before we fell from that moment.

  So when I started out this morning and found a small white box on the floor in front of my landing, with the note Thank you for the nap and the rescue and…all the other very good stuff. Let me return the favor, I didn’t really know how to respond, or even what to think.

  Up on that rooftop deck with Willow, everything had seemed so simple, so right. But this morning, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized I had no clue what Willow really wanted from me. I only knew that if the dream wasn’t distracting me, then Willow was, and I didn’t have time for any of it. I had sleep to avoid and work to do. There was no time for dreams that made no sense or for women, no matter how beautiful, who would do nothing but distract me from the life I wanted. Even if they made killer cupcakes.

  Damn, I couldn’t even concentrate. There were too many thoughts—of New Orleans and a kid in the 20’s of Willow and the sweet, sinful taste of her tongue, of Duncan and his needy, pestering drama that always seemed to surf around the edges of our conversations.

  Noise. Nonsense. Irritation, all of it.

  I leaned back in my chair, code forgotten, and grabbed the remote to lower the blinds that cut my office window off from Daisy’s desk outside. My neck felt tight and my shoulders ached so I leaned back, shutting my eyes, not intending to do anything but relax. Just for a little while…

  New Orleans

  Joe Andres was a mean man. That seemed to be true of a lot of male folk in the city, especially the ones who paid no never-mind to the laws laid down about hooch. Most days I could get away with walking through the drunken crowds, the reckless fools who didn’t give a single thought to the policemen lurking on every corner, itching to find someone easy to stir up mess with. But that was New Orleans, not here in the swamp where mama had taken us to for keeping out of trouble since she said those Irishmen from the Channel were having a fine time celebrating St. Paddy’s Day.