I can't meet his eyes. It's one reason, of course—I want him to like me as much as I like him. But it's more than that, too. I can't talk about my father, or else he'll learn what an awful person I am. So I simply shrug my shoulders and look away. I am so ashamed to break down in front of him.
His fingers continue to stroke my cheek gently, and when I try to pull away, he holds me against him. I am pinned between his big body and the counter, but I'm not afraid. I know instinctively that Nick would never hurt me. "Hush, Daisy. Do not cry. I came to apologize to you. I acted badly when we parted."
I pull back in surprise. "You're apologizing? I don't understand. I thought I did something wrong. I haven't been on many dates, so I didn't know—"
His eyes are no longer ice; they warm as they gaze upon me. His fingers continue to stroke my cheek, as if he can't help but touch me. "I always speak wrong when I am around you. My words never come out right." His fingers brush over my mouth, oh so gently. "I want to get things right, but I just make worse. You deserve better."
If only he knew what a small, mean person I was on the inside. I shake my head, and my fingers continue to smooth down the front of his coat, and I wish it was bare skin I was touching. "No, that's not true—"
"Da," he says, and there is a flash of self-hatred in his eyes that startles me. "You are too good—"
I lean forward to kiss him, silencing him before he can disagree with me. It's impulsive, but I can't resist. His mouth is so close to mine, his touch maddening, and I want to put my mouth on him. I'm clumsy, though, and my mouth brushes his chin and lower lip, and I cringe inwardly. I am a terrible kisser.
But the effect is the desired one—he stiffens against me with surprise, and he goes silent. A mere moment later, his fingers brush my chin. He parts my mouth, and then presses his lips to mine in a proper kiss. A hot, wet, slick, tongue-filled kiss.
I'm stunned by his visceral response. Heat pulses through my body, and I open my mouth for his possessive invasion. I may have started the kiss, but it's clear Nick has taken charge now. His mouth slants over mine, his lips caressing my own. His tongue slides against my own, and my breath hitches at the intensity of sensation it brings. My n**ples harden as I press against him, and I'm shocked—and intoxicated—by my own response. I thought the kiss we'd shared in the parking lot was wonderful, but it pales in comparison to the need surging in this one. I am weak in the knees…and I want to experience more.
His fervor should frighten me, but I hunger for it. This is what I have wanted all my life. In Nick's arms, I feel truly alive. My hand slides to his neck, and I brush my fingers over the hot skin of his nape. I wish he wore no shirt so I could touch all of him. I need much more than a simple kiss. "Touch me," I breathe against his mouth when he breaks the kiss.
He gives a soft groan—he hears my words.
I cling to him, lifting my mouth for another kiss even as his hand slides around my waist and he drags me closer to him. I want—
The door chimes, jarring me back to reality. Nick releases me immediately, and I stumble away from him, turning to the counter in a daze. A lone man walks in wearing a camo baseball cap, jeans, and a dirty t-shirt. He barely glances at me and heads to the back of the store for the beer.
The moment is gone.
I press the back of a hand to my flushed cheeks, trying to cool them down. My n**ples ache, and I hope they aren't visible through my shirt. I've never felt quite so aroused, and this is all from just a kiss.
Well, not a simple kiss. Kissing Nick is anything but ordinary-feeling.
I glance over at him, but he's not looking in my direction. His gaze is riveted on the man in the store, and his eyes have gone cold again, calculating. He moves down a nearby aisle and watches the man, though he feigns interest in a long-expired box of Pop Tarts.
The man comes to the counter with a soda a minute later and points at a pack of cigarettes. I ring him up and he leaves without saying a word about the fact that he found me kissing a man a short moment ago. When he's gone, I turn back to Nick.
He comes to the counter again, but he stays on the other side of it, like a customer. I'm disappointed, because I know he won't kiss me again. To my surprise, he puts a smart phone down in front of me. "I purchased this for you."
I stare at it. For a moment, I think it's his phone and that he's going to show me something on the screen. Then I realize he has purchased a phone for me. "I have a phone, Nick."
"Is better phone." He nudges it toward me. "I think your other phone does not work so well. Sometimes I don't get your texts very quickly." His eyelids shade his expression, like he's embarrassed that he wishes I responded faster to his texts.
He's spending too much money on me. It makes me uncomfortable. I know smartphones aren't cheap. I priced them out when looking for a disposable and the data plan alone is more than I can spend a month on something so frivolous. Not when I am eating ramen noodles every night of the week. "But why did you get me a phone when I already have one?"
"Take it. Is so you can text complete sentences."
I give him a hurt look. "I text the best I can."
Nick sighs and reaches across the counter to grab my hand before I can pull away. He rubs a thumb over it and shakes his head. "Again, I misspeak. Around you, my tongue is foolish."
The smile he gives me is wry, self-deprecating. "I am greedy man, Daisy. I want more from you than just a few words. I want all of your attention. When you think of me, you text me. I don't want you to hunt for short words because is easier to type. I want everything you have to say. This makes it easier." He gestures at the phone. "Take it for me?"
I eye the phone. I hate the thought of more charity, but the ability to text Nick with ease fills me with anticipation. "Once I get my own, you will take it back?"
"Da." His eyes gleam; he knows he has won the battle with flattery.
I give him a shrewd look. "If I say no, are you going to find a way to break my existing phone?"
"I am wounded you think such things of me, Daisy," he says, but there is a boyish grin on his face.
"You're terrible," I tell him with a laugh. "None of my things are safe around you."
"Not if I think you deserve better," he says, and he has gone all serious again.
I sigh and take the phone, since I know I have about as much choice in this as I did with the jacket. "Thank you, Nick."
He looks as if he wishes to say more to me, but after a moment's hesitation, he simply nods and leaves, and I am left alone in the store all over again.
I clutch it to my chest, watching him disappear into a sedan parked outside. I kissed him. He didn't kiss me until I'd made the first move. Was that stupid of me? He didn't ask me out again.
But then I think of his words. I came here to apologize.
And he brought me a gift. I feel giddy with excitement despite my initial misgivings, and I run my fingers across the screen. It is the latest model of a popular, expensive brand of smartphones, and I know Regan will envy it. Nick has already programmed my name into the phone as D8Z, and the background is a picture of white daisies. How sweet. I flip through the apps and on impulse, click on the photo album to see if he has left me anything there.
It is blank. I'm disappointed to see that, but it doesn't mean I can't return the favor. I experiment with the camera for a long minute and manage to eventually take a selfie blowing a kiss at the camera. His number is the only one programmed into my phone—under nothing more than "N" for his name—and I text him the picture, along with a quick message: Thank you for being so thoughtful.
His reply comes while I'm with the next customer, and it takes everything I have not to grab at my phone when it vibrates. He doesn't send me a picture back, but the text makes me smile. If I am rewarded with such beauty by a simple gift, I shall buy you a car next.
Don't you dare.
Chapter Eight
DAISY
"Come on, Pollyanna," Becca groans. "Why are you walking so freaking slow?"
"I'm coming," I yell at her from several paces behind on the sidewalk. I'm trying to text and walk at the same time, and I'm not good at it, but I'm not willing to give up on my message. Since Nick gave me the phone yesterday, I've been obsessed with it…and with Nick. Even though I was initially skeptical about the gift, I admit to myself that I adore the phone. Texting is so much easier.
And since he's given it to me? We have texted non-stop.
He texted to me all night last night as I worked. His text Good night, milaya moya was the last thing I saw when I went to bed. When I awoke, I texted him a Good morning, and we'd been texting off and on all day.
He won't send me pictures, which makes me sad. Says I don't need to see his ugly face constantly. He's crazy—I think he is beautiful, his profile noble, his eyes slightly sad. If he sent me a picture, I would stare at it all day long. It would look much better as the background of my phone than the sweet, girly daisies he has set up for me.
I missed out on this by being homeschooled, this playful tease of flirtation. I'm also glad that I'm learning to flirt with Nick instead of someone else, because he seems just as bad at it as I am. Like we're learning together. Maybe he was homeschooled too. The idea of Nick as a high school student makes me smile. He seems like he was born world-weary. I can't envision him as a carefree child. Of course, I can't imagine myself as one either. Perhaps that is why we've bonded so quickly. Our old souls recognize each other.
Nick keeps asking me to send him more photos, though. I refuse to do so until he sends me one of himself, so we are at an impasse. It has become a teasing game to us, one that continues even now.
Why do you not send me a picture of you, Daisy? I did not realize you had such cruelty in you.
I giggle to myself as I read it again. I am composing the perfect response, but I type slowly. You should see my skirt. I am feeling very bold. It's very pretty. Becca says I look like a nun, but I like it. I—
Becca's hand, with its long pink fingernails, close over my screen, sending the message before I can finish it. "Dude. Seriously. Walk faster. I'd like to get to the club before it closes?" She casts me an annoyed stare.
"Sorry." I lower my phone and give her a guilty look, but I don't feel all that guilty at the moment. Not really. I'd rather be at home texting Nick and chatting instead of out with Becca and Regan, but Regan insisted. Becca wants to go to a club to pick up a new man, and it's clear that what Becca wants, Becca gets. Regan reasons that because both she and I have men we are seeing, we can keep each other company and drink at a table while Becca tries to meet a guy.
My phone buzzes in my hand, but Becca is shooting me dirty looks and Regan is patiently waiting down the street, so I force myself to ignore it and jog a little to catch up to them. I'm wearing the Mary Janes that Regan gave me—my only dress shoes—and a knee-length swingy skirt with a sparkly tank top. The clothes are new, and I love them. They're full of color and flash, and I am tempted to send Nick a picture anyhow…but I don't. I won't give in on this.
I catch up to Regan and Becca and rub my bare arms briskly. I wanted to wear a sweater, but Becca declared it 'frumpy' and shamed me into leaving it at home. I wish I had it now; the walk from the bus stop to the club is longer than I would like. I haven't been to this part of downtown, and despite the late hour, the streets are crowded with people and noisy. I can hear a thrumming bass beat somewhere nearby, and it vibrates in my ears.