both of us.” Claire high-fives me as we climb the stairs to our place, sweaty and short of breath from our training run. “I’ll shower quickly so you can get in there.”
With one full bathroom between the three girls, we’re forced to prioritize. Claire has an evening class, which takes precedence over my plans with Nash. I’m not sure she’s thrilled that I’m seeing him, but she seems to have accepted it for now. She’s even dropping me off at his place on her way to campus.
While Claire and I stumble through the door still blotchy-faced from our run, Julianna is also blotchy-faced—wearing head-to-toe ratty sweats, surrounded by junk food and a mountain of tissues on the couch. It’s her version of my bathrobe mode, and something is seriously wrong. Claire heads directly down the hall to the shower, so she doesn’t notice.
“Jules?” I slip off my running shoes, sitting beside her on the couch. “What’s going on?”
She lifts her chin, her hazel eyes bloodshot. “It’s M—Marcus.”
Oh, no.
“What about him?” I ask carefully.
“We fooled around on Saturday night, and now he’s acting like I don’t exist.” Her voice cracks, turning squeaky. “He went from texting me every day to completely blowing me off. Total radio silence.”
Irritation ripples through me, along with a sickening confirmation. I knew I didn’t like him.
She didn’t tell me about this over the weekend, though it’s not a huge surprise—on either front. I tried to warn her about Marcus, but I didn’t have anything solid to go on other than a gut feeling and some heavy hints to offer, which didn’t have much convincing power.
Still, I feel bad for leaving the pool when I was upset about Nash. Maybe if I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened.
Jules doesn’t have any experience with casual hookups, either. She’s a serial monogamist to the core, and probably thought she and Marcus were going somewhere more serious, which means she is going to take this extra hard.
Julianna reaches for a fresh tissue and blows her nose. She grabs the fuzzy pink blanket off the back of the couch, cocooning herself in it. “I hate men.”
Sympathy floods my veins, because I know that feeling all too well.
“Me, too, Jules.” I rub her upper back, trying to think of what to say. I don’t have a lot of personal experience with being blindsided like this early on. I’ve hooked up with a few guys casually, but I was never all that into it or desiring a repeat performance, so the outcome didn’t matter. Maybe Nash was a good security system for my heart that way. One big break instead of several small ones.
Still, what she’s feeling is totally valid. Marcus is a dick.
“It’s Marcus’s loss. You’re a catch, even if he’s too stupid to see it.”
Julianna giggle-hiccups. “The sex wasn’t even that good. He was counting his thrusts like they were reps in the gym.”
Despite the situation, I snort a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Like, one.“ She grunts, imitating him. “Two.“ She grunts again, cracking up as she does. “Oh my God, Violet. It was awful.”
“Did he keep track of sets, too, or did he just keep a running total?” I can barely breathe, I’m laughing so hard.
Jules guffaws through her tears. “He didn’t last long enough for me to find out.”
We both collapse into a fit of laughter and she wipes away another tear with the corner of her hand. Random hookups are never worth it, in my limited experience. It’s not that I think they’re wrong on a moral level, it’s that the sex tends to suck. Then again, I guess this kind of thing could happen with a new boyfriend, too. How disappointing would it be to really like a guy, only to find out he treats sex like a set of bicep curls? Would it be a dealbreaker? I could never take that seriously.
“And get this. Then he argued with me over whether I finished.” Her voice climbs, and she waves a tissue in exasperation. “Like I wouldn’t know if I had an orgasm?”
Guessing that means Marcus hasn’t seen enough real orgasms to know the difference.
“You dodged a bullet, Jules.”
“I know you’re right, but it still hurts. I had this big, stupid crush on him and now he’s completely blowing me off. I should be the one blowing him off.“ She sniffles, reaching for the open bag of miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups on the couch beside her, offering it to me. “How did you do it?”
“Do what?” I unwrap a tiny chocolate cup, popping it into my mouth. After a long run, the sugary peanut butter hit is so good, it practically makes my eyes roll into the back of my head. Probably not the ideal post-workout fuel, but that’s what makes it taste so good.
Julianna eats three chocolates before responding, unwrapping a fourth. “Handle seeing Nash. I mean, I know things are different now, but at the start of the semester when things were tense between you two, how did you act like everything was okay? You seemed totally fine in training, even though I know you weren’t.”
Funny, because I was falling apart on the inside.
“Did I? Because I sure as hell didn’t feel it.” I pause, trying to remember. “I guess I just faked it.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I’m not saying it’s super healthy, but I crammed my feelings down, ignored them as best I could, and cried when I got home. We also went through a lot of wine at the start of the semester,” I point out. “Like, several bottles.”
Her forehead furrows. “Okay. I can do that. Minus the alcohol intake.”
“Good call.” It’s an admittedly unhealthy strategy. “Maybe you can get Preston to give Marcus an extra-grueling training plan as punishment. Burpees until he throws up, something like that.”
Julianna laughs. “I totally should.”
***
I’m not entirely sure whether I’m going to Nash’s for movie night or “movie night.”
I’m not sure what we’re doing, period.
Claire’s white sedan pulls away from the curb as I draw in a breath, pressing the doorbell to Nash’s house. While I know we need to discuss things, part of me is afraid to. Is he even looking for something serious? He hasn’t exactly been relationship-minded since we broke up.
Nash opens the front door a minute later, interrupting my thoughts, and a tiny ball of fur launches itself at my legs.
“Look at you!” I bend down, scratching Biscuit’s velvety ears. “You’ve gotten so big.”
Biscuit stands on his hind legs, hopping and trying to lick my face. I scoop him into my arms, noting the weight he’s gained already. Nash took him for a round of immunizations before the road trip, and the vet estimated he’d reach eighty to ninety pounds when he’s fully grown, possibly more. At the rate he’s going, it won’t be long until he’s too big for me to pick up.
I kiss the top of Biscuit’s furry little head before I set him down, and he scampers inside the house. His stride is a little clumsy, almost like he hasn’t yet grown into his gigantic paws. Cutest puppy in the world, hands down.
“He’s grown so much.”
“Because he eats everything in sight,” Nash says, shutting the door behind me. “Even if it isn’t food.”
Stepping closer, he wraps his arms around my waist and picks me up. The warm cotton of his sweatshirt surrounds me, his cologne going straight to my head. Our lips collide, and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. A thrill runs through my entire body as our embrace escalates from gentle to heated, carrying on far longer than a simple hello kiss.
Breaking away, he squeezes me tighter, a satisfied hum resounding in his chest. “Missed you,” he murmurs, kissing me again.
I smile against his lips. “It’s only been one day.”
He sets me back down. “Two days since I was able to kiss you.”
True. We couldn’t say a proper goodbye in the middle of the parking lot with the team yesterday.
“We have the place to ourselves,” he adds, taking my coat and bag, hanging them on a hook by the door. “Vaughn’s babysitting. I told Connor and Drew to make themselves scarce for the night.”
His large hand wraps around mine as he leads me down the hall, and his expression shifts into something I can’t quite read. The muscles in his jaw are tense, the cords in his neck tight. It’s almost like he’s nervous, which is incredibly rare for him. I can count the number of times I’ve seen him anxious on one hand.
Before I have the chance to ask him if something is wrong, we round the corner and my gaze lands on a huge structure in the middle of the living room.
Every single wall around my heart crumbles to dust.
“Oh my gosh.” I step closer, admiring his handiwork. “You made us a pillow fort?”
A pillow fort on steroids might be more accurate. It’s a work of art. White sheets draped atop a furniture frame form the walls and roof, with one side left open to the flat-screen TV. Inside, there are twinkle lights strung around the top and flameless candles on the floor, both casting the space in a warm glow. The floor is covered with stacks of pillows, and a tray filled with all of my favorite snacks sits off to the side. It’s dim and cozy, not to mention incredibly romantic.
It says more than a million words ever could.
“If I can’t take you on a date in public, I figured I should do something else.” A lingering hint of nervousness beneath his half-smile endears him to me even more. “Though it took twice as long as it should have because someone kept destroying it.”
As if on cue, Biscuit trots into the fort with a stuffed monkey in his mouth.
“Thank you.” I swallow, blinking back the moisture pooling behind my eyelids. “This is so sweet. I love it.”
He rubs my lower back tenderly, dropping his forehead to mine. “Gotta say, tears aren’t quite what I was going for.”
“They’re happy tears.” I bury my face in his chest, circling my arms around his waist for a hug. He plants a kiss on the crown of my head as he squeezes me back. Once the urge to cry has passed, I add, “Let’s go snuggle.”
We duck beneath the sheet, and Nash lowers to sit on the floor, widening his legs. His arms wrap around my waist, hauling me down with my back against his chest. He rests his chin on my shoulder, his temple pressed to mine, and I get butterflies without a single kiss.
Underneath this canopy, closed off from the rest of the world, it feels like nothing else matters. For a few moments, neither of us speaks. I shut my eyes, reveling in the way we fit together, snug and secure, perfectly matched.
Nash nuzzles my cheek. “What do you want to watch?”
“You can choose.” Truth be told, I’m so happy curled up like this together that I could watch paint dry and love every minute.
“No, you pick.”
I hesitate briefly because I want to see a new romantic comedy that came out on Netflix last week, but I know it’s not his thing. “Trapped in Heaven?”
“Done,” he says, reaching for the remote.
An hour and a half later, Biscuit is asleep at our feet while we cuddle beneath a fuzzy white blanket atop a pile of pillows. We’ve finished our popcorn and have moved on to the jumbo bag of Skittles. Nash pours a handful into his palm, fishing out the yellow Skittles and handing them to me. I eagerly accept them because they’re the superior flavor. Anyone who says otherwise is crazy.
The movie credits roll across the screen, and he closes Netflix, switching back to cable. It’s tuned to a hockey game midway through the first period. New York is playing Chicago—the team that drafted him—but he doesn’t comment on it, so I don’t, either.
“I can’t believe you don’t like yellow Skittles,” I tell him, popping them into my mouth. “They’re the best kind.”
Nash utters a sound of disgust. “They taste like Lemon Pledge.”
“When did you eat furniture polish? And they taste like lemony sunshine, thank you very much.”
“Whatever you say, Vi.” He grins down at me, his emerald eyes dancing playfully. “We both know you have questionable taste in candy and movies. Don’t even get me started on your music.”
He’s got me there. Even I know my taste in music is bad.
“Admit it. You were totally invested in that movie. You wanted Elle and Ryder to end up together, too.”
“Maybe a little,” he admits, rubbing the back of my hand with his calloused thumb. “It was better than some of the action movies Connor and Drew make me sit through. Those are nothing but three hours’ worth of explosions and gunfire with zero plot.”
“There’s always the hot girl consolation prize, at least. You know, with the obligatory shot of them running in a tight white tank top during an action scene to show off their boobs.”
“The only tits I’m interested in seeing are yours.”
I laugh because it’s kind of sweet. In Nash’s way, at least.
He groans, surfing his palm down my thigh. “Speaking of that, these fucking yoga pants make your ass look unreal. I want to bite it.” His fingers trace the inner hem at my knee, desire stirring in my core as he inches upward. My leggings are so thin, it’s almost like he’s touching my bare skin. When he’s halfway up my thigh, a frown overtakes his face, and he stops abruptly. “On second thought, come here.”
Shifting his weight, he pulls my legs into his lap, readjusting us both so we’re facing each other. The energy in the dimly lit tent transforms, taking on a sudden weightiness. He cups my face, and his eyes bounce between mine, filled with uncertainty. I can tell he’s trying to build up to saying something, but I don’t know what.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not a single thing.” The uncertainty across his face vanishes, replaced by determination. His dark brows knit together. “Give me another chance, Vi. A real chance. No more one foot in, one foot out.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and my eyes well up again. His words hit hard because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing—holding back to protect myself, although it hasn’t been working. There is no playing it safe when it comes to love; it’s a contact sport for your heart.
Falling for him again is a foregone conclusion.
I’m so head over heels that I think I might be permanently upside down.
