Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Twenty-Six

It wasclose to midnight by the time Tom arrived home, and Chelsea was dozing on the lounge. She bolted upright the second she heard the door unlatch, her heart hammering in her chest like she’d just been asked to perform CPR again.

She stood as he came inside.

‘Hey,’ she called out.

‘Hey. What are you still doing up? You must be exhausted.’ Tom headed to the kitchen area to unpack his bag.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she said. Which was true. ‘How’s Martin?’

Tom glanced over at her. He had dark circles, but his green eyes were alert and unusually intense. Maybe he was still wired from his shift.

‘Doing well. He’ll be having bypass surgery shortly, but the outlook appears good.’

Chelsea blew out a long breath and came to stand opposite him at the bench. ‘Wow. That’s good, I guess. I’m so glad. Margaret must be relieved.’

‘She’s a trooper.’ He bent to pack some items in the dishwasher. ‘You did good, Chelsea. Real good. He wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t done what you did.’

‘Oh.’ She shrugged and sort of waved a hand at him at the same time. ‘I’m sure you guys would have had it in hand when you got there.’

‘He would have been dead when we got there if no one had performed CPR.’

Chelsea blinked. ‘Truly?’

‘Truly, Chels. You kept him alive until we arrived.’ Some of the intensity in his gaze softened when he looked at her.

Chelsea shrugged again. ‘Wow. I mean, I just did what needed doing. I didn’t have time to think. I couldn’t really remember everything they told us about heart attacks at our First Aid training because the risk in kids is low compared to say choking or anaphylaxis. I just knew it would be better for someone to do CPR than not.’

‘Much better. And Martin had a cardiac arrest, not a heart attack, for future reference. Heart attacks usually present as intense chest pain with the patient conscious.’

‘So Martin was dying?’ Chelsea asked.

‘I suspect he died for a few moments before you got to him and started CPR. He’s showing no signs of complications so far—other than the heart issues, that is.’

‘Wow,’ Chelsea said again and returned to the closest sofa to flop into because she felt unsteady on her feet. She looked over at him. ‘Is this how it feels every shift when you save somebody’s life? A massive high and an out-of-body experience all rolled into one?’

Tom placed his palms on the bench. ‘You get used to it. But the good feelings obviously keep you going, otherwise this job is tough.’

‘So tough,’ she said firmly. ‘Tougher than thirty preschoolers.’

Tom’s lips curled at the edges. ‘I don’t know about that, exactly.’

She flashed him a smile, then remembered the main reason for her staying up so late. Aside from the saving-a-person’s-life high, that was.

‘So, I talked Darren into giving me my money back,’ she announced, sitting up. ‘He promised to return it next week.’

Tom dropped his gaze and turned to get a glass from the overhead cabinet. ‘That’s great. Did he put up a fight?’

‘Just the usual lame excuses, but he couldn’t really argue with me after I’d saved a man’s life. He knows CPR, but was too chicken to do it.’

Tom cocked an eyebrow at her as he filled up a glass with tap water.

‘I know I have poor taste in men, but not anymore. I’m done with Darren.’ She bit her lip, then barrelled on because there wasn’t a less blunt way to say the next part. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was there with him on a real date or anything like that. Obviously, I didn’t expect you turn up tonight, but I would have told—’

Chelsea stopped speaking when he held up a hand.

‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You can see who you like.’

She stared at him.

You. You’re who I want to see.

Plus, they were currently seeing each other, weren’t they? But she didn’t say that, because she didn’t want to scare him. Their whole let’s-do-everything-but-have-sex situation was still on her mind, and she was treading carefully. There was obviously a reason holding him back, but she had no idea what it was.

‘That’s the thing, Tom. I don’t want to see Darren or guys like Darren anymore. I’m over it. Your nice guy experiment worked.’

Tom grimaced, the glass forgotten. ‘Nadia’s experiment, not mine. And Darren didn’t seem over you to me.’

Chelsea stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

Tom sighed. ‘You know what I mean, Chels. Darren seemed pretty keen to kiss you.’

She swallowed. Oh, no. Tom must have seen more than she’d realised. She cleared her throat and hurried to explain. ‘Tom, yes, he was keen to kiss me, but I wasn’t. As soon as he agreed to return my money, I got him to bring me home.’

‘After you kissed him.’ Tom’s voice was low. It wasn’t a question.

‘What? No! I didn’t kiss him.’ She shook her head at him. ‘Why would you think that?’

‘Chels, you can kiss or see whoever you like. It’s not up to me.’ He gestured between them. ‘It’s not like this—us—was anything serious.’

Was?

Chelsea’s mouth dropped open so wide that she had to work hard to make it move again. ‘Why would you say that? First of all, I don’t make it a habit to sleep around or see more than one guy at a time. I thought you knew that.’

Tom shrugged. ‘How would I know that?’

‘Because I don’t!’ she cried like a child protesting her bedtime.

It was true. Despite Chelsea’s long list of failed guys, she could only deal with one useless boyfriend at a time.

Tom walked around the counter. ‘Nadia does.’

‘I’m not Nadia!’

‘You’re shouting, and it’s late. You’ll wake the neighbours.’

Chelsea glared at him. His calmness was really getting to her. She didn’t care about the neighbours right now or the fact that she was getting worked up, but she lowered her voice. ‘Do you think I’m the sort of girl who would see other guys while I’m seeing you? Because that’s not the case, Tom. I wouldn’t do that.’

He stopped in front of her, since she was blocking the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know what I think, Chels. It’s late. Maybe we should just head to bed.’

‘Your bed?’ Chelsea suggested cheekily, then wished she could take it back. Now obviously wasn’t the time to be making jokes, because Tom’s shoulders stiffened and he stared hard at the floor.

His jaw twitched. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Actually, you know what? Seeing as you brought it up, why don’t we talk about it? Why is it that you haven’t slept with me yet?’

Chelsea didn’t know what had gotten into her. She knew that she was being belligerent and argumentative, and that now wasn’t an ideal time to press Tom about his nice guy ways. They were both tired, but Chelsea still couldn’t believe he’d assumed the worst about her. She knew she was an unlikely candidate for Girlfriend Of The Year, but that didn’t mean she’d go behind his back and see other guys.

Tom’s jaw stopped twitching and noticeably tightened. ‘Leave it, Chelsea. Now’s not the time.’

Chelsea.

Not Chels. But her full name hadn’t been said with affection. It was said with a firmness that only served to annoy her further.

Mr. Nice Guy was so damn nice that he couldn’t even get worked up about their relationship like she was. A perverse part of her wanted to get a rise out of him.

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Now’s as good a time as any, don’t you think? I’ve thought about it, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because you find me unattractive.’

She let the statement sink in. She could have been wrong, but she thought she saw a spark of lust in his eyes right before it was quickly replaced by a hard glare.

‘You know that’s not the case,’ he said softly.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought, too. So I figured it must be something else, like the fact that you don’t trust me. Do you?’

The question hung in the air between them, the early morning silence settling on them. A distant car drove past. The fridge hummed. The clock ticked.

Finally, Tom answered. ‘I don’t trust many people.’

He stepped around her and headed down the hall.

‘That’s not fair, Tom. That’s not an answer,’ she called after him in a desperate attempt to get him to stay and talk.

He paused outside his bedroom door. ‘What do you want me to say?’

Say that you trust me.

‘Tell me the truth,’ she said instead.

His hand came up to rest on the doorframe, like he needed it to steady himself. ‘I want to trust you. But I’m sorry, I can’t.’

He may as well have punched her in the gut, because she felt like was unable to breathe. Somehow, her survival instinct kicked in and she managed to whisper a few more words.

‘Is it because of her? Gemma?’ Chelsea whispered.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t look at her. He simply turned away and closed the door.

The soft click of the latch sounded as loud to Chelsea’s ears as if he’d slammed the door in her face.