Reckless (Reckless #1)

Reckless - Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

A door creaking doesn’t make me look up.

The tears have stopped, but I still don’t want to see anyone.

Someone kneels beside me, that familiar musky scent invading my senses.

I look up, but let my hair fall over my face, shielding my true self - the broken and torn girl - from his view.

He reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear. I close my eyes and sigh at the gesture, leaning my head against his hand.

“You okay?” Nash whispers.

I lightly shake my head no because the truth was that I wasn’t okay - I was miserable, heartbroken, and a little bit frustrated about everything.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head no again. He doesn’t pressure me, which I appreciate. Silence drifts between us - only the sounds of cars passing down the street and the music and chatter from inside. I’m thankful that no one else has come out to check on me. Just having Nash out here is comforting.

“Do you want to dance?”

Raising a brow, I look over at him sitting against the wall beside me. He stands up brushing his hands against the back of his pants.

Holding out a hand to me he says, “Come on. I haven’t danced with the birthday girl yet.”

I smile and reach out my hand, taking hold of his warm, calloused one. Nash gently pulls me up, bringing me close to him.

“I probably have dirt on my a**.”

He laughs and it’s genuine, which makes me laugh along with him, “Do you want me to get it?”

Swatting the dirt away from my butt I smirk, “Nah, I think I got it.”

He smirks, “Now, how about that dance?”

Nash wraps his arms around my waist - as if he’s keeping me from running away. I wrap my arms around his neck - holding on and not really wanting to let go. He leads and starts swaying to the silence.

“I didn’t tell you that you look beautiful tonight.”

My cheeks flush and my heart beats loudly in my chest, “Thank you.”

He leans his chin against my cheek. I feel the slight stubble and close my eyes in contentment. The city sounds surround us in the night.

“Shouldn’t there be music?” I meet his eyes. They look dark blue - like a storm - against the moonlight.

Nash hums a random tune and goes back to gently swaying. This right here - this moment of tranquility where there’s nothing to worry about - is… comforting.

Being in his arms is different than being in Chris’s. Nash’s are stronger; firmer - as if they never want to let me go. His warmth envelopes me to a different world - a world of comfort and utter bliss.

But I know there’s a reckless side to him. He’s a lead singer with groupies following him around. He street races. He sleeps around.

That was the type of thing I was trying to stay away from.

Nash starts humming the tune to happy birthday and all my unpleasant thoughts drift away. I just want to be right here, with nothing to disturb this moment.

I think about how much I’ve grown with Nash. When I first met him, I thought he was a player who got everything he asked for - he was with a punk rocker chick and had all the girls fawning over him. Not to mention that he hit on me the first day.