Blurred Lies (The Blurred Series Book 1) (15 page)

The fact that I didn’t have to work today is a huge relief (since I didn’t get to sleep until around 4:00am). I got to snooze until around noon, when I decided to get out of bed and function like a normal human being.

I spent the day in a mixture of relaxing with my latest romantic read and making myself look nice for my
friend-date
with Ryan. I’m not looking too deeply into why I’m making myself look nice for Ryan. We’re just friends.

Just. Friends
.

For my friend, I’ve preened myself to perfection; as perfect as I’ll ever be, anyway. Once done with all the bathroom prep I could think of, I curled my sandy-blond hair into loose waves and did my makeup with plenty of smoky eyeshadow. Not too much, though; I don’t want to end up looking like a curly-haired raccoon. A poodle/raccoon hybrid, if you will.

I’ve just finished applying some dusky pink, lip-plumping gloss when my phone pings with a text message.

Elliott: Hey. I think I’ve finished the first draft and am ready for you to read it.

Me: OMG. I can’t wait! Send it over and I’ll read as much as I can before work tomorrow.

Elliott: You got plans tonight, I take it?

Uh, what should I tell him? I guess I can just tell him ‘yes’ and not elaborate on the details. We agreed to be friends and I think he’s okay with that, but I don’t really think we are at a place where he’d be happy that I’m
friend-dating
Ryan. Especially not after how their first and only meeting went.

Me: Yeah, but I’ll give it my full-attention tomorrow, promise. Email it to me.

Elliott: Ok, I will. Enjoy your evening x

Me: Thanks, you too :)

My texts with Elliott are always full of
I-like-being-your-friend
smiley faces. Never kissy faces, winks or hugs. Not from my side, anyway.

I still haven’t figured out what I’m wearing tonight. I don’t really know what we’re doing. Ryan just said I don’t need to dress “all fancy.” His words.

It’s been like a steam-room outside lately and I don’t know if we’re going to be indoors with air conditioning, or outside in the August mugginess, so I decide on wearing my floral, gauze, A-line skirt, which hits mid-thigh, and a cream, lace-covered tank-top with a light sweater that can be easily removed if need-be.

My ballet flats make it casual-but-fun and I feel quite pretty. I don’t have high self-esteem, at all, but I try to appreciate how I look when I make an effort. You have to focus on what you like about yourself instead of everything you don’t, sometimes.

I still have about an hour until Ryan said to be ready, so I plop down on my bed and try to take my mind off of my nerves with reading.

It doesn’t work.

* * *

When the knock at my door sounds in the silence, I nearly fall off the bed with fright.

Elliott emailed me his novel soon after I sat down, so I decided to start reading that instead of my e-book. I got so into the story, I barely remembered where I am. It’s a really good story and completely took my mind away from the impending anxiety.

“Natalie? Are we still on for tonight? If so, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Crap
! I told Ryan I would meet him in the living room this evening.

“Yeah, sorry! I lost track of time. I’ll be right out.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll be in the living room. Take your time.” The relief is evident in his tone. He was obviously scared I’d stand him up. I don’t know how to feel about that.

We’re going to be late, or I can take my time; which is it?

Realizing we most likely are late because of me, I quickly scoot off the bed, check my appearance and shoot out to the living room.

Ohmahgawd.

Ryan always looks yummy, but tonight he’s off-the-scale hotness. He’s wearing a black, button-down shirt with the long sleeves rolled to his elbows, the leather cuff and nickel watch he likes to wear adorn his wrists again, and the snug shirt is tucked into dark jeans that sit low, right where that delectable ‘V’ line of muscle dips down. Where I know a tattoo sits on one hip. I don’t care what shoes he’s wearing; I’m sure they’re sexy too, but I can’t take my eyes off his top half.

I can see a little of one tattoo peeking out from under his collar, and I’m pretty sure I must be drooling.

Careful, Natalie. Your lust is showing. That’s not very
friend-like.

“You look real pretty, Natalie.” My eyes snap to his, and he’s giving me that smirk. His lip-ring glinting just like his eyes are.

“Uh, thanks. So do you.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but pretty ain’t one of ‘em darlin’.”

“I mean...you look...beautiful.”
Seriously
?

“Again, not something that’s been attributed to me, but I guess it’s an improvement on pretty.”

“Uh, right. Handsome?” I should just stop talking. I hope our friend-date doesn’t involve talking.

“I prefer sexy, hot, god-like, et cetera, but I’ll settle for handsome.” He winks and approaches me from where he was leaning casually in the kitchen. “Ready?” he asks with an outstretched hand.

“As I’ll ever be,” I say, taking his proffered hand, feigning confidence.

When we reach the sidewalk, I see Ryan’s bike and suddenly realize I’m going to have to ride that thing whilst wearing a skirt. Why didn’t I think of this?!

Ryan must see the horror on my face, because he tugs my hand, strolling passed the bike.

Oh, thank God!

“Are we walking?” I ask curiously, with relief.

“Nope.”

“Huh?” Confused now.

“We’re driving in this.” He stops next to an immaculately restored, 1960s truck.

“Is this yours?”

“Yup,” he states proudly.

“You told me you don’t have a car!” I say, a little pissed off at the fact he made me get on that death-trap when he had a perfectly good four-wheeled mode of transport, right here. Even if I did end up enjoying the bike ride, that’s
so
not the point.

“I don’t. I have a truck. See,” he says, motioning to said truck. He knows what I mean and he’s being a smart-ass.

“Don’t be cute. You knew what I meant.”

I give him an unimpressed glare, but can’t prevent the smile creeping onto my lips. He’s too effing cute and I can’t stay fake-mad at him for more than five seconds.

He opens the door for me, perhaps remembering the fact that I told him Elliott was a gentleman, and takes my hand to help me in. It doesn’t take a whole lot of effort, as this truck sits lower than most modern versions. Once I’m seated, he closes the door and heads round to his side.

When he’s situated next to me I say, “Please tell me this thing has air-conditioning.”

“Nope. Sorry.” He at least has the decency to look apologetic.

I hope the ride is short and we’re going somewhere with AC, or this sweater will be coming off way sooner than expected.

* * *

The ride isn’t too long, but when we reach our destination, I realize we won’t be leaving the steamy confines of the truck anytime soon. It’s a drive-in movie!

“Oh, my gosh. I didn’t even know these still existed,” I say in awe, with a hint of worry since I now know we’ll be in this hot truck all night. Even with the windows open, it’s stifling.

“It’s a temporary thing. Kind of like a travelling circus, except it’s a travelling movie theatre,” Ryan explains.

“Well, it’s pretty cool. Not in the literal sense, of course, because it’s hot as balls in here,” I state dryly.

“Did you just say balls?”

“Maybe. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Ryan tries to hold in his amusement as he finds a good spot to park in.

“Popcorn? Drink?” he asks after we’re stopped in a central location with a great view of the huge screen.

“We can get that here?”

“Yeah. They have a few drinks and food carts dotted around. They’ll come by the car windows during the movie, but you have to go to them before it starts.”

“Butter popcorn and a Dr. Pepper would be awesome, thank you,” I say with a smile.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

When Ryan gets back, I ask, “So, what are we watching?”

“You’ll see,” is all he gives me.

Okay then
.

When the opening credits finally start, I can hardly contain my excitement when the title
‘10 Things I Hate About You’
graces the big screen.

“Oh, my gosh! This is my favorite movie, ever!” I almost squeal with joy. I haven’t seen this movie for such a long time. It was mine and Claire’s go-to flick back in the day.

“I know,” he says with a wide grin, looking very happy with himself.

“How’d you know?” I ask as the familiar music fills the truck’s speakers.

“You watched this movie constantly when we were younger. How could I
not
know?” Is his only explanation.

I don’t care how he knows. The fact that he was thoughtful enough to find out this was going on and then surprise me with it, says a lot about him...and how he feels about me.

I try to shake the realizations whirling around in my head and focus on the awesomeness playing in front of me. The music, the characters; they bring back so many happy memories. I don’t think I have a single bad memory associated with this movie and it just makes me feel...happy. It’s a welcome feeling.

As the movie plays on, the tension is growing in the small space of the truck. Ryan is sitting close on the bench, with no modern console separating our seats. Even with the windows wide open, letting in the cooler night air, my skin is hot and I feel the need to shed the thin sweater I’m wearing. I’ve almost finished the ice-cold Dr. Pepper, and I can feel the sweat beading on my body like the condensation on my drink cup.

“Can you hold this for me,” I ask, handing Ryan the nearly empty beverage.

I peel the sweater over my head, thankfully not getting trapped in the neck-hole (that happens to me a lot), and I’m immediately cooler. It’s like heaven feeling air on my slightly damp arms.

“I don’t know why I’m so hot. I usually stay cooler than most in hot weather,” I say by way of explanation for my stripping.

Ryan doesn’t say anything, and I look over to find him with a serious expression as he stares at me, intently.

Oh Lord
.

As the movie progresses, so does Ryan. He starts by touching my hand that rests on the bench-seat; casually at first, but then with purpose. He holds my hand and traces a pattern with his thumb, which sends electricity up my arm, raising all the little hairs there. He doesn’t say anything; just...caresses.

When our hands begin to feel too warm in the humid truck, he moves his to my thigh. I feel his gaze on me, looking for protest or permission to continue. I don’t protest.

His hand is on my thigh, over the fabric of my skirt, but it does nothing to protect me from the burn of his touch. I’m strung so tight, I almost want to beg him to move his hand to my bare skin.

To my delight and dismay, I don’t have to beg. The more Ryan gently caresses my thigh, the more my skirt rides up, revealing more than I’d usually be comfortable with. I don’t really care about comfort right now, so I do nothing to stop his hand or my traitorous skirt.

When the movie reaches its final scene, where the epic kiss brings everything to a happily-ever-after, I’m finding it difficult to stay still. Something about Ryan’s touching, combined with the movie, combined with the heat, is making me want to jump on him.

I won’t.

At the same time as I finish that thought, Ryan gently touches my cheek, turning my gaze to his. There’s pure need in his eyes, and I don’t know what to make of it.

“Natalie, I want to kiss you.”

Do it, please!
“I want you to kiss me.”

And with that, he’s is on me; one hand clutching the hair at my nape, the other grabbing my waist, and it’s the hottest kiss I’ve ever had. Even better than my first kiss with him in the park.

His tongue delves into my mouth as my hands grip his shoulders. Before I realize what’s happening, his hands are under my butt, lifting me to straddle his lap. I can feel how turned on he is, and it only feeds my need for him.

Rational thought has left me; I’m no longer playing the ‘what if’ game in my head the way I usually do, and it’s...amazing. I’m having the hottest make-out session of my life to the final song of my favorite movie, and it’s epic.

The lyrics
‘I want you to want me’
filter through the speakers as I tug Ryan’s lip-ring between my teeth, eliciting a low groan from his chest.