Read Online What Brings Me to You by Loralee Abercrombie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Loralee Abercrombie
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leave.
"No, I mean all the way home. I want you to...to see where I live."
*****
I didn't have any expectations when we pulled up to her house. Mostly because all I could think about was being with her. Among her things. I was delirious with excitement, so much so my left leg was bouncing up and down uncontrollably.
"So, am I meeting the parents?" I was great at meeting the parents, it was definitely one of my strong suites. Who wouldn't want me to meet their parents? Handsome, charming, smart, wealthy. I was just about to tell her this when she said, "What? Oh, no way. They're on vacation."
I tried to ignore the "no way" and focus on the other part: "Vacation? Without you?"
"Yep."
When we got to her driveway I realized we were on Harbour Island, one of the ritzier zip codes areas of the Greater Tampa Area, we even passed the Tampa Area Yacht club before reaching her place. I was surprised she lived in a McMansion. I mean, it wasn't as big as our place, but it was grand from the exterior. At least two story, maybe three, Spanish style with red tile roof. Everything in Florida is stucco over cement block, but there were decorative columns and wrought iron window boxes similar to our house. I also realized how close we lived to each other. We couldn't have been more than twenty minutes away from my house, and yet we'd never run into each other. Granted I was five years older, but if her family lived in a McMansion on Harbour Island, they most likely ran in the same circles with mine.
"This is it?"
"Oh quit staring Mr. I-drive-a-brand-new-Mercedes. I know who you are, you know. And truth be told, I wouldn't care if you were a Kennedy, you're still a pain in the ass. Let's go."
Speechless. She actually rendered me speechless. How long has she known? Since I told her my name? That was only a couple hours? Should it even matter? She never changed her behavior? I still feel lied to and didn't she institute the "brutal honesty” thing? Yes, but in all fairness I wasn't forthcoming with my identity; I didn't hide it either, though. But she never asked the direct question. She didn't have to. Is this really what's bothering me? No. She tricked me. She didn't trick you, she outsmarted you. Shit. I'm in trouble.
"Are you coming?" she called from the door. I'd been sitting in the driver's seat with my mouth hanging agape. I knew I should leave but I couldn't.
Ornate is the word I'd use to describe the interior. Lots of marble, granite and carved dark wood. Very expensive furnishings; some of which I recognized from my own house. Maybe her folks and mine have the same designer, I thought. Tampa was, unfortunately, a pretty small town for the wealthy. When I looked out the French doors leading to the back...
"This is waterfront property?" I was amazed. Why didn't she want me to see this place before?
"Quit gawking, c'mon." She grabbed my wrist lightly and began leading me up a grand staircase which, in the middle, made a sharp turn to the left. She stopped at the landing and pointed to a set of photos framed and mounted on a matte background.
"There's the family."
The pictures were black and white. Each had four people all wearing jeans and white oxford shirts. One they're all sitting together on a checked blanket under a tree. Another they're walking away from the mid-afternoon sun, the woman and man are holding hands and smiling, she has her head on his shoulder, the boys are walking ahead of them laughing. I scanned the whole set, Charley was nowhere to be found. The couple, though,
"No, I mean all the way home. I want you to...to see where I live."
*****
I didn't have any expectations when we pulled up to her house. Mostly because all I could think about was being with her. Among her things. I was delirious with excitement, so much so my left leg was bouncing up and down uncontrollably.
"So, am I meeting the parents?" I was great at meeting the parents, it was definitely one of my strong suites. Who wouldn't want me to meet their parents? Handsome, charming, smart, wealthy. I was just about to tell her this when she said, "What? Oh, no way. They're on vacation."
I tried to ignore the "no way" and focus on the other part: "Vacation? Without you?"
"Yep."
When we got to her driveway I realized we were on Harbour Island, one of the ritzier zip codes areas of the Greater Tampa Area, we even passed the Tampa Area Yacht club before reaching her place. I was surprised she lived in a McMansion. I mean, it wasn't as big as our place, but it was grand from the exterior. At least two story, maybe three, Spanish style with red tile roof. Everything in Florida is stucco over cement block, but there were decorative columns and wrought iron window boxes similar to our house. I also realized how close we lived to each other. We couldn't have been more than twenty minutes away from my house, and yet we'd never run into each other. Granted I was five years older, but if her family lived in a McMansion on Harbour Island, they most likely ran in the same circles with mine.
"This is it?"
"Oh quit staring Mr. I-drive-a-brand-new-Mercedes. I know who you are, you know. And truth be told, I wouldn't care if you were a Kennedy, you're still a pain in the ass. Let's go."
Speechless. She actually rendered me speechless. How long has she known? Since I told her my name? That was only a couple hours? Should it even matter? She never changed her behavior? I still feel lied to and didn't she institute the "brutal honesty” thing? Yes, but in all fairness I wasn't forthcoming with my identity; I didn't hide it either, though. But she never asked the direct question. She didn't have to. Is this really what's bothering me? No. She tricked me. She didn't trick you, she outsmarted you. Shit. I'm in trouble.
"Are you coming?" she called from the door. I'd been sitting in the driver's seat with my mouth hanging agape. I knew I should leave but I couldn't.
Ornate is the word I'd use to describe the interior. Lots of marble, granite and carved dark wood. Very expensive furnishings; some of which I recognized from my own house. Maybe her folks and mine have the same designer, I thought. Tampa was, unfortunately, a pretty small town for the wealthy. When I looked out the French doors leading to the back...
"This is waterfront property?" I was amazed. Why didn't she want me to see this place before?
"Quit gawking, c'mon." She grabbed my wrist lightly and began leading me up a grand staircase which, in the middle, made a sharp turn to the left. She stopped at the landing and pointed to a set of photos framed and mounted on a matte background.
"There's the family."
The pictures were black and white. Each had four people all wearing jeans and white oxford shirts. One they're all sitting together on a checked blanket under a tree. Another they're walking away from the mid-afternoon sun, the woman and man are holding hands and smiling, she has her head on his shoulder, the boys are walking ahead of them laughing. I scanned the whole set, Charley was nowhere to be found. The couple, though,
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