Blindsided Read online

  “I see. And are there such wardrobe rules for your brother?” Nate asked.

  His voice was filled with affection and Chelsea’s heart almost burst with joy at seeing it there. Despite spending two days together, without sex, Chelsea was feeling more infatuated with him, not less. It was an odd feeling, one she had never felt before, and it made her uneasy. Nate had shown a sensitivity to art that she had never mustered. He considered each piece and had insightful things to say about them, pointing out things that seemed obvious once he said them, but never would have occurred to her on her own.

  “Don’t be silly,” Chelsea intoned in her best Annabelle voice, “Men do not need to be dressed appropriately to be taken seriously. They are men. They are therefore taken seriously by everyone important.” Chelsea dropped back to her normal voice. “Which of course means other men. I guess that since they all have penises, they all respect each other automatically. Don’t ask me where that logic comes from.”

  “Your mother just keeps getting more and more interesting,” said Nate.

  “I know, doesn’t she,” Chelsea said with a sigh. “You should meet her.” A thought struck her.

  Chapter 8

  They pulled up outside Tony’s condo and Nate killed the engine. He really didn’t’ think this was a good idea, but he didn’t know how to tell her that. Chelsea’s emotions had been running high and he didn’t want her to do something she would regret.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, babe?” he asked. “You ran away from your mother two days ago because you weren’t up to handling her, and now you want to come back?”

  “Dumb I know, Chelsea said, “But yeah, I really do. I’m sick of lying to her, I’m sick of Tony having to be in between us.” She paused and stared at her hands for a moment, working her bottom lip with her teeth. Nate fought the urge to lean over and take her lip between his own teeth. She turned to face him and said, “Besides, I want to show you I’m not ashamed of you.”

  Nate was touched, warmth flooding through him. She was going back into what, to her at least, was a lion’s den, for him. It wasn’t worth it for that, but those other reasons seemed pretty damn important.

  “I believe you, Chelsea. Don’t do this for me. But if you want to stop lying to your mother, we’ll go in,” he said.

  The whole situation had put him so out of his depth he wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore. The past twenty years had given him no experience draw on. He’d heard men complain about the complexity of women before, but hadn’t actually grasped it until this instant. With a two decade handicap on most guys, he would probably never understand women, but it might be easier if he stopped trying. He just hoped this didn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

  Chelsea leaned over the middle console and planted a chaste kiss on his mouth, but the taste of her wound him up. Growling, he pulled at her waist and in a second had her on his lap. Damn it, she was so little and sexy and easy to move around, even if she was complicated and confusing. The one taste of her was not enough, and he deepened their kiss, exploring her, teasing her, knowing all the while that he was dooming himself to frustration. Exploring her that way just made him want to keep on going and toss her in the backseat. He was fairly certain they would fit in the backseat of the Mustang. It would be uncomfortable, but it could be done. Damn his rules. He’d damn near had her backed against a display case in the museum, and now this.

  Chelsea was squirming on him, applying delicious pressure to his cock with her round little ass. He groaned and tore his lips away from hers.

  “What good is going out in public if you keep wriggling like that?” he asked, nearly panting.

  Her lips were red and swollen and her eyes were dilated. He rested his forehead on hers and let their breathing return to normal.

  She nuzzled his neck with her nose, which did little to help his erection, which had slowly begun to sink away when it realized there was nothing for it to do.

  “Alright, sweetheart,” Nate said, “Let’s go. I’m a man, I need food. If we put this off much longer, I’ll eat my own foot.”

  Nate took a few extra minutes walking to the door, giving his erection time to go away. It was never a good idea to meet a woman’s mother with a raging hard on, and if Chelsea was to be believed, her mother was more scary than most. He had to admit, he was curious about Annabelle Spencer. Most women were had issues with their mothers. He wondered how much of what Chelsea had said about her was purely subjective.

  They were met at the front door by a short woman dressed head to toe in pink. The woman gave her daughter a quick air kiss while he and Tony waved to each other over the women’s heads.

  Before allowing Chelsea to introduce Nate, Annabelle began speaking. And didn’t stop.

  “Chelsea Anne, what are you wearing? Have you been running around all day with your belly hanging out?” Nate tried to keep his face impassive. That was a hell of a way to greet your daughter. He barely stopped himself from saying, ‘Yes, ma’am, she has, and I’ve enjoyed every freaking second of it.’ Chelsea opened her mouth to try again to introduce him, but apparently, Annabelle wasn’t done. If Tony’s unsurprised look was any indication, this was the norm. Holy crap.

  “When are you going to cut your hair and look like an adult? Those jeans make you look like a teenager. And those shoes dear, really. You’re too old to be running around in sneakers,” the older woman said.

  Nate hoped to hell that was the end of it. It should be. There was nothing left for Annabelle to criticize unless she pulled down Chelsea’s jeans and inspected her underwear, which he could tell her were bright blue and barely there. After seeing the unstoppable force that was Annabelle Spencer, Nate began to wonder if she’d do just that.

  “Mom,” Chelsea finally broke in after groping around for Nate’s hand with her own and clutching him like lifeline, “This is Nate, my, uh…” Here she faltered and Nate stepped forward, extending the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Chelsea’s.

  “Boyfriend,” he volunteered.

  He felt Chelsea’s reaction to his use of the word, a rush of energy that flowed between their hands. He felt it too, the excitement, the rightness of the word despite the quick timing.

  Mrs. Spencer seemed a little taken aback by Nate’s size, and probably his tattoos. She was shorter than her daughter and had to tilt her head back to look up at him, light green eyes quickly assessing him. It was only her need to be polite that forced her to extend her own tiny hand and grasp Nate’s briefly and lightly. She took her hand back quickly and looked as if she was trying hard not to run to the bathroom and wash it off.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” her voice said, while her tone said ‘Get the hell away from my child, you Neanderthal.’

  She glared at the place where his hand held Chelsea’s in between their bodies and sniffed slightly before turning away. Nate wondered idly where Chelsea had gotten her curves, never mind her sense of humor. Scrawny Annabelle Spencer was all lines and angles held together by a stick-up-the-ass attitude.

  Once everyone was settled in the living room and each of the three younger people had catered to her in some way, by bringing a pillow or tea or giving up their chosen seat, Mrs. Spencer leapt into conversation.

  “So, how did you meet my daughter?” she asked Nate.

  Her pinched expression showed her disbelief that Chelsea would have taken up with him without being brainwashed or possessed. Perhaps she’d start performing an exorcism next. That would really liven things up. Might take his mind of the sexual frustration that hummed through him whenever he was within fifty yards of Chelsea.

  “My car broke,” Chelsea started when her mother interrupted her.

  “Of course it did. It’s falling apart. But I didn’t ask you. I asked him,” the older woman said, with a sneer and a gesture towards Nate.

  Tony opened his mouth to say something, but Nate jumped in instead. He’d had just about enough of the way this woman was talking to Chelsea. Annabelle Spencer
was about to find out there was a new sheriff in town. Which was news to him, too.

  “Chelsea tells the story better, ma’am,” he said as politely as possible reining in his anger. He only had to let a little of it shine through his eyes for her to get the picture. At least now he knew Chelsea wasn’t blowing things out of proportion. This woman was mean. But he could sure as hell be meaner.

  Annabelle Spencer glared at him imperiously as if wondering why the commoner was talking to her. He stared back impassively until she looked away with a huff.

  “Go ahead, honey,” he said. He leaned back on the couch and put his arm around Chelsea possessively and protectively.

  Chelsea told her story, leaving out the parts about the two of them falling into bed and their subsequent deal. There was a limit to the honesty a woman was willing to undertake with her mother. Thank God.

  Annabelle looked no more accepting of Nate as her daughter’s boyfriend when Chelsea was done, but Nate didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  “Why aren’t you at the spa, anyway, Chelsea?” Annabelle said with disgust. She was obviously done discussing Nate.

  Chelsea took a deep breath and did the straightening thing with her shoulders. This was it, the main event.

  “There is no spa, Mom. I made it up. I went to stay with Nate. That’s where I’ve been,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

  “Why on earth would you make something like that up?” Annabelle said tightly.

  “Because it was easier to tell you that than stay here and be picked apart while I’m trying to relax.”

  Whoa. Chelsea’s voice was picking up strength now and Nate squeezed her hand. Impressive, given the way he’d seen her grow smaller when she’d talked to her mother on the phone. Admiration filled Nate. He’d never felt that for a woman before in his life, except in a purely physical sense. Across the room, Tony’s eyes widened in surprise.

  Annabelle was absolutely still for a moment, thin lips pressed tightly together, her hands rigidly clasped in her lap. Then she stood and stared regally down at her daughter. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, she turned and walked out of the room, back ramrod straight.

  “I’ll be in my room,” she said to Tony as she sailed past him.

  Next to him, Chelsea relaxed and smiled weakly.

  “There, that wasn’t so bad,” she said. She almost sounded like she meant it.

  ###

  Tony picked up the phone to call Jen before he even thought about it or remembered that he was angry with her. It was his first instinct and probably always would be. Maybe that was something he would have to take into consideration when he finally decided what to do about this whole ultimatum business of hers.

  “You’re not going to believe what just happened,” he said when she answered. They had long since grown out of identifying themselves.

  “What?” she answered.

  “Chelsea just stood up to Annabelle.”

  Silence.

  “Your sister stood up to your mother?” Jen said incredulously, “Or are you talking about different people?”

  “Nope, them.” He told her the story in their abbreviated language. “Maybe that will get me out of the middle.”

  “It’s about time. How is Annabelle taking it?” Jen asked. In her own family, such a brief, simple sentence would have had no consequences, but she’d been around long enough to know that the same was not true in Tony’s.

  “Ah, she stomped around for awhile. Didn’t leave her room until Chelsea had gone. Then she did the really surprising thing.”

  “What?”

  “Asked if I thought she picked Chelsea apart,” Tony said with a grin. He so rarely got to shock Jen.

  “Annabelle?” she squealed.

  “Yup.”

  “Holy shit,” she said, “Has hell frozen over and no one told me? What did you say?”

  “Oh, come on. She hasn’t changed that much. She asked and answered the question herself. Came to the conclusion that it had to do with Chelsea’s new boyfriend.”

  “Chelsea has a boyfriend?”

  “Yup. I met him before, but not as her boyfriend.”

  “Your mom like him?”

  “Tattoos and a muscle car. What do you think?”

  “She’s asking for trouble, not just from Annabelle.”

  “Yeah, but guess who the guy is.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nate Stone,” Tony said, still unable to believe it himself. He’d been able to keep it to himself two days ago, but now he was nearly bursting with the idea. “She’s dating Nate Stone.”

  “The guy from Blindside?” Jen asked after a moment.

  “Yup. I’ve seen him twice now.”

  Jen broke into laughter and for the first time in days, Tony felt the weight that had been on his shoulders start to lift.

  “Priceless. Chelsea brought a rock star to meet Annabelle.”

  After their laughter had died down, Jen asked, “What’s he like? Will he break her heart like the other leather jacket wearing freaks?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tony said immediately, as surprised with his answer as Jen was. “He’s a decent guy. He stood up to Mom too.”

  “It’s easier if you’re not related,” Jen said.

  “True,” Tony said with a sigh.

  The truth was, it was easier if you weren’t Chelsea. Every year, it seemed like it got harder for Chelsea to do anything but bend to Annabelle whenever they were in the same room, which wasn’t very often. Maybe not anymore, though.

  “Speaking of which, are you going to damn me to a lifetime of being related to Annabelle, or not? I need to know, Tony,” she said, her voice losing its humor.

  And just like that, they were back to being at odds.

  Fuck it, Tony thought, I can’t live like this.

  He took a deep breath and jumped in.

  ###

  “A drive-in?” Chelsea said. “I didn’t know they still had these.”

  Three days into Nate’s grand experiment and he was taking her to a drive in. Where countless virgins had given it up. What was he thinking? Their lust was barely restrained as it was. The cultural implications of a drive in movie would damn them, but it was perfect all the same. Everything they’d done together so far had been perfect, smacking of old fashioned courting.

  When she’d been unable to stop giggling in the car after leaving Tony’s the day before, Nate had responded by bringing her to a carnival. She’d felt so free, so unburdened and more childlike than she had in years and the carnival had the perfect vibe. They’d indulged all her giddy whims, riding rides until they were near puking and eating a horrible amount of fried and sugary foods. Nate had even won her a large stuffed giraffe by throwing balls at bottles. If Nate was indulgent as a lover, he was even more so as a boyfriend.

  Boyfriend. The word still had the power to thrill her, to zing straight through her in a combination of terror and delight. Looking at him aroused all her deepest, darkest bad boy fantasies, but underneath, she was convinced there was more. She hoped she was right, hoped she wouldn’t be proved wrong.

  Despite the comfort and safety, she still awoke in the night in the grip of a panic. The first time, Nate had slept on, but the second, he had woken up and simply held her until she had fallen back asleep. For not traveling, her feelings of helplessness were remarkably few and far between. Was that because of her, or because of Nate? She would find out soon enough, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

  “The Rodeo’s one of the last drive ins in the area,” Nate said, “Nothing says courtship like making out in the back of a muscle car.”

  Chelsea laughed. “I love it.”

  The making out part held particular appeal.

  “Good, then I’ll actually pull in,” Nate said with a grin.

  They pulled into a slot and Nate tuned the car radio to the pre-show, which was playing an old soda ad.

  “Dinner. Do you want to wait until
the show’s over and go to a restaurant, or do you want to get a hot dog or something from the snack bar?”

  “Is it really a drive-in experience if we don’t get something artery clogging, like a chili cheese dog?”

  “Nope. I’ll go get some,” Nate said.

  He slid out of the car with the easy grace that Chelsea was beginning to love watching and walked towards the concession stand. His long legs covered the distance quickly. When they had been walking together earlier, she’d had to almost jog to keep up with him. He had noticed and slowed his gait for her and let her dictate the pace from then on. Everything he did was like that, she realized. Sweet, considerate, thoughtful. Not only did he actually notice things like that, but he did something about them without being asked. It was nice to be considered.

  Nate returned with their chili dogs, plus French fries and nacho chips covered in some sort of yellow sludge that Chelsea assumed was cheese, or at least cheese product.

  “Only the finest for you,” he said as he eased into the car after passing their food to her through the window.

  Nate downed his food in about two minutes, while Chelsea picked at hers. The chili dog had sounded good in theory, but in reality, the big, greasy hunk of meat was far from appetizing.

  “So, do you have any interest in seeing me play on Thursday?” Nate asked when he had finished demolishing his junk food. He looked studiously casual, as if trying to hide the importance of this.

  “Of course,” Chelsea said immediately, “I would love to see you live. I’ve never even heard your CD’s.”