Understanding Nora Read online

  Understanding Nora

  by

  Ruby Molloy

  Six months ago

  CARRED

  Before we ever met, when she was simply a name on my sister’s lips, I envisioned a plain, heavy-set girl with pale red hair and copious freckles. Big, fucking mistake! Except for the hair, I got that right, though I was way off on the shade. It’s a deep, dark red and I think if I ever get the chance to touch it, it’ll scorch my fingers.

  Three months back, I came face to face with my mistake. I was jet lagged, two bottles into a six-pack of beer, and seeing her was like a kick to the ribs. I remember the swift flare of lust and the acidic burn that chased through my veins. I also remember the icy hatred that shone from her opaque green eyes. And within the passing of a few sluggish seconds, I knew that I’d both found and lost her.

  I’d be fine if I didn’t see her almost as often as I see my sister, Tess. I’d be way over her. I wouldn’t be marking off the days until the next time I see her. She’d be a memory. Not even that. She’d be the yellow stain of a once purple bruise, cause unknown, never to be recollected.

  “Carred!”

  A husky voice claws me back to the present. The timbre of this girl’s voice isn’t smooth and rounded like Nora’s. It’s dry and unnatural, brought on by smoking and drinking and it irritates the fuck out of me. It belongs to the blonde currently straddling my thighs. I realise my fingers are digging into her hips, indenting the flesh beneath her flimsy black dress. She smiles when I ease up, shifts closer, and grinds against a hard-on that has not one thing to do with her and everything to do with Nora Appleby.

  She’s the one who’s been at the forefront of my dreams and fantasies for the past few months. She’s also the girl who’s currently standing on the other side of the room, acting like I don’t exist. It’s a fucking shame I can’t do the same, but everything about her demands my attention.

  Right now, from this distance, it’s her long red hair, but up close it’s her cold, green eyes. She’s beautiful, more than a little goofy, and she possesses a toughness that stirs something inside me. I want to find out if there’s a pool of softness concealed beneath her tough exterior and I’m curious about what exactly triggered her protective armour. But mostly I just want to fuck her.

  Shit, that’s a lie. I want her, full stop.

  She’s a student for Christ’s sake. How the hell was I supposed to know a student would turn my world on its side? She doesn’t flirt, doesn’t play with her hair or give me smouldering, pouty looks, so why the hell can’t I get her out of my mind?

  Yeah, she’s stunning, but beautiful girls are the norm not the exception in my life. They’re never far away, always waiting for their opportunity, just like the ever-present paparazzi. And it’s not her ‘not interested’ attitude that gets me going, because girls play that game all the time, though Nora gives it a whole new spin the way she blows hot and cold.

  One thing I know for sure, she’s got something. And when I say she’s got something I mean she’s got it, because I don’t do this shit―ever. Christ, I’d rather go head to head with Nora, with nothing but a cold shower at the end of the night, than screw any of the girls at this party. For the first time in twenty-four years I’ve met someone who has my brain and dick interested, a girl who has me contemplating more than just a quick fuck, and she doesn’t give a shit about me.

  Shoving my near-empty beer bottle into the blonde’s hand, I lift her from my thighs and drop her to the sofa, ignoring her overblown pout. Tess says I’m a dick when it comes to girls; I disagree. If I admit upfront that I don’t do relationships it’s not my problem when they forget every word I’ve said, every damn time.

  Clearing a path through the room I fix my gaze on Nora, watching as a cold, hard veneer settles over her features.

  “Not interested, Carred!”

  I grin, unperturbed. “Babe, I haven’t said a word.”

  “Babe?” Her lush mouth twists into a mini-sneer and the flat hardness of her green eyes has me thinking of cold, winter seas.

  “Do I look like I respond to ‘babe’? Jeez, do you even remember my name?”

  “I remember you, Nora. Been trying to forget you, but it’s not happening.”

  “Try harder, McGuire.”

  My eyes drop to her mouth, and I know I’m staring, but seriously she has a sexy mouth.

  “I’ve been trying, real fucking hard,” I tell her, elongating the word ‘hard’ like a total dickhead.

  “Really? You’re sinking that low already? I thought you might at least warm up before letting slip one of your dirty, little innuendos.”

  I can’t help the full-on grin that perfectly demonstrates to anyone who sees it that I’m in deep with this girl. “Didn’t come over here to fight with you, Nora.”

  “No? Why then? You have a predilection for being knocked back?” She arches an eyebrow, her expression caught between haughty and wicked, and I’m torn between wanting to kiss and ... shit, I just want to kiss her!

  I search her eyes, needing to know there’s something more; that beneath her hard shell there’s a spectre of something other than hatred or loathing or whatever the fuck it is she feels for me. She stares right back and when I’m ready to give up, I see it; it’s in the flicker of her eyes, the quirk of her mouth, and the ripple of her throat. I nod and relax, as though she’s given me the answer I’m looking for, the one I’ve been waiting on for months.

  “Dance with me.” Not giving her a chance to refuse, I pull her towards the dance floor, ignoring the sting of her nails and the tug of her hand.

  “I’m not dancing with you, Carred!”

  I turn and she presses a hand to my stomach to prevent her chest from bumping into mine. I want to push into it, to have it leave an impression on my skin. Instead I choose to incite her anger. It’s a safety mechanism, one I only ever use with Nora. “You want to act like a wallflower all night?”

  I get what I want. Her eyes don’t look so cold anymore. They’re hot and furious and her green irises are shining bright.

  “I am not a wallflower!” she says, carefully enunciating each word between tightly clenched teeth.

  “I said ‘act’ like one, Nora. You think I haven’t noticed how most of these pricks have had their eyes on your tits and arse all night?”

  “Oh my god! You have a disgusting mouth!”

  Everyone has their weakness, guys especially. Coop collects cars like they’re pin badges, and Travis enjoys chilling with a spliff. Riley gambles, but he has a handle on it―the handle being his girlfriend, Fliss. My weakness is cursing. Since I don’t smoke, and I’ve kicked the weed and coke, I figure my cursing can be excused. Besides, I’m not a complete dickhead―I know not to swear in front of kids and old ladies.

  I register her scathing expression and I can’t resist the need to shock her further. “You’re not wrong, Appleby. And you know what? You’d fucking love it if you gave me a chance to use it on you.”

  Her gaze burns brittle and hard. “You’re a dick.”

  I position my mouth against the perfect swirl of her ear, almost losing focus when I catch the scent of her perfume. “Can we just fucking dance? I get that you don’t like me. Jesus, anyone watching us can see that you can’t stand me, but would it kill you to dance with me for ten minutes?”

  She doesn’t answer, but she also doesn’t move away. I take that as a yes and lift her hands to my shoulders. It doesn’t take long before I’m half-crazy with wanting her. The way she moves, the way she slowly relaxes against me. Jesus, who knew she’d feel like this? I pull her in closer, the light pressure of her hands on my shoulders a torturous tease. Her warmth seeps through my t-shirt, bringing about a stream of dirty thoughts that has my bloo
d flowing straight to my dick. If she had the vaguest idea where my mind’s at, her knee would be embedded in my balls right about now.

  Two songs in, she relaxes enough to rest her head against my chest. Her fingers curl around my nape, and my private, x-rated fantasies step up a notch. It’s fucking amazing. Right up until the wanting drains a little too much blood from my brain and I screw up. “Let’s go upstairs,” I need to see her, to touch her. To find out if the reality of being with Nora is as fierce as my dreams. She tenses beneath my hands and I almost groan, prepping for the inevitable knock-back.

  “Not gonna happen, McGuire,” she says.

  There it is; the fucking phrase that I want to douse in petrol and burn to nothing. I glare down at her and she returns it in full―bold and bolshy as hell.

  “It’s gonna happen, Nora. You think I don’t know that you’re feeling it too?” My gaze lowers to where her nipples are stiff and swollen beneath the fabric of her t-shirt. “You think I don’t know you want me? That I can’t see your nipples poking through your t-shirt? Shit, I bet your panties are damp right now.”

  Up close as I am, I don’t see the slap coming. It stings like a bitch and I feed off the pain, pushing against her, following when she retreats. Breathing hard, we lock eyes, both angry enough to do something stupid.

  Her hands smack into my chest. “Back off, McGuire!”

  “Quit playing games, Appleby!”

  “Bloody hell, could your ego get any bigger? I am not playing games! Do me a favour―leave me the hell alone and go screw blondie over there! She looked like she was begging for it before you struck out with me.”

  Fucking hell, she drives me crazy! I want to kiss her. I want to back her up against the wall and spread her legs with my knee. I want to have her wanting me the way I fucking want her.

  I dig deep and find the self-control I need before I push too far. “Are you done?” My tone is menacing as hell, but she doesn’t bat an eyelid. She glares up at me, her small hands curled into fists, her green eyes flashing angry fire.

  “Are you hearing me?”

  I smirk. “Yeah, Appleby. Doesn’t mean I’m listening though.”

  Two months ago

  NORA

  Day four of my flu virus and I’ve finally escaped my bedroom. Feeling weak and woozy, I descend the stairs on my backside one miserable step at a time. When I eventually flop face down on the sofa, my heart is racing and my skin is coated with perspiration. Ella – my friend, fellow student and house-mate – shoves a pillow beneath my face and arranges a duvet across my prone body, ensuring that everything I could possibly need is within arm’s reach.

  I have a flu survival kit that includes tissues, cough medicine, two kinds of painkillers, a glass of water and a bin that is already half-filled with crumpled tissues.

  The downside of being sick (like there’s an upside) is daytime TV, but it beats staring at the walls. My arms are too weak to hold a book for more than two minutes and, truthfully, the family from hell that’s currently arguing and screaming kind of takes my mind off how rotten I’m feeling.

  I’ve had a seriously crap week. The kind that lurches from one shitty day to the next, with no let up. Saturday, Tess and I had an argument about her brother, Carred, which for several, tense minutes had me believing our friendship might be over. She berated me for knocking him back whenever he asks me out, which honestly isn’t all that often since he seems to be constantly on tour with DMGD. I got defensive and angry, and started listing all the reasons why I’d never go out with her stupid, jerk of a brother. I said some pretty nasty things, partly because I needed her to stop trying to get us together, but mostly because I needed to convince myself that’s how I really felt.

  Tess, having been my closest friend for the past year, should have known when to call a halt. Thankfully, we got through it and made a pact to never again discuss the possibility of there being anything between me and Carred.

  Sunday, I had my laptop stolen while me and my housemates, Frankie and Ella, were having brunch in Joe’s Place, a cheap diner that’s a student hang-out. I had my laptop in a bag on the floor and some creep stole it without me or anyone else noticing, until after the event. Stupidly, it wasn’t insured, which means Sunday was my second shitty day.

  Monday was a B-A-A-A-D day.

  I’d felt rotten, but hadn’t yet realised I was coming down with flu. I overslept and rushed to get ready for my first tutorial, dressing in a rocking outfit of white t-shirt with black logo, and a men’s grey blazer that had heaps of style, but zero warmth. It also wasn’t waterproof. And yes it was October, but it hadn’t gotten cold yet. Walking to uni, the weather had taken a turn for the worse and the dark grey clouds burst, releasing big fat drops of rain that had me drenched in seconds.

  By lunchtime I started to burn up and by mid-afternoon I was getting woozy. I decided to call it a day and was walking past the Tech and Design block when my head became extra fuzzy. I leant against the wall for support and ended up sliding into a faint, grazing my cheek and temple on way down. So, yeah, Monday was definitely a bad day!

  And now, today, I’m crashed out on the sofa, snuggled beneath my duvet and dressed in my shabbiest PJs. My hair hasn’t seen a brush in days, and the upper right side of my face is covered in hideous scabs, so not only do I feel like shit, I look like it too.

  “I’m heading into town. You want me to get you anything?” Ella shouts from the hallway.

  “Uh-uh. I’m good thanks.” My nose is blocked, my throat is sore, and my voice sounds as though it’s being funnelled through my nose.

  “Was that a no?”

  “Uh-ha.”

  She must have gotten that because I hear the front door open and the mumbled sound of conversation.

  “Visitor coming through!”

  I twist my head, expecting Tess. My headache ratchets up a notch when I see Carred McGuire is standing in the doorway, looking hot and sexy, and far too happy for my current mood.

  “If you’re looking for Tess, she’s not here,” I say, swinging my gaze back to the TV. I don’t want to be round him right now. Actually, scrap that! I never want to be round him, but most especially today, when I look like something the cat has swallowed and regurgitated.

  He ignores my snarky comment and moves into the living room, not stopping until he’s standing directly in front of me, his blue eyes scanning me from head to toe.

  The most beautiful guy I have ever laid eyes on is looking down at me and all I can do is lay there – a horrible, snotty, scabby mess – knowing he isn’t going to let that slide.

  “You look like shit, babe.”

  Yeah, there it is! Like I don’t already know this and I need him to point it out for me. “Thanks for your observation, McGuire. Now that you’ve succeeded in pissing me off, feel free to leave.”

  “Nah, think I’ll stay a while.”

  He grins, sparking my temper because that grin is sexy and he’s gorgeous as hell with his dark blond hair tucked behind his ears, and darker stubble shading his jaw. His black t-shirt hugs his body, making me restless for something I don’t want to be wanting.

  “There’s no-one here besides me,” I tell him, hoping that piece of information will have him changing his mind, but he shrugs as if it’s irrelevant.

  “Didn’t come to see anyone ’cept you, but thanks for the info.”

  Shit! Why does my heart have to pump harder at that piece of news?

  “Got you something,” he says, holding out a box and tilting it so that I can see the front. I stare, and then I stare some more, until my throat tightens and I forget to breathe.

  It’s a top of the range laptop and for a tech-geek like me, who had their bottom-of-the-range laptop stolen only a few days ago, it’s nirvana. It’s like all my birthdays and Christmases rolled into one, and being as low and vulnerable as I am right now, I get a little choked. “Tess told you,” I say, my voice real quiet.

  “That you got your laptop stolen? Yeah.”
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  “She asked you to replace it?” I don’t need him treating me like a charity case.

  He frowns at my snarky tone and, damn it, it makes him look sexier. “No, she didn’t ask me to replace it.”

  “Oh.” I can’t figure out why he’d go out of his way to buy me a top of the range laptop, but then I get to thinking there could only be one possible reason. “If this is some kind of bribe to get me to sleep with you, forget it.”

  His face grows tight and his jaw flexes. “Jesus, Nora, why do you have to assume the worst? You need a fucking laptop, so I bought you one. I have more money than I know what to do with, so me buying you a laptop means next to nothing. And before you make some piss-smart comment about me boasting about how rich I am, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Gee, McGuire. Thanks for going all out and buying me a laptop. Knowing it means next to nothing makes it all the more special.”

  “Fuck me, even when you’re sick you’re still a pain in the arse. You want the sodding thing or not?”

  I shoot him a sickly sweet smile. “If you think I’d turn this down you’re even more stupid than you look.”

  “Jesus, you’re such a fucking charmer. It’s a good thing you’re covered in scabs and snot or I’d be jumping your bones right now.”

  “One track mind, McGuire,” I taunt, pushing my hand through my hair and wincing when it catches in a chunky knot.

  His gaze lingers for a few seconds, eyes intense, looking like he’s on the verge of saying something. Maybe he thinks better of it because he lays the laptop on the quilt above my stomach and turns to the TV just as a chorus of cheers erupts from its speakers. Two men are being restrained by security guys, the host taunting the struggling men from a safe distance: pure TV trash.

  “You like this shit?” he asks, his expression incredulous.

  “Hey, don’t judge. I’ve been stuck in bed for days. This is major entertainment compared to staring at the walls.”