Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Twenty

By the timeTom steered the car onto the freeway heading back to Newcastle, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach any longer.

What had he done?

You’ve done Chelsea, that’s what you’ve done, you idiot.

‘Tom? Is everything OK? You seem quiet.’

‘Just tired.’ It wasn’t a lie. It was actually quite accurate.

‘Tom?’ she said again. ‘If you’re worried about what happened before, don’t be.’

Tom gripped the steering wheel tighter. Although he was sure the statement was meant to reassure him, it didn’t have the desired effect. Did she mean “Don’t worry, it was no big deal, and it was entirely forgettable” or “Don’t worry, that was amazing, and I’ll never look at you the same again”?

Speaking of which, Tom wasn’t sure how he felt. Confused? Stressed? Concerned that he’d crossed an invisible line and there would be no coming back from it?

Chelsea reached over and rested her hand on his thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world. Obviously his groin didn’t think so, because it became pretty excited about the idea.

He attempted to shift in the driver’s seat without making it too obvious he was experiencing any discomfort. ‘I’m not worried. We do need a plan moving forward, though.’

Chelsea smiled. ‘A plan? What for?’

Tom was glad he had the road to concentrate on, because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see Chelsea’s expression. Amused? Confused?

‘I mean we need to figure out what this is,’ he told her.

There. He’d said it. He knew it was a complete mood killer, but what choice did they have? They lived together. She was his best mate’s little sister.

‘We do?’ Chelsea replied. ‘I thought we’d just spend more time together and see where it takes us.’

‘Spend more time together how? As friends? Or something else?’

‘Um, clearly what we did this morning wasn’t something friends do . . .’

They fell silent. She was right. Friends didn’t do what he’d done to Chelsea. What he still wanted to do to Chelsea. He shifted in his seat again.

Shit. He needed to focus.

‘So I guess friends with benefits is off the table?’ Chelsea joked.

His sideways look told her all she needed to know about that suggestion.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Just trying to lighten the mood. Look, I understand why you’re concerned. No matter what you say, you’re still a decent guy, and I respect you for that. But I don’t see why we have to define it right now. It’s just going to put pressure on both of us and kill whatever this is between us before it’s even had a chance.’

Whatever this is between us.

‘You want to give this a chance?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral while it felt like a weight was pressing down on his chest.

‘Don’t you?’

She hadn’t answered and they both knew it. She was waiting for him to tell her what he wanted.

What he wanted?

He wanted more of her. He’d been avoiding the elephant in the apartment for more than a year now. He craved Chelsea Cartwright with a hunger that scared him, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her away.

‘I don’t want to ruin things between us,’ Tom told her quite honestly, ‘but I also don’t want to go back to the way things were.’

Chelsea fingered a hole in the leg of her jeans and picked at it. ‘Me either. I also don’t want to ruin things.’

Tom released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. ‘Then we’re agreed. We definitely don’t ruin things between us.’

‘Exactly. But we can try being naughty together again, too.’

He risked a quick glance in her direction. She was blushing. He’d made her blush. It was wrong of him, but he felt proud.

‘I’d like that,’ he said, then dropped his hand from the steering wheel to squeeze hers.

‘Me too,’ she said softly.

The tension in car eased and he kept hold of her hand.

So they had an agreement of sorts. Don’t go back to the way things were and explore whatever this was between them.

Did that make them boyfriend and girlfriend?

Stop it, he told himself. He needed to slow down and just see what eventuated. He forced himself to focus on the road and remained silent while Chelsea selected a playlist for them to listen to.

Ten minutes later, Chelsea was breathing deeply in the seat beside him, her eyes closed.

Well, she wasn’t freaked out. That was the main thing.

For the first time that day, it occurred to Tom that perhaps he was the one who was scared. He was scared of his feelings for her. Scared of falling for her.

Scared of losing her.

He kneaded the steering wheel as he drove. Chelsea was the first woman since Gemma who he’d looked twice at. Who he’d considered what it would be like to be with.

Until now, a relationship with Chelsea had been pure fantasy. A pleasant daydream he could distract himself with when the painful memories threatened to torment him.

But now a relationship with Chelsea could be a reality. He should have been happy, and the part that craved her was.

But the other part? That part of him was terrified.

* * *

While they’d agreedto just approach things casually moving forward, by the middle of the following week Chelsea was painfully aware of the growing awkwardness between them.

There was no rule book for this sort of thing. No instructions that defined whether she should be checking in with Tom about his dinner plans, or if she should be updating him about her plans in general. Was she supposed to do that?

Chelsea didn’t have a clue. Most of her previous boyfriends were so casual that the thought had never occurred to her to update them on her plans. Unless they were organising to meet and spend time together, Chelsea’s time was her own.

Except Chelsea and Tom lived together. It was both convenient and difficult. They had easy access to each other if they so desired—and Chelsea did desire him. Only nothing had happened between them since the weekend because Tom had been working late. Not to mention the dilemma of them having their own bedrooms. Should she stay with him or should he be with her? And then what? Did they sleep in the other person’s bed afterwards?

‘Ugh, you’re overthinking,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Just see what happens.’

‘What happened?’ Kendra asked as she escaped into the break room.

‘Nothing happened,’ Chelsea told her quickly, and that was just the problem.

It felt like a lifetime since the weekend, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she make the next move? Maybe he was waiting for her to initiate things.

Kendra rifled through the kitchen cupboard in search of a snack and produced a packet of biscuits triumphantly. ‘You don’t know how much I need one of these right now. Serious sugar low. Barb’s been more difficult than usual today.’

Chelsea had noticed that too. ‘I wonder if I should ask her if everything is alright.’

Kendra gaped at her like she was mad. ‘And suggest to our fearless leader that she’s anything but capable? I think not, but be my guest. It’s your job on the line, not mine.’

Chelsea rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve never known her to fire anybody. To threaten it, yes. But she’s never actually gone through with it.’

‘You’re the one she’s least likely to fire, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

Kendra shrugged. ‘She loves you, Chels. But then we all do.’

Chelsea tried not to blush. ‘You’ll give me a big head. And Barb does not love me. She’s learned to tolerate me.’

‘She tolerates you better than most, then.’ Kendra checked her watch. ‘Anyway, I’m going to sneak out the back to the play area where I can eat these cookies and drink my tea in peace and quiet. I figure we’ve still got at least ten more minutes of story time.’

‘Good idea. Enjoy it.’

Chelsea’s phone buzzed as Kendra slipped out the back door with the stealth of a ninja intent on not being caught. They all loved the kids, but they’d do anything for a few minutes of quiet at least once a day.

Chelsea picked up her phone and her heart rate sped up. It was Tom.

Hey. I ended up working the early shift. Want to catch up for dinner? Your turn to cook?

Oh, God, yes. To the catching up part, which hopefully was code for dinner plus dessert of the more adult variety. The dinner part she could take or leave if she was being honest. But, wait. That wasn’t fair. Tom had gone to the effort of making her a really nice dinner the week before, even if she had almost died eating it. She’d have to make something nice for him in return.

She hit reply.

Sounds good. Let me know what time you’ll be home.

She stared at the message a moment longer. Then figured to hell with it and typed two more brave and courageous letters, which accurately summed up their change in circumstances:

xx