Relative Design

“You like the musician,” Eliza accused the next morning, staring cynically into Anabel’s bright eyes. She had, by complete accident, seen the two the night before on the stoop, in a lip lock passionate enough to make her jealous. The last time she’d kissed someone like that was when she got caught rolling around on the grass with what’s-his-face.

She really wished she’d given him her number or something.

Anabel frowned, having been reminded of his profession. “Maybe.”

“Anabel—”

“I know, okay?” She shoved a hand through her hair. “I know. Musician. Bad. I know.”

“Anabel,” she repeated, voice gentle, “be careful. Have fun.”

She sighed, sank down on the stool at the counter. “I forgot about that, his being a musician. He seems so… normal.”

“He’s not abnormal, he just has an… interesting career.”

“I just wanted to have fun, enjoy him before he goes on tour again, you know? I’m not looking for permanent or anything.”

“I know. But I don’t want you to hurt when he goes off again.”

She frowned, took the cup of coffee Eliza poured her. “What do you know about him? What’s he like? When he’s not hitting on you?”

She laughed, taking a seat beside her. “He’s nice. Polite and funny. But I signed him; he’s gotta be nice to me.”

“That’s not any help.”

“Shut up. He’s really good with his fans, supposedly. Super friendly and stuff. Never blows any of them off. Has a strict no-signing-any-body-part-that’s-hidden-under-clothes policy.”

“You know how he feels about groupies?”

She laughed again, brushing her hair away from her face. “Rumor has it he isn’t interested that way in fans. Not the ones he meets at concerts anyway. I don’t know about his personal life otherwise.”

“You liked him, though? Going by first impressions?”

“I did. I don’t necessarily trust him because he is, after all, a musician. But I did.”

Which actually said a lot, since often Eliza had a front row seat to clichéd famous behavior--sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll and all. But all she said was, “You’re no help, Eliza.”

“Sorry.”

Beckett stepped in then, hesitated.

Anabel stared at him a moment, felt her heart ache at the unsure expression he wore. “Anyone else wonder why we’re always meeting up in here?”

“Because you’re all fatasses,” Eric said sleepily, trudging into the room.

The three older siblings exchanged amused expressions as the boy got cereal, ignoring them all.

“Brat,” Beckett said finally, snagging his bowl from him and starting on it.

Grumbling, Eric got another bowl for himself.

Watching him, Beckett said, “So I was going to meet up with a friend in about an hour, unless you guys need me around here?”

“Ew,” Eliza said, scrunching her nose. “This place has too much of you around. Go away.”

“Hah, hah.” He rolled his eyes, not the least bit offended. “Thanks, guys.”

“Sure. I’m positive we can figure something out to do in your absence.”

“Works for me.”

While they settled at home with a movie, Beckett headed into the city, at a café where his good friend Will sat, holding a seat at the bar.

“Hey, mate,” he said simply, stretched out in his chair. The grin he wore showed off the dimples he hated. He finally felt he was old enough that they were more creases than dimples anyway.

“Son of a bitch,” Beckett laughed, dropping in the chair opposite him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Word has it you’re back here for good.”

“Yeah.” He spun the stool around to look out the window to the city he knew, the city he discovered he couldn’t be without. “Yeah, man. I’ve been away too long.”

“You’re really not coming back? Shit, I thought it was just a rumor.”

He laughed, shaking his head at his English friend. “No, not this time. I’m here to stay. What do you think of the place?”

“It’s nice. The women,” he smirked, “are simply incredible.”

Beckett sighed mournfully, rubbed his chest. “I’m sure they are.”

“What the hell’ve you been doing? You’ve been back months.”

“I’ll explain later. You got plans after?”

“No, why?”

“I’ll take you by the house, explain the mess of my life.”

Because he knew him well and could see the stress around his eyes, he let the jokes pass. “You okay, Beckett? You look like shit.”

“I don’t doubt that. Let’s just enjoy the meal while I mooch off your accent and try scoring at least a number.”

When Beckett pulled up in front of the house, Will gaped at him. Shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit. “You live here?”

“Yeah. For the moment, anyway. It’s my sister’s.”

“Is she home, this sister of yours?”

“I don’t think so, no. Why?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” he murmured, climbing out of the car and following Beckett to the door. This how people got caught, right? Returning to the scene of the crime? But he couldn’t think of a single reason good enough to leave--other than the truth, which might result in a whole different crime.

As Beckett turned the key, the door swung open, and the auburn haired girl stood in the doorway.

Will’s stomach clenched.

“Hey, idiot. Heard the key as I was passing by. Eric and Ana—” she broke off as Beckett stepped in and her eyes landed on the man following him. “Uhm…”

“Eliza, this is my friend Will from Europe. Will, my sister, Eliza. The younger one must be around somewhere.”

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, when Eliza held out a hand, having decided this was the best approach. “Nice to meet you, Will.”

Confused, his brow furrowed, but he went with it, taking her hand. He felt the jolt of electricity, knew she too had felt it when she gasped and her hand flexed in his. Enjoying himself now, he lifted her hand to his lips. “And you, Eliza.”

“Dude, stop hitting on my sister,” Beckett said warningly, relaxing when he released his sister’s hand.

Just then Anabel came down the steps, stopping halfway down. “Seriously, you again?”

Beckett gaped at her. He wasn’t used to her being blatantly rude, especially not so randomly. “Anabel—”

“Shut up, Beck.” She descended the rest of the stairs, stopping right in front of Will. “Are you joking right now?”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Beckett asked, confused.

“Yeah, he—”

“Anabel,” Eliza said frantically, grabbing her shoulder. “I need to talk to you a second.”

“I just bet you do. I don’t like him, Eliza. I could honestly care less if he’s your newest boy toy—”

“What?” Beckett exploded, making Eliza groan.

“There. Now you’ve done it,” Will muttered, backing up. “Look, Beck, mate, I didn’t know she was your sister.”

“Wait, you aren’t here for Eliza?” Anabel asked, bewildered.

“No, he wasn’t,” Eliza huffed, stepping between Will and her brother. “Everyone calm down. Beckett, go cool off.”

“But—”

“Go.”

He pivoted on his heel, storming into the kitchen.

“Anabel, go with him.”

“Me? But I—”

“Anabel!”

“Going.”

And then she turned to Will, fixed a fake smile in place. “Welcome to the mad house. I’ll speak with Beckett and sort this all out. If you could wait in the sitting room,” she began, gesturing to the room after shutting the front door. Before she could continue, before she could do more than turn back to him, he placed his hands on her shoulders, pressed her against the door, and laid his lips on hers again.

With a sigh, she melted against the door, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him closer. Then, as if realizing this is what had caused all the problems, she jerked away.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to go running off on me again. Once was humiliating enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, touching her lips to his. “About that night, about... this. I don’t—let’s just get this all figured out first, okay?”

“Yeah, that’d be smart. Beckett already isn’t happy with me.” He grinned and that, along with the accent, had her turning to jelly. Then he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear and made her knees actually wobble. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, please try to control yourself while we…” she started dryly before trailing off, not knowing how to continue.

“While we?”

“I don’t know. Figure this out or something. Follow me, would you?” She neatly slid out from between Will and the door and started towards the kitchen. “So how do you know Beckett now?”

“We met in Europe, at the paper where he was working.”

“You worked there as well?”

“Yes.” He left it at that, not wanting to get into it at the moment. “So. You’re Beckett’s sister. Didn’t see that coming.”

She laughed, running a hand through her hair. “Tell me about it.”

When the two entered the kitchen together, Beckett’s jaw clenched as his fingers curled into his palm, the fact that they weren’t even touching not calming him down any. Boy toy, for the love of—

“Initially I thought I’d speak to you alone,” Eliza began, glancing at her brother, “but this is all tangled and complicated so it only makes sense we’d all be here.”

Anabel guiltily bit her lip. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about the guy, what’s-his-face, but he was friends with Beckett, and it seemed like they were good friends at that. He deserved to have a good friend. She might’ve messed that up, but maybe she could fix it. Somehow.

When no one spoke, though Beckett helped the cause with his continuous glaring, Anabel cleared her throat. “Maybe I’d been quick to judge. Sorry, uhm…?”

“Will,” he finished for her, smiling. “I understand. It’s perfectly alright.”

“Not with me,” Beckett snarled.

“Beckett,” Anabel chastised before Eliza could. “Stop it. Listen to her—to them. Please. He’s obviously your friend.”

“Friends don’t—”

“He didn’t know. So shut up and stop being a baby.”

He ground his teeth together. Okay, maybe he was taking the protective brother bit far, but… he had making up to do, didn’t he? And that was his friend, dammit. The whole thing was just… wrong. “Fine. I’m listening.”

“We met last week and…” Eliza trailed off. How the hell was she supposed to finish that? We couldn’t even make it to the front door before we starting trying to tear off each other’s clothes? How could that possibly not work? She sighed.

“Wait.” Beckett turned his focus to Will, considerably pale. “Dude. That was my sister you were talking about. That’s fucking sick.”

“Talking about?” Eliza snapped, turning on Will.

“Hey! I didn’t say anything! I just mentioned how charming I found American women.”

Charming was the last thing she’d been. “If you think I’ll fall for that crap just because of your stupid accent, you’re sadly mistaken. Men.”

“Why the generalization?” Beckett cried, offended, as Anabel rested her chin in her palm, shaking her head.

They were all crazy, honestly.

Then, because when shit was hitting the fan in this house, everyone decided they wanted to watch, Eric stepped in. “What’s the deal?” he asked angrily, frowning. Seeing the newcomer, he moved instantly to defensive. “And who’s he?”

“Eric,” Eliza sighed, “go back to the TV room. We’ll be right there.”

“You said that like an hour ago.”

“You have no sense of time.”

“I’m ten.” He snorted. “Seriously, I’m bored.”

“Eric—”

“Go get Toby. We’ll see if we can’t teach him a thing or two,” Anabel said easily, solving the matter. “And bring a tennis ball!” she added as he raced out of there.

“Beckett?” Will asked, watching the kid carefully.

“Yeah,” he said simply, nodding, knowing exactly what he was getting at.

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You got some beers?”

“Fridge, bottom shelf.”

Will helped himself, grabbing two and popping off the bottle caps. He handed one over to his oldest friend. “We good?”

“You owe me beer, asshole. You don’t get to mooch after…” he glanced at Eliza, made a disgusted face. “Especially since she won’t let me keep more than a six pack around, even if there are only two left.”

“Stop your bitching and enjoy the beer. You could use it.”

“Fucking tell me about it.”

Toby ran in seconds before Eric, and Anabel followed the two out after shooting everyone in the room a big smile. “He doesn’t know any tricks or anything—”

“Sure he does. Toby.” He held out a hand and the big puppy plopped his butt on the ground, lifted a paw to shake.

Anabel laughed, genuinely delighted. “Oh, that’s wonderful. He never did listen to me.” Careless of the jeans she wore, she knelt beside the dog, rubbed his fur. “You’re a good dog, aren’t you, baby? Yeah, I’m so proud of you!”

Eric watched her with Toby, the first time he’d really seen her with him, watched as she laughed when he nudged her until she fell backwards on her ass in the grass. She didn’t get mad at him or yell or anything, but instead wrapped an arm around him like she was hugging him. He rained slobbery kisses over her face, and though she squirmed, she still laughed. “Toby, that’s gross! Eric, call him off!”

He wouldn’t make an ass of himself by telling him to heel and be ignored. Instead, he grabbed the tennis ball and, when he had Toby’s attention, threw. Anabel raised an eyebrow when he went running after it.

“Wasn’t good at fetch before either. You’ve done a good job with him, Eric.”

Truth was, they’d done a good job with each other. Eric, clearly, didn’t feel comfortable with her or her sister yet, but he had a friend in Toby. It warmed her heart to see the immediate love between them.

When Toby spit the ball at his feet, he simply picked it up then tossed it again.

“How long will he do that?”

He shrugged. “Probably until I stop throwing it. Then he’ll whine a lot.”

She grinned. “He’s a pretty big baby for a dog of his size.”

“I guess. Who was that guy back there?”

“Beckett and Eliza’s friend.”

“Him and Eliza aren’t friends.”

“Sure they are.”

He sent her an almost bland look. “Friends don’t go at it in the yard or the… what’s it called? The place by the door?”

“The stoop? The foyer?”

“Foyer,” he sneered. “Douchey.”

“Watch it. The foyer? When? Today?”

“He didn’t come in last time.”

She frowned at him. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

“Guess not. What’s wrong with all of you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Beckett’s always chasing after some girl, you’re with that guy with the bike, and Eliza’s nuts about Lips back there.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “And how, pray tell, do you know all this?”

“Who the hell talks like you?” he asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes. Pray tell. What a hoot. “It’s not hard to miss if you’ve got eyes. I’ve got two of ’em.”

“Really? You’re so funny looking I missed that.”

“Lame.”

She still had to try. “It’s true. We try avoiding looking at you because you’re so hideous.”

“You’re uglier.” He was grinning as he kicked the ball this time, sending Toby running again. “And you smell funny like Eliza.”

“You’ve got a big mouth for such a puny kid.”

“Thanks.”

She was laughing with him when Eliza came out. Not wanting to ruin it quite yet, she stood at the edge of the yard, smiling at the picture they made. The laughing girl with grass stains on the butt of her jeans and knees, the young boy grinning beside her, a slobbered tennis ball in hand, and the dog going nuts around them, barking away.

He had Beckett’s eyes, the color the same blue of her own, pale around the pupils. The icy blue there matched Anabel’s.

She sighed and straightened as she walked to them, keeping her stance, her walk, her expression easy. “Since when does Toby actually fetch?”

“The runt’s been busy,” Anabel explained, letting out a yelp when he threw the disgusting ball at her. She caught it and threw it in the same second, not wanting to touch it for longer than absolutely necessary.

He laughed at her girlish reaction, not put off since she hadn’t minded being slobbered on by Toby. She was all right, for a girl.

When Toby came back, he spit the ball by Eliza’s feet then simply leaped up to greet the newcomer. “Down, Toby!” Eliza commanded, but like her sister, she knelt when he was back on the ground, running her hands over his fur. “He could use a bath,” she said lightly, ignoring the interest in Eric’s eyes.

“I’m not doing it again,” Anabel said quickly then, when Eliza winked at her, rushed to add, “My dog washing clothes are in the laundry.”

“I’ll do it,” Eric said nonchalantly, shrugging to hide his excitement.

“I dunno,” Eliza answered dubiously. “He’s a pretty energetic dog.”

“He’s fine. I can handle him.”

“What do you think, Anabel?”

“We could let him have a shot at it,” she said hesitantly, playing along.

She considered it. “Ten says he’s drenched in the first ten.”

“Twenty says five.”

“You’re on.”

They helped him set up, got the hose going and laid out the dog shampoo. Then they both wisely stepped inside and shut the door behind them.

Six minutes later, Anabel celebrated her new form of income while Eliza, grumbling, opened the door several inches. “You couldn’t have held out for, like, two more minutes?”

The boy only laughed and aimed the hose at her, shrugging when she shut the door with reflexes that proved she’d dealt with water fights before.

Eliza still glanced at the tiles on the floor to ensure everything was dry, much to her sister’s amusement. “Shut up.”

“Fine. But since we actually have a minute for a change, I need to talk to you.”

“My room?”

She nodded, led the way to her sister’s room. She felt worn thin, like she’d been running around everywhere the last couple of weeks. She’d still been in school the last time she’d been in her sister’s room, the same room Eliza had, extremely reluctantly, agreed to let her decorate.

Anabel took a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing around the room. It looked… lived in. Not messy, but slightly cluttered with Eliza’s CDs, papers, other work stuff. The walls were still the same crème with the red borders she’d picked, the cherry furniture the same, the walls decorated with beautiful art Anabel had liked to look at it growing up. It was a very feminine look, very warm and homey. It was just as she’d pictured it, just perfect for her sister.

“What’s up, Anabel?”

She fixed her gaze on that sister, studied her now. “You’re not telling me something.”

The guilty panic was ruthlessly swallowed. “What?”

“You’re not telling me something. I want to know what it is.”

“Anabel, honestly. I—”

“Stop lying to me.” The calm, almost tired tone surprised Eliza as much as hearing her sister yell would have. “What’s going on?”

She stuck to a half-truth. “I don’t know, but something is. And it involves Eric.”

“Will knows.”

“I noticed that too,” Eliza nodded, thinking to the look they shared before bonding over beers.

“Where are those two?”

“Den, I think.”

“Why?” Anabel asked, baffled. The den had gone mostly unfurnished, where the seating consisted of old beanbags that had been in her and Eliza’s room.

“Beckett moved in an air hockey table. And I think he installed a TV and gaming system too.”

She rolled her eyes. Of course it didn’t matter that there wasn’t a single half-decent place to sit. “Boys and their toys. Eric’s stuff comes in Friday. I’m going to go to the store tomorrow, pick up the paint.”

“Is he helping you paint?”

“I haven’t asked yet. I guess we’ll see.”

“You should have him help. He might have fun. Like you said, boys and toys.”

She frowned, making Eliza laugh. “In that case, he’s going to end up playing with the paint while I do all the work.”

“Probably. But still. You had me help paint my room. It’s like a right of passage.”

“Beckett didn’t—”

“That’s because he wasn’t around when we took everything of his from mom and dad’s and brought it here.”

It had been a hassle to deal with his stuff, to paint his room, decorate it. Not because there was so much to do, but simply because it’d been his. She’d missed him more than usual during the transition, fighting off an emotional whirlwind whenever she remembered him seeing something of his, when she came across birthday or Christmas presents she’d given him.

She and Eliza had braved through the worst of it, though it’d been much worse on her older sister.

Instinctively she reached across the space between them, rested her hand on Eliza’s. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said with a heavy sigh. “For now, anyway.”

Anabel looked away from the forced smile on her face, swinging her legs that dangled on the edge of the bed.

Not yet. Right.

It was with that in mind that she met Adam half a week later. She’d been busy the days in between, spending all her energy on Eric’s room in between cycles of sleep and food, with occasional conversation with her siblings. She avoided them for the most part, holing herself in the room she was painting.

Earlier in the day, having finished with that aspect, she’d drawn up a floor plan, set with all the furniture she’d bought. Everything was organized neatly, planned precisely. It was the realization that she was getting obsessive that drew her out of the house when Adam called.

She stepped out in the black dress she’d been thinking of on their last date, a little sleeveless number that hugged her curves, accentuating them, then danced around mid-thigh, her feet clad in red heels that added considerably to her height. She’d kept everything else a minimum, wearing a delicate tennis bracelet on one wrist, one ring to decorate the other hand, a necklace with a single solitaire hanging from it.

Only her eyes had been done, in neutral shades so light they did nothing more than accent the icy blue of her eyes, and her lips were painted a pale pink. A thin line of coffee-black lined her eyes. She’d forgone the mascara, the cover-up and bronzer.

Her hair was up in a simple bun.

She looked beautiful, he thought, the panic hitting him like a fist in the gut. But still his smile was easy, his shoulders relaxed. “Hey. Look, I brought an actual car this time.”

She glanced behind him, distracted, then did a double take. “You own a Viper GTS-R?”

“So it seems I do.”

Making a low humming sound, she stepped to the car and ran a single finger against the glossy black car door. “We get to go in this?”

He smiled, rocking on his heels. No stretch limo for this girl. No, that simply wouldn’t do with her. “Yes, we do. You want to drive?”

She gaped at him. “You just let anyone drive your car? You ought to respect her more.”

He didn’t, he didn’t let anyone drive his car actually, but he only smiled. “Offer still stands.”

“God, I wish I could drive. I’d take you up on it, but…” She shrugged, started towards the passenger side.

He beat her there, holding the door open for her. She shot him a small smile as she started to get in. Keeping the door between them, he pressed his lips to her cheek, just because she looked like she could use it. With another smile she climbed in, closing her eyes for a brief second to regroup when he shut the door behind her.

It was fucking awkward. He had his dumb as shit friends to blame for that, his problem, but Jesus. He didn’t need this shit about being stuck and whatever the fuck else. He’d been stewing over it for weeks now, and it just kept adding to his irritation.

He took a deep breath and got in the driver’s seat.

“So. Where are we going this time?”

Roses. She smelled like roses. It had to be, with the soft floral fragrant that wafted from her. “You’ll see.”

She smiled faintly, and he saw her run a caressing finger against the leather upholstery. “She runs beautifully.”

He was suddenly glad he’d gone with the Viper and not the ’Vette. Though he did wonder how she’d react when he showed up with the ’Vette for their third date. “I’m curious. How does someone who loves cars so much not drive them?”

“My sister was busy. She couldn’t exactly teach me. And the few times she tried, she’d like flip out when I was behind the wheel. So we decided to stop trying.”

“And Beckett?”

“He wasn’t around.”

“Even then? When you got your permit?”

“He hasn’t been around since long before that.”

He watched her from his peripherals, wondered if that was why she’d looked so upset. Taking her hand, he asked, “How long before that?”

“Just about a decade.”

He released a long, low whistle between his teeth. “That’s a long time. Why did he go?”

“He had to.” She shrugged, but she sounded so tired, so sad, under all the nonchalance. “He’s a writer. He wanted to go see what he could do with that.”

“He couldn’t figure it out here?”

“Artistic integrity or something. I don’t know. He just couldn’t do it here. We stifled him and his writing.”

“Anabel, it was the place, not you.”

“Well, he left the both of us.”

“He also came back.”

“I guess.” She smiled cheerfully. “This is way too heavy for before dinner. W—”

“You’re good at that. Finding up excuses to spare you from uncomfortable situations. It won’t work on me.”

“That isn’t what I was doing.” The hint of defensiveness in her voice said otherwise.

“Oh, right. Well, of course, but if you were, it wouldn’t work with me. If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. But if you’re doing it because you think I don’t want to talk about it—”

“Why would you want to? It’s my family drama, not yours.”

“Exactly. It’s yours, and that means something to me.” There, she had nothing to say to that. “Do you not want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what, exactly?”

“Beckett. Your family. Whatever it is that’s putting this,” he touched the faint crease between her brows, “little line right here.”

“Eyes on the road. There’s so much with my family, I don’t know where to start. And Beckett…”

“You were awfully excited to see him that first night. You sound a little angry now.”

“I’m not angry, per se. I’m just… I was happy to see him that night. I’m happy he’s home. I just don’t know if he’ll leave again. I don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive him if he does.”

“That’s human of you, Anabel. But he can’t, right? With Eric and everything?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What? What is it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have very expressive eyes, Anabel. Something changed when I spoke of Eric. What is it? Do you not like him?”

“Of course I do. But… they’re hiding something from me about him, Beckett and Eliza. She doesn’t know what’s going on exactly, but she has some inkling.”

He resisted the urge to comment on her usage on the word inkling, and considered it his personal achievement of the day that he was able to keep a straight face. “How do you know?”

“My sister is very easy to read, if you know her well enough.”

“You’re close, the two of you.”

“We are.”

“But you and Beckett are close too.”

“We are. We all are. Or were. I don’t know.”

“What was it like growing up with them?”

She vaguely registered that they were heading away from the city. “It was… crazy. Three kids are never easy, and we didn’t help matters any.

“We all had like set roles, you know? They didn’t always stick, but for the most part… Beckett was oldest, therefore bossy and all-knowing. Eliza was the middle child, but it didn’t stop her from being demanding and just as bossy as Beckett. I’m the youngest, the spoiled and opinionated one. Often the buffer for the other two. But, god, the three of us,” she laughed, shaking a loose strand of hair out of her face. “We were raising hell all the time, whether we were working together or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“We drove our parents nuts with all the squabbling—” he fought to hold back his laughter, “—and when we weren’t doing that, we’d be banding together against them to get what we wanted. Beckett would charm them to his way, I’d be cute to persuade them, and Eliza would be determined enough to get results. Of course, after we got our parents to agree to our demands, we’d turn against each other. I remember how we’d always use our powers for an extra hour of TV in the evening then sit there and argue about to watch.

“I wonder if they knew. My parents, I mean. We’d get the hour, but we’d rarely make use of it. I wonder if they knew we wouldn’t.”

“Parents have a way with stuff like that.”

“I guess they do. Where are we going?”

He ran his thumb along her knuckles. “Dinner.”

“Where? We aren’t going to the city.”

“I know.” He lifted her hand, kissed the inside of her wrist.

“So, where?”

“You’ll see.”

She hummed a reply, glancing at him. She’d been distracted before, but now she noticed the fitted black slacks he wore, the black suit, and the white button up. There was a tie in the back.

Somewhere nice, that was for sure, but… the suit was high end, the label on the tie Italian. The shoes, when she caught a glance at them, screamed pricy Italian leather. If they were knock-offs, they were damn good ones. She wondered where the sheen of class had come from, hardly believing herself that the musician in the ripped jeans now sat beside her in a suit that actually fit and fit well.

Who would’ve thought he actually knew how to dress? Though there was something to be said about how well he wore his faded and frayed jeans.

“I’m never one to complain when I’m being checked out, but try to at least keep the conversation going,” Adam joked, grinning when she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I was just wondering when you suddenly learned how to dress.”

“You got a problem with my denim?”

Anabel shrugged. “I couldn’t figure out how you managed to get into that club that night in those jeans. They looked—”

“Oh, no. Don’t you start on my jeans. Go back to gawking, I preferred it.”

“I might actually do it, had I been gawking. As it happens…”

“You’re in denial.”

“And you’re delusional.”

“Then we work together perfectly.”

“You wish.”

“Aren’t you too tiny to have this much attitude?”

“Obviously not.” She grinned when he sent her a sideways glance, shaking his head.

“You’re a handful.”

“I try my best to be.”

“Yeah? You trying to live up to your name or something?”

“What is with your obsession with my name?”

“I’ve just never met an Anabel before. It’s weird to me, since it isn’t an unpopular name. Right?”

She thought back to that night when she’d started with that and blushed again. “Right.”

“What does it mean? I’m sure it isn’t handful, though that’s all that seems apt to me.”

“Aren’t you funny? No, it doesn’t mean handful.”

“Then what is it?”

She couldn’t help the sarcastic grin she wore when answering. “Easy to love.”

He looked over, trying to decipher if she was being serious or not. “Ah.”

“So do I at least get to ask how much further this mysterious place is?”

“About another half hour.”

“Seriously? Where are you taking me, Adam?”

“It isn’t a surprise if you know. Give me a half hour, Anabel. Time it.”

She did. Exactly three minutes before his deadline, he pulled into a lot.

She was suddenly glad she hadn’t placed a bet on it, no matter how tempted she’d been.

“What is this place?” It was so green. There was grass everywhere, trees around the edges.

“You’ll see.” He pulled to a stop in the front, by the valet, getting out and tossing the keys to the man in a red polo and khakis. Circling the car, he came and opened Anabel’s door.

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

As they stepped to the front door, Anabel caught the crest on the wall from the corner of her eye. “A country club?”

“Yup.”

“What—are you a member?”

“Stop worrying, Anabel. Hello,” he began, smiling at the woman at the desk. “Were you able to get the table I wanted? The request was for Martin.”

“Certainly. Would you like someone to show you the way?”

“I know where it is, thank you. Come on.”

Anabel smiled at the woman and followed after him, bristling. “You could stand to be a little less bossy, you know.”

“Sorry. Bathrooms are there, if you need them later or something.” He pointed down a hall at the end of which was a ladies restroom. “And we’re this way.”

She was taken through the dining hall so quickly she barely registered it and out the doors onto the terrace. There was only one table there, with a white tablecloth aligned perfectly on it and a candle in the middle.

Adam left her side to hold out her chair for her.

She felt the blush crawl up her neck as she took her seat, looking to her side at the range overlooking the terrace. The sun was just beginning to set.

“Adam, this… How did you manage all this?”

“They’re accommodating people. I only had to make a few calls.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I felt I owed you after that jeans incident. I’m sure you’re not accustomed to going anywhere underdressed.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I hope you won’t mind that I ordered for you.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

She waited until the server served them each a glass of water, then a glass of wine before glancing behind him, at the grill she could just barely see from the curved angle and continuing their conversation. “It wouldn’t happen to be barbecue, would it?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you ever just answer questions?”

“I will starting now. Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t ever a scout.”

He grinned like he’d been caught picking at dessert before dinner. “How’d you know?”

“I just can’t see you as a one.”

“Fair enough. But I meant it—I’ll answer your questions starting now. Honest.”

She didn’t so much as hesitate. “You said you were an only child.”

“That isn’t a question. Yes.”

“You grew up with?”

“My parents.”

“Any close extended family?”

“A couple of aunts and uncles and stuff.”

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as her head cocked to the side. “Were you a spoiled child?”

“I was… comfortable.”

“So, spoiled.”

“Were you not?”

“I’m asking you questions, remember?”

“That was a tactful way to avoid answering.”

She rolled her eyes, but the gesture was halfhearted. “I was comfortable as well. My sister… she went above and beyond to make sure I was comfortable. I guess it was her way of—”

“Of?”

She shook her head adamantly. “No, it’s your turn. Is the Viper outside yours?”

“Yes.”

“And the Stryker was yours too?”

“You know that.”

“I’m impressed. Not by you, just your varying modes of transportation.”

“And here you almost flattered me.”

“Almost being the operating word.”

The two moved away from each other when the server appeared with two plates in hand. Anabel looked down at the plates, an eyebrow rising at the matching orders of two steaks, two sides of broccoli, two sides of mashed potatoes. “That’s a lot of food.”

He glanced down, unconcerned. “Eat as much as you want. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Is it still my turn?” Anabel asked, peppering her broccoli and potatoes.

“Go for it.”

“Do you often go all out on dates?”

“Like you’d settle for anything less.”

She sipped her wine, appreciated the sweetness of it. “This is excellent. And what makes you think—”

“Have you ever been called a snob before?” He continued when she frowned, “I’m not saying you’re snobby. Just… imperious.”

“They’re synonyms,” she snapped.

“Supercilious?”

“I’d really shut up, were I you.”

He laughed, sitting back in his chair. “You’re really not, Anabel. You seem like you are, at a glance—”

“You really can’t take a hint, can you?”

“If I’d taken a hint, you wouldn’t be sitting here,” he countered easily before taking another bite of his food.

Anabel frowned at her steak, wondering how he always ended up being right. “You didn’t answer.”

“Not always, no.”

“Is that a current evaluation of dates you’ve taken women out on recently or is it a compilation based on your entire dating history?”

He blinked at her. “Do you even know what you just said?”

“Did you not understand?”

“No,” he shook his head—to clear it or support the denial, she didn’t know, “I got it, I’m just wondering if you did. We’re pausing your turn for a moment. Does everyone you know speak the way you do?”

“What’s wrong with the way I speak?”

He smirked at her frown. “Imperious.”

“Oh, shut up about that, would you?”

“You wouldn’t want me to. Pause over. It’s a compilation, I suppose. Though the answer would remain the same if it were just recent dates I were speaking about. Excluding dates with you, of course.”

“Of course.”

He smiled at her. “How’s your dinner? I wasn’t sure how you took your steak.”

“This is perfect, thank you.”

“And the wine?”

“Excellent. Prosecco?”

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Wine.” She grinned. “This one just so happens to be my favorite.”

“Lucky me, then.”

“I’d say. Good guess.”

“Let me have my moment. Would you be up for a drive around the city after dinner?”

“In that car? Absolutely.”

He was pretty certain she liked his car more than she did him. He wondered why the hell the thought of it made him spend just a little more time on her.

“I don’t know very much about you.”

“What do you want to know?” He switched lanes, the heavy pedestrian traffic making him a more careful driver than usual.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you volunteer something?”

“Well, I don’t know.” He barely resisted itching his head in confusion. “Like what?”

“Anything. Telling you would kind of defeat the whole volunteering info idea, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uhm. Okay. My favorite color is blue?”

She fought back a grin. “Blue?”

“I don’t know. Gender roles, or something?”

“Okay. What else?”

“Well, I don’t know, Anabel. You’re not exactly helping, you know.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“House or apartment?”

“Apartment.”

“Queens?”

“City.”

She tilted her head towards him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive. I want a place in the city, one day.”

“I don’t think anything can stop you, then.”

She smiled brilliantly, and for a single second she looked younger, more… innocent, almost. Then the car behind him honked, and the moment passed. “That’s the nicest thing you could say to me.”

“You’re an ambitious girl.”

“Thank you, really.” She lightly touched his wrist. “Where in the city?”

“By the seaport.”

“Cool. Where are we going now?” she asked, glancing around at the bright lights of Times Square.

“I don’t know. I just figured we’d visit the place of our first date.”

“That wasn’t a date.”

“You have this way of speaking, you know, when you’re cross. All prim and—”

“You say imperiously and I’m getting out of this car.”

He only grinned. “You said it, not me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Do you want to go to the seaport? Walk around or something?”

“Everything will be closed, but I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Okay. I never know what to do in the city that never sleeps when I should be sleeping.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “God, you’re a loser.”

“Yet you’re here.”

Well, he had a point there.

“So where do you live?” Anabel asked later, when they were walking by the closed stores at the seaport.

He glanced around, zeroing in on his street and raising a hand to point. “There.”

“Show me.”

His head tilted to the side so he could look at her as he stopped. “You…?”

She laced their fingers together, smiling. As she led him down the street, she said, “Down here, right?”

“Right.” Maybe he’d hoped this is how the night would go, but he hadn’t actually expected… “It’s that building, right there.”

“Oh, wow, you’re like right there, aren’t you? How’s the view?”

The view? She expected him to talk about the view? Well, fine then. “It’s good.”

“Can you see the port?”

“Yeah. I’ll show you.”

She hummed as they stepped into the lobby, distracted. It was nice, architecturally appealing. All marble and high ceilings and—

“Good evening, Mr. Martin.”

“How are you tonight, John?”

“Doing well, sir, thanks. And yourself?”

“Great, thanks. Down that way we’ve got a gym and a lounge,” Adam said, focusing on Anabel again. “I could show you around, if you want?”

He really couldn’t take a hint, could he? “Maybe later.”

“Yeah, sure. Elevators are this way.” He placed a hand on the small of her back, nudged her to the right. There were six of them, three on each side. In the elevator, Adam hit the penthouse button, shrugging when Anabel raised an eyebrow at him.

The doors slowly closed, and Anabel leaned back against the wall of the elevator, eyes on Adam. She’d expected to be nervous, unsure, but she was fine, steady. Though the tension in the elevator spiked up the moment the doors shut, Adam stayed where he was, a good foot away.

When the doors reopened, he let her step out first then followed her.

Here was the anxiety, the nervousness, now that she was actually in his apartment. It was the anticipation, more than anything else. Having found the name for it, she relaxed, though just slightly.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Hm?” She turned to face him, nodded. “Sure. I’ll just have water, please.”

“Okay. That window gives you a perfect view of the port.”

“Thanks.” She stepped to it, peering outside. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

“I like to think so,” he called from the kitchen, getting her water and his breath back. When he stepped back out, he could almost pass for relaxed. “Here’s your water.”

She turned for the window, and all the muscles he’d just gotten to relax clenched again as she stood there with the dark sky as her backdrop. “Thanks.” The smile she sent him was all invitation.

Instead of handing her the glass, he placed it on the nearest table before taking a step towards her. “Anabel.”

Where his eyes darkened, hers seemed to deepen as she closed the space between them. “Yes?”

He didn’t know what he wanted to say, what he could say. So he said the only thing he was capable of thinking. “You’re beautiful.”

With that, he carefully cupped her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers. Her body pressed to his, her fingers fisted around his shirt. Reminding himself to slow down, he pulled away and smiled warmly at her, taking her hand. She stared at him through heavy lidded eyes and he felt his control slip.

“I—”

“Adam?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He smiled slowly, tugging her against him again, and tangled his fingers in her hair. When her breath hitched, he lightly pulled on her hair until she tilted her head up, giving him access to her neck. Releasing her hair, he let his hands drift down her sides, over her curves.

She was going crazy, at the mercy of those quick fingers and that clever tongue. Her own fingers were fast at work on the buttons of his shirt until she could feel the hot flesh of his chest under her palms. Moaning, she shoved and tugged until his jacket and shirt fell from him onto the floor. Quivering as he dragged down the zipper of her dress, she began exploring.

Every sane thought of his flew out of his mind as she ducked her head to nip at his lower lip, his jaw, his neck. “Christ, Anabel.”

She laughed, a breathy sound, and kissed him again. When her dress pooled at her feet, she stepped out of it, nudging him towards the doors. Taking the hint, he walked backwards to his room, shoving the door open with one hand, the other still on Anabel.

Something nagged at the edge of his mind until he pulled away, stared into the pale blue of her eyes. “You sure?”

She nudged him onto the bed in response, trailing kisses up his chest as she straddled his waist. “Yeah, I’m sure. Do you have a condom?”

“Yeah.” He shuddered as she lightly ran her nails down his sides, stopping at the waistband of his slacks. Almost playfully, he rolled over, trapping her under him. As he ducked his head to taste her, he reached into the nightstand drawer beside them.

She bucked and shivered as he bit down lightly on the side of her neck, those nails digging into the skin of his back as he tugged teasingly on the strap of her bra.

“We’ll leave this on for now.”

She moaned again and what little blood he had left in his head moved south, but he forced himself to stay, to watch her in the moonlight that slanted in from his curtains.

Self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What?”

“Nothing.” He grinned down at her. “I should have pegged you for a lace girl.”

“Funny.”

“Wanna know what else is?” Without waiting for an answer, he kissed down her chest, ran his tongue along the edge of her bra, smiled when she gasped and shivered.

“You play dirty,” she accused, slipping her fingertips in the waistband of his jeans and making his eyes cross.

“Yeah, ’cause that’s fair,” he said, grabbing her hands and holding them beside her head when she started slipping his slacks off. Not yet, he thought frantically, hands still gripping her wrists as he trailed kisses down her body, making her shudder.

Still trembling, she shoved and pushed until she was back on top, nibbling on his earlobe. When he undid the clasp of her bra, she bit down just a little harder, adjusted herself so he could pull the garment off. As his fingers danced up her bare thigh, she let him roll her over, and welcomed him in.

He couldn’t tell if she slept or not, her head on his chest, lying on her stomach, his arm around her shoulders. Using his free hand, he ran a finger down her spine, watched the goosebumps rise on her skin. “Cold?”

She made a sound of some sort, too spent to use her words. Since opening her eyes required too much effort, she simply kept them closed.

“I don’t know what that means, honey.”

“No,” she sighed, blissful, “I’m okay. I could use some water though.”

After that, so could he. But he only nodded, carefully nudging her off him so he could sit up. “Just water?”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

Outside, he drained the glass he’d poured her earlier, then another in the kitchen. Getting her a new glass, he poured the refrigerated water and padded back into the room, stopping short as he watched Anabel pull her lace back on. He only spent a moment appreciating the view, the play of black lace on pale skin, the grace of the feminine movements. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready. I should head home soon.”

He glanced at the clock. “It’s past three.”

“I know.”

He pressed the cold glass against her side to get her attention, shrugging innocently when she jumped and glared at him. “Why not just stay?”

The glass barely paused on the way to her lips, but she took a long sip before answering. Stay? She’d never stayed after sex before. “I really should go back home.”

“Maybe, but…” He unhooked her bra. “If you stay we could do it again.”

Well, that was tempting. But… stay? She reached up to hold her bra in place even as she leaned in to press their lips together. “We could do it again some other night.”

“We could do that too. After we do it again tonight.”

“I don’t think staying is a good idea, Adam.” Honestly, what kind of guy wanted a girl to stay after sex?

“Will your siblings be upset if you don't come bak home?” He frowned when she turned her back to him, reaching back to the clasp of her bra again.

“No, but…” How was she supposed to finish that?

Realizing she wasn’t used to staying with a man after sex, he stepped to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against him. “See? You have no excuses.”

When he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, she responded immediately and forgot why she was against staying to begin with. It was a problem, she decided, to be dealt with later.