Before Jamaica Lane (On Dublin Street 3)

When he didn’t say anything for five minutes – five very long minutes – I sat down on the arm of my couch and took a sip of beer.

‘Okay, talk me through it.’ Nate suddenly spoke up and I almost coughed on my beer at the seeming loudness of his voice in my little flat. ‘What happens exactly when a guy you’re attracted to speaks to you?’

Trying not to be any more of a dork than I already was, I fought back the blush that was determined to stain my cheeks. ‘I get tongue-tied.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m very tempted to insert a sarcastic reply here, but I’ll just go with a simple shrug.’ I shrugged.

‘Don’t give me that “I don’t know, and if I did, I wouldn’t need you” bullshit. Why do you get tongue-tied?’

I was really attempting not to get pissed at him. That wouldn’t be a good start. Clenching my teeth, I answered as if it was obvious – which it so was – ‘I don’t have a lot of confidence.’

Nate considered me a moment. ‘In yourself? In your looks? In your sexual experience? What?’

‘Do you know how mortifying this is?’ I scowled at him.

Clearly annoyed, Nate narrowed his eyes at me. ‘I’m not here to make fun of you. I’m here to help you.’

We were quiet again as I gathered together the confidence to be honest. After taking a shaky sip of my beer, I looked at the floor and told him quietly, ‘You already know I lack confidence because of my minimal sexual experience, but … I also just don’t … don’t feel sexually attractive.’

His silence drew my gaze to him. He was looking at me incredulously again.

‘What?’

He put his beer down and planted his palms on the counter like he meant business. ‘Let’s start with how you don’t feel sexually attractive.’

I gulped. ‘All right.’

‘Are you f**king kidding me?’

I jerked back at his curse, confused by the angry tone of the question. ‘What?’

‘Get up,’ he replied sharply. ‘Come on, get up.’ He rounded the kitchen counter and walked past me.

I got up slowly, wondering what the hell I’d done wrong.

‘Follow me.’

Follow him … all right. My legs trembled when I realized I was following him into my bedroom. With my heartbeat pulsing in my throat, I was unable to speak as I stopped in my doorway and gazed at him.

He stood before my full-length mirror and gestured to it. ‘Tell me what you see.’

I swallowed past the heartbeat. ‘Nate …’ I took a step back and my movement shot him into action. Lightning-quick, he had hold of me and was tugging me back into the room with him until he’d maneuvered me in front of the mirror, while he stood looking into it over my shoulder.

‘Tell me. Trust me.’

Taking a deep breath, I let my eyes focus on my reflection, sweeping them over my face and then down my body and back to my face again.

‘Liv?’

‘I see … I see an average-looking woman with …’ I shrugged, so embarrassed it wasn’t funny. ‘With fl-flabby arms, a belly pouch, and a fat ass.’

When my answer was met by silence I finally gathered the nerve to look up into the mirror to Nate’s reflection. He was glowering at me again. ‘Anything good?’

I glanced back at my face. My eyes were, as always, the only thing I liked. They were striking eyes, inherited from my dad. Unusual, pale hazel, with so many flecks of gold they appeared golden in a certain light. We both had dark lashes that set the color off. We’d been told on more than one occasion, and by quite a few folks, that our eyes were exotic, almost feline. My dad worked his eyes. They were flinty and perceptive in his ruggedly handsome face. On my average face they were the only thing to enliven my features. ‘My eyes,’ I whispered softly.

‘That’s a given, babe. What else?’

Tense, I searched for an answer and then said carefully, ‘Okay, my skin. I have good skin.’

Nate smiled encouragingly at me. ‘You’ve got gorgeous skin.’ He heaved a beleaguered sigh. ‘Let’s tackle the other stuff.’ I was pretty sure he then muttered under his breath, ‘Crazy f**king women,’ before he took hold of my arm. ‘Where are these flabby arms of yours, then?’

Skin flushing the color of raspberries, I pushed the fat around my triceps.

I was rewarded with a ‘what the eff?’ look from Nate. ‘That’s not flab. It’s skin. Look, you’ve not got any definition, but you’ve also not got flab. Rule number one …’

I nodded at him to go on, my eyes wide, eager to learn.

‘… don’t use the word “flab” around a guy you want to shag. Now, if a guy’s like me he can get past the self-consciousness and decide to think it’s cute, but there are loads of guys out there who don’t think it’s cute. They want a confident woman in their bed. I don’t know if this library guy is one of those guys, so we’ll play it safe. No more flab talk.’

For some reason that really made me want to giggle, but I also wanted Nate to know I was taking this seriously, so I pinched my lips together and nodded.

‘Okay. Next.’

I blinked in confusion again. ‘Next?’

‘The supposed fat arse?’

The touch of Nate’s hand on my ass caused me to jump about ten feet, but he didn’t let go, smoothing his hand over my butt and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Whoa, okay, then.

My skin was prickling and there was a suspicious fullness in my br**sts and lower belly that I adamantly tried to ignore.