Read Online A French Whipping by Nicole Camden - Free Book Online Page B

Kevin mimicked his posture and leaned closer. “She left. Talked to your friend Roland for a bit and then said she had to take care of something.”
    “Take care of what?”
    Kevin pressed his lips together and blew air out of his mouth. “She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask.”
    Nick glared at the bartender for a moment, gritting his teeth, but then he nodded, turning away from the bar impatiently.
    Muttering to himself, he pulled out his phone and tapped on her name in his contact list. The phone rang several times before she picked it up.
    “Nick.” Her voice was breathy, like she’d been running.
    “Blake.” Maybe she hadn’t been running. Maybe she’d already picked someone else to help her. “Is this a bad time?”
    “A bad time? No.” She sounded confused. “Did you talk to Roland?”
    “Briefly.”
    “Okay.”
    Nick scowled. “What the hell are we talking about?”
    “You called me, asshole.” Her husky voice sounded exasperated, but not truly angry.
    “Why aren’t you at the bar?”
    “Are you checking up on me?”
    And here they had it, the reason he wasn’t cut out for relationships. He paced several steps down the street. “I came to the bar to see you and you aren’t here. Kevin said you left and I was worried.” He enunciated every word carefully.
    “Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?”
    “I—” He stopped himself before he said something he’d regret. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. I went to talk to someone from my support group.”
    “Oh.” He wondered what they’d talked about. Had she talked about her desire to have sex again? Had they encouraged her?
    An awkward silence fell between them. Nick could hear the sound of people talking and someone playing a fiddle. He realized he could hear the fiddle through her phone but also somewhere nearby. He looked up just as she said, “I’m on my way back to my apartment now. I see you.”
    Nick looked up and there she was, walking toward him, wearing her black uniform, a tan-colored trench coat, and those ridiculous motorcycle boots that she said made her feel like a badass. He’d bought them for her after she’d broken up with Carlos, when she’d dragged him shopping. Her blond hair was loose, falling around her shoulders. Passersby wove around her, some turning to look at her again, some looking around for cameras—she was that beautiful. Nearby, heat lamps warmed diners enjoying their dinner at high tables at the popular oyster bar, while a pushcart seller packed away jewelry and scarves. Cobblestone pavement gleamed blue-black and yellow in the lights, and the air was wet, so wet that small droplets seemed to hang in the air, coalescing onto his coat and the strands of her hair.
    She stopped when she was fifty feet away, still holding her cell phone, her eyes widening as she met his gaze.
    When she didn’t say anything, he took a step closer, and then another. She wet her lips and slid her phone into the pocket of her coat.
    “What made you change your mind?” Her low, scratchy voice was nearly inaudible amid the noise of the crowd, even as he came within arm’s length of her.
    He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Change my mind about what?” he asked gruffly.
    “Coming out to the bar. I thought you were avoiding me.”
    Nick nodded. “I was. Chickenshit thing to do, really.”
    A faint smile pulled up one corner of her mouth. “At least you admit it.”
    Nick held out his elbow for her to take. “Have a drink with me.” He nodded to the oyster bar.
    “Here?”
    “Why not?”
    “You don’t like seafood.”
    “Since when has that stopped you from taking me to every fish place in town?”
    She shrugged and looked around, a line gathering between her brows. Wondering why she seemed worried, Nick looked around as well. There was one guy watching them, or Blake, rather, but he looked away when Nick gave him a hard stare.
    “All right,” she said and took his elbow. The smell of lemon and