On the Way Down

Chapter Six

There's no reason for what feels like a flock of hyperactive seagulls in my stomach as I approach the freeway exit that, according to my GPS, is only a few minutes away from the address Phoenix sent me. Realizing this doesn't help. My palms are still clammy when I pull into the driveway of a sandstone-colored house with a tile roof and park my car beside a maroon Mercedes SUV.

The street is a quiet crescent, and the houses here aren't ostentatious by any means, but it's Laguna Beach. Unless it's a rental, the modest-sized home in front of me came with a multi-million dollar price tag. Phoenix's career may have tanked after North Node, but it appears he made solid real estate choices with what he earned before then. It's a far cry from the one-bedroom loft he leased when we started dating.

Movement at a window catches my attention. Phoenix knows I'm here. It's too late now to change my mind and go home, so I sigh and reach for the door handle. This won't kill me, but I wish I could skip to the part where my jitters go away.

Damn coin toss and damn nerves. I should have said I was busy.

The front door of the house swings open as I step out of the car, and Phoenix emerges to greet me. I'd be lying if I claimed not to notice the way his sleeveless charcoal T-shirt hugs his chest and shows off the well-defined muscles in his arms, or if I denied how the fit of his jeans across his hips unleashes a torrent of memories that are in no way appropriate for the situation at hand.

I hate how physical attraction works sometimes.

"Was the drive okay?" he asks. What a casual and normal question for a day that isn't either of these things.

"Mostly. I hit the usual traffic on the 5."

I'm a couple of feet from him now. He opens his arms for a hug, but stops short of putting them around me until I accept the unspoken invitation and close the gap between us.

"Thank you for driving all the way out here."

His breath against my ear sends tingles up my spine. He's subtle about it, but I catch the dip of his head closer to my hair and the rise of his chest when he breathes in. Maybe he notices the scent of my hair, or the vanilla fragrance of my perfume. Maybe this isn't only me. Both of us hang on for longer than we should.

I let go first. Our gazes meet when I step back, and I thank every higher power out there that I'm still wearing sunglasses. Phoenix isn't. If his eyes are truly a window to his soul, then today could be more than I bargained for.

"Would you like to go inside?"

"Sure," I say, even though I'm not. Ava isn't here to play chaperone or interrupt if an exchange between us becomes intense. I'm on my own, with no one to save me from myself.

I make my way to the front door. Phoenix hangs back a step to let me enter the house ahead of him.

Nothing has ever made me feel like more of an awkward wallflower than stepping inside Phoenix's house does now. Should I pause in the foyer and let him lead me somewhere? Or should I plunk myself down on the first chair or sofa I see? Will I recognize any of the artwork or framed photographs on his walls, or is everything in here from a part of his life I know nothing about?

Phoenix must sense my hesitation. He touches my arm, which I take as a signal to stop and turn around.

"We could go down to the beach for a while, if you're into that. If not, we can stay here."

I should be relieved. The beach means a wide-open public space. I'm less likely to do something I could regret later if we're in view of other people. But I recall Phoenix wanting to continue our conversation in private, which makes the beach an odd choice.

"I'm up for it if you think we can talk there. It's probably more crowded with people than Torin's house was."

This is my way of warning him he's still on the hook for finishing what he started in Las Vegas. I didn't come here for a beach date where we stroll along the sand, find some seashells, buy some ice cream, and watch the waves roll in.

"Not the spot we're going to," he replies. "Let me grab some things first, and then we can go."

I follow him into a gleaming white kitchen, where he opens the door of a stainless steel fridge. He pulls out a plastic grocery bag, then puts it inside a larger canvas bag that's on a quartz countertop.

"Water and snacks in case we get hungry," he explains. "There's a beach blanket for the sand in my truck."

"Okay." The crazed seagulls have returned to my stomach. Food is the last thing on my mind.

He looks at me in a way that makes me wonder if he's peering into my heart and mind. "No," he says after a few seconds.

"No to what?"

"You said 'okay,' but I can tell it isn't and that you aren't. It's my fault."

"Pardon?" He's right, but the fact that he's on to my anxiety is unnerving.

"Want to sit down?"

It sounds like a request I can decline if I want to, but I doubt he'll let the subject drop for long if I say no and we continue on our way to the beach. The closest seats to us are stools at the counter, so I pull one out and sit on it. He takes a seat on the stool next to mine.

"You aren't comfortable around me," he continues. "I did that and I'll own it, but I want you to know I meant what I said last weekend."

He said a lot of things last weekend. "Remind me what that was?"

"That I don't know if I can ever make up for what I did to you, but I want to try if you'll let me. And that I won't bite you."

Unless I want you to, my mind finishes. Curse him, because now I'm remembering how he looked at me and played with a lock of my hair, and the images of us together that sprang to mind then and do the same now.

The corners of his mouth curve upward, as though he hears my thoughts. It was a decent ice-breaking attempt on his part, but he hasn't melted me yet.

"I'm still thrown by you wanting to talk and hang out all of a sudden," I admit. "I don't really understand it, especially since I wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't run into me by accident."

"So, about that." He shifts in his seat to rest his elbow on the counter, then props his head up with his hand. "I need to confess something."

His expression reminds me of a puppy dog. I don't know what he's about to reveal, but I've experienced the same soulful, wide-eyed gaze of his before. It's nothing but trouble. My record for resisting him when he turns it on me and dials up the charm is abysmal.

Despite this, my curiosity wins. "Please do."

"I said I don't believe in random chance when we spoke at Torin's house. That's because I knew you would be at Nebula. Running into you wasn't an accident. I went there to see you."

Hold up. If he means what I think he does, then a certain drum-playing friend of mine will be getting an earful from me later. He'll be lucky if I don't sic Ava on him, too. But something doesn't add up.

"Torin told you I would be at his show?" I stare at Phoenix, hoping I misunderstood. Torin is one of my most trusted friends. He wouldn't throw me under the bus that way and not tell me, and he was horrified when he saw Phoenix with me at the show and in his kitchen. Was it an act? And if so, why would he do that?

"Not exactly. Or at least not intentionally."