His Reverie Read online

  We’re out walking along the fence line, a thick grove of pine trees on the other side and I can smell the salt of the ocean in the air mingle with the forest scent. The house isn’t that far from the Pacific but it’s not what I would call beachfront. Still a badass house though. “This place is awesome. I can see why they’d want to show it off.”

  “Yeah well, I think it’s kinda stupid if you ask me. Why use this place to brag about how much money they’re making? Won’t their donators wonder if it’s their money financing the parties and the out-of-control house?” Valid point. One I didn’t consider, but I’m too dazzled by the wealth I’m seeing. “Okay, see that?” Michael points toward a building not too far from where we stand. He’s already moving on to the next subject. I notice he does that a lot. “Over there are the horse stalls. We’ll need to clean ‘em up, not too often though, thank God.”

  Gross. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Wish I was, bro. They have stable staff but not full time. And the kids love riding horses, especially Hale’s daughter.”

  Huh. Didn’t know Hale had kids, not that I know anything about this guy beyond what I’ve learned since they hired me. Probably spoiled, demanding brats who get whatever they want whenever they want it.

  Lucky little bastards.

  Michael takes me on a quick tour around the stables, which has four horses bordered inside.

  He showed me what needs to be done and where the cleaning supplies were. Then the smug jerk left me there with the instructions I needed to clean the place from top to bottom.

  “As the new guy, this is your job until you can prove to me you know what you’re doing. Consider it a sort of initiation.” Michael grinned at me then strode off whistling like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  Muttering a few curses under my breath, I gather the supplies I need. It stank like hell and was damn hot in the mostly enclosed structure so I went to work, wanting to get it over with. Within ten minutes of hard-ass manual labor, I’m stripping off my shirt since I’m sweating like crazy. I leave it hanging over one of the stall’s doors then start digging into the pile of horseshit at the farthest corner of the stall.

  What a freaking disgusting job. Not that I can’t hack it but man. The things I’d do for some cash in my pocket. I’m that desperate, something I can admit to myself but not anyone else. Michael told me the stable cleaning would only be about once a week since we mainly had to do it on the weekends. He also mentioned this was the worst part of the job. Otherwise, he reassured me, it was easy street. Like working at a country club or something, as if I have any idea what that’s like.

  Country clubs are things I see on TV. I have no idea how that side of life really lives. I’m a broke joke, not a rich boy with money to waste. The building I’m in now is nicer than my apartment and this place houses the horses. I can’t imagine what the main house is like. I know what it looks like from the outside and it’s impressive. The house is huge, two stories and with giant windows. From what I can tell at least. Not that I’ve been inside or anything, but it looks pretty damn nice.

  Almost too nice. I had no idea televangelists make so much money.

  I work for a solid hour until the stables are practically gleaming they’re so clean. Working this hard, concentrating on doing a good job so they won’t fire me helps keep my mind off the heavy crap. The stuff that has been weighing on me since pretty much the moment I got out of jail.

  I just want to forget, to lose myself in something mindless and push all the worry and the stress out of my head and my heart. I’m sick of it.

  Pausing, I lean the shovel against the wall and glance around, one hand on my hip as I wipe at my damp-with-sweat forehead with the wrist of my other hand since I have gloves on. My throat feels like a desert, I’m so thirsty and the horses all watch me carefully, nodding their heads as if they like what I’ve done with the place.

  Glad at least someone approves.

  There’s nothing to drink and I forgot to bring my bottle of water out here with me so I shed my work gloves and exit the stables, thankful when I catch sight of a faucet and hose right outside the doorway. I crank on the water and grab the hose, let it run for a while so all the hot water gets out before I bend over and start slurping the running water. It’s cold and feels good going down my throat and I close my eyes, feeling like I’m six and drinking from the hose like I did when I was little and didn’t want to bother going inside.

  I can still hear Mom yelling at me not to put my lips on the hose. Just remembering her puts a catch in my throat, making it hard to swallow…

  “Thirsty?”

  I jump at the sound of a soft female voice, my hand jerking so the hose splashes me right in the face. Muttering a curse, I drop the hose and reach out blindly, wrenching the faucet off with one hand as I swipe at my eyes with the back of the other. I hear the girl laugh and I whirl around, fully prepared to find some bratty preteen Hale daughter mocking me.

  But she’s not a preteen. Not even close. More like around my age. She’s tall and slender, her long blonde hair falling far past bared tan shoulders. She’s wearing some sort of sundress or whatever you call it and she’s pretty much covered since it hits just above her knees, though her arms are exposed since the dress is sleeveless. The sun catches her just right though, shining through the thin fabric of her skirt so I can see through it.

  My gaze drops and all I can see is long, long legs through the shadowy fabric. Damn. Those sexy legs are endless. She clears her throat, like she knows exactly where I’m looking and what I’m thinking and I jerk my gaze up guiltily to meet hers, feeling like a jackass.

  That’s when I notice her eyes are blue. As blue as the sky above us, and she’s so damn pretty, with delicate features and pink, pink lips, that I can’t seem to form words.

  “Who are you?” she asks curiously. Her voice washes over me, sweet and melodic and now it’s my turn to clear my throat to get the lump out so I can freaking speak.

  “Who are you?” I ask back like an idiot.

  She smiles shyly and my entire body reacts, a bolt of electricity seeming to go through me. “I asked first.”

  “Are you Hale’s daughter?” If she is, that sucks because holy hell she’s hot but yeah.

  She’s completely untouchable if she’s a Hale.

  “What if I am?” She kicks at the ground with her sandaled foot, her cheeks coloring the faintest pink. Innocence radiates from her. She looks like a damn angel and seems a little uncomfortable with me.

  Despite her seeming discomfort, I think she might be trying to flirt with me.

  “Well, I’d make sure and be extra polite to you since I work for your dad.” I go with the truth because I don’t want any problems from this girl. I probably shouldn’t even be alone with her. She could say anything, accuse me of something terrible and I’d have no defense. Her word against mine.

  And her word would win every single time.

  Another laugh escapes her and she slowly shakes her head. “I like your honesty.”

  I like everything about her so far but I keep my lips clamped shut. I’ve already said enough to make myself look like a total loser. “So I’m guessing you’re definitely Hale’s daughter?”

  She nods. “I’m Rev.”

  Rev? What kind of name is that? “Like reverend?” That’s the only logical conclusion. Though she looks my age so there’s no way she could be a reverend or whatever right? I wasn’t raised religious. I’ve never been to church. I believe in God but I’ve never read the bible.

  Admitting anything like that would probably shock this preacher’s daughter. Reverend’s daughter, whatever.

  She stops laughing and rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I can see why you’d think that because of my dad and stuff.” She pauses and takes a step closer, her gaze dropping to my chest for a too-long-moment, her eyes going wide before they meet mine once more. I totally forgot I’m not wearing a shirt and I scratch between my pecs, self-conscious. This looks real
ly bad. Like majorly bad.

  I’ll probably lose my job first day in if she runs and tells daddy the bad boy half-naked ex-con talked to her.

  “My name is Reverie,” she explains, confusing me further. What the hell kind of name is that?

  “Reverie,” I repeat. “Uh, that sounds unique.”

  “You’re just being polite. It’s weird, right? Not really a name for a person, you know?” She shrugs those slim, pretty shoulders again. Her skin is smooth and golden from the sun and I bet it’s soft to the touch too. Like I’ll ever get a chance to touch her.

  Not.

  “What does it mean?” When she frowns I continue. “Reverie.”

  “Oh! Daydreaming. Lost in thought.” She smiles, a little more timidly now and that show of uncertainty fuels me.

  Makes me feel a little braver. If she didn’t want to talk to me she would’ve jammed by now, right? That’s what I’m going with. “So why didn’t they name you daydream?”

  “Well, that would’ve been even weirder. Don’t you think?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You never did tell me your name.”

  “Nick,” I offer, flicking my chin at her like she’s my homeboy or something stupid. God, what the hell is wrong with me?

  “As in Nicholas?”

  “Just Nick.”

  “As in a cut or a dent?” She’s smiling again, her voice light. She’s teasing me about my name like I teased her.

  This girl is definitely flirting. And I’m flirting right back.

  “I guess so, Daydream,” I drawl, making her blush.

  “I’d rather call you Nicholas,” she says, taking yet another step toward me. I catch her scent, light and sweet and I inhale as discreetly as I can. Like I’m trying to imprint her smell on me.

  “Only my mom called me that. And only when I was in trouble.” Which was a lot of the time.

  It hurts. How much I disappointed her. Right till the very end.

  “Really? It’s such a nice name.” She pauses, sinks her teeth into her plump lower lip. I don’t think she’s wearing gloss or lipstick or anything so that deep, pink color is all natural. Damn. She’s not even trying to be sexy but she just…is. “Nicholas.”

  I like the way it sounds when she says it. “Well, you’re definitely not a Rev to me. So I think I’m gonna call you Daydream every time I see you.” Which probably won’t be often because come on. She’s the owner’s daughter, a rich girl who probably has a packed summer schedule and a hundred guys chasing after her and I’m the hired hand.

  Yet she beams at me like I said something amazing. “I like it.”

  From far away I hear someone call her name. It’s a guy. He sounds younger but maybe it’s her dad? A rush of panic steals through me and I back away, glance over my shoulder quick so I don’t fall on my ass. “I gotta go finish cleaning the stables. Nice meeting you Daydream.”

  I turn and practically run through the stable doorway, my heart racing. I hear her voice, rising above the roar in my ears.

  “Bye Nicholas.”

  The door slams as I pull it shut, cutting off whatever else she might’ve said to me.

  Dear Diary,

  (June 23rd, 10:17 p.m.) I met a boy today. Well, I shouldn’t call him a boy since he was tall and broad and had a man’s body. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I didn’t mean to look. It felt wrong to look and I should probably say some extra prayers tonight but…

  I looked. A lot. And he was all muscle and skin, covered in little droplets of water that ran down his bare chest. I scared him. He was drinking out of the hose in front of the stables, his sun-kissed hair kind of stuck up all over his head like he’d run his hands through it a lot and his jeans riding low on his hips. All I saw at first was the muscles of his back and the width of his shoulders before I said something to him. I can’t even remember what I said.

  Okay I’m lying. I totally remember what I said. I asked if he was thirsty.

  He literally jumped when I spoke, the water from the hose going everywhere. He didn’t know I was standing there. He turned to face me and it was like I swallowed my tongue. I couldn't speak. He was just so…beautiful.

  Can a boy be beautiful? I never thought so before. I mean, I’ve seen handsome men but I try not to pay attention because Daddy says vanity is a sin. And he’s right. Focusing too much on your looks, worrying about brand names and stuff…it all gets you in trouble. I’m not allowed to wear makeup. I’m not allowed to wear cute bras or panties or low-cut shirts or too-short skirts, dresses, shorts. I’m modest. I have to be.

  I have an image to uphold. And I don’t want to disappoint my parents.

  But the boy…Nicholas…he stared at me like he thought I was beautiful too. I tried to flirt with him. I have never flirted with a boy in my life so I didn’t know what I was doing, not really. The things I said, my voice, all of it changed. I sounded like a different person. I acted different too.

  I liked it. So did he. I think.

  He teased me and called me Daydream. I’m usually so self-conscious of my stupid name. I hate it. He didn’t seem to mind though. Oh, he stumbled over it and I could tell he thought it was a little odd but then he made me feel special.

  Boys don’t really talk to me and I can never work up the nerve to talk to them. I go to an all-girls’ school and never get a chance to talk to boys anyway so I have zero experience. I wish I did talk to them more so I could’ve sounded confident. I wanted to say more but then Evan called me and Nicholas seemed to get a little panicked. Like we were about to get caught or something. He took off so fast but I know it wasn’t because he didn’t like me. He just didn’t want us to be seen together since he works for Daddy.

  So he’s my little secret. Nicholas. I’m going to the stables to see him again soon. Or maybe…he’ll be around the pool or on the yard or something. He might work with Michael and that would be perfect because I always see Michael every summer. He ignores me though. He always has which is fine with me. I usually don’t want to be noticed.

  I liked it when Nicholas noticed me. When he called me Daydream. That was sweet. He seemed sweet. And he wore no shirt.

  I kind of can’t get over the fact that I stood there talking to a guy like no big deal and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Can your fingers itch? Because mine felt like they wanted to reach out and touch him. Just…stroke my hands and fingers all over his firm, naked skin…

  It’s nice, having a secret. I’ve never really had one before beyond intangible ones. Bad thoughts or secret desires. Desires are bad. It means we want something we’re not supposed to have. Daddy says that all the time. I try to keep my thoughts as pure and clean as possible. I swear Daddy can read my mind. It’s best to keep it blank…or full of God.

  Right now though, locked away in my room, my thoughts are anything but blank. They are full of the boy I met today. The boy I talked to. The boy who talked to me.

  I can’t help but wonder what Nicholas’ lips feel like. They were full and looked soft. I’ve never been kissed and I want to be so bad. I read a lot. Scandalous romance books Daddy would flip out over if he ever found out. I watch as many romantic movies as Daddy approves of because I want that. A special love, a boy who will want me and love me above all else, who will do anything for me. Do anything to have me…

  Reverie: a daydream.

  June 27th

  I’ve worked at Hale House for four days. I’ve cleaned out stalls, I’ve mowed the back lawn—which felt like a billion acres but whatever—I’ve moved rocks from one pile to another, I’ve weeded the garden, I’ve cleaned out the pool house, I blew up all the toys with an air compressor for the pool party they were having yesterday afternoon for a bunch of screaming brats and I trimmed all the bushes in the rose garden. My arms are now covered in scratches from the thorns and my entire body aches in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. Not even in jail. Not even when I was on the football team my freshman year in high school, which feels like another lifetime.

  But the
one thing I haven’t done at Hale House is seen my little daydream. Not one glimpse, not a mention of her name, nothing. I’ve seen Harold Hale. I’ve even spoken to him though I have no idea how to address the guy. Reverend Hale? Minister Hale? Preacher Man Hale?

  I just call him sir. I figure that’s gotta work best.

  I’m starting to wonder if I imagined her. Reverie. Fitting right? Considering the meaning of her name. I don’t wanna ask Michael about her because next thing I know, he’s giving me grief. And that guy loves to dish out the grief, trust me. I’ve learned that quick.

  So I keep my mouth shut and my head down for the most part. Only occasionally looking up in the hopes I see Rev.

  Reverie.

  She’s still not a Rev to me. The nickname feels edgy, tough and it doesn’t fit her. She looked like some sort of fairy princess when I first saw her. The sunlight in her hair, shining through the skirt of her dress and highlighting those endless legs…she was gorgeous. She comes to me in my dreams. Pretty and smiling and laughing. I haven’t dreamed about anything in weeks. Months. My mind is…void. After I lost Mom, I felt like I had nothing. Thought nothing. No emotions. No family. No friends.

  I have a job. That’s it. A place to sleep at night and a car to drive. Mom’s old car. I don’t have anything else. I don’t need anything else. That’s what I believed.

  Until I met her and suddenly, she’s all I can think about.