OUT OF MY PERIPHERAL, I watch as Nick raises a hand. It floats towards me, hovering near my arm like it might settle there but at the last moment, he thinks better of it. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I’m fine,” I answer his question before he can voice it.
“Wasn’t gonna ask,” he drawls in reply, his presence becoming even harder to ignore as he shuffles a step closer. “Didn’t know you were coming out tonight.”
“Didn’t know I needed your permission.”
A beat of silence, of stillness, follows my snapped words.
Nick peers at me, his expression hovering somewhere between amused and concerned like he can’t decide which to be. His inquisitive gaze pins me in place, intense and searching and making me feel remarkably akin to prey being eyed up by a predator. When he steps toward me, I resist the urge to back up. Not out of fear but because the man is overwhelming from a distance; close proximity could kill a girl. As could the dimple that makes an appearance as his lips quirk upwards. “You mad at me, querida?”
It’s hard to be when he calls me whatever that word is. I had a firm disdain for the terms of endearment Dylan used to address me but something about that word, whether it be something sweet or whether he’s blatantly insulting me to my oblivious face, inspires goosebumps across my skin. I have a hunch it has little to do with the word itself and everything to do with the man saying it. With the way he says it; rich and smooth like the honey I associate with his irises.
Steeling myself, I mentally don armor that protects my silly little emotions from pretty men and their pretty words. “You ignoring me, Silva?”
That dimple becomes a little less pronounced as Nick’s smirk slips ever so slightly. “I was busy.”
Ha. So he did see me. “Better get back to it, then.”
Go bang the beautiful girl so I can melt down in private, please.
My fingers tap impatiently against my bare arms as I wait for him to hop to it; I have grand plans of slipping out of here and catching an Uber home the second he turns his back.
Except he doesn’t.
Nick goes nowhere except closer.
His tall form folds as he bends down, his perfect features crystal clear as he wholly invades my personal space. Not threateningly; he’s never threatening, towards me at least. Just… close. Close enough for me to note he has freckles, a brown smattering bridging his nose and fanning out to his cheeks that practically blend into his bronzed skin but this close, I can see them. Close enough I’m enveloped with the scent of citrus and spice. Close enough we’re practically sharing breath. If I leaned forward even a little, we’d bump noses.
God, why am I tempted to do that?
“Who was that?”
Jolting at Nick’s voice, I blink away the freckle-induced haze trying to convince me to freaking rub noses with Nicolas Silva. It’s a testament to how much his proximity is rattling me because I don’t even try to evade his question. “One of Dylan’s friends.”
The muscles in his jaw clench as he kisses his teeth. “He always treat you like that?”
“Like what?” I ask even though I know exactly what he means.
The look he gives me says he knows I know yet he indulges me anyway. “Talking to you like that. Looking at you like that. Manhandling you.”
I shift from one foot to the other as I shrug.
“That’s a yes, then,” Nick drawls, no humor in his words, all fire in his gaze as it scans the room behind me.
“I can handle it.”
An indistinct hum rumbles in his throat. I can’t tell if it’s in agreement or protest and I don’t get the chance to ask because the universe once again reminds me why I should’ve leave the house; one second, I’m all but flush with Nick. The next, I’m stumbling to the side as a body collides with mine.
“Nick?” A high-pitched, screeching voice threatens to bust my eardrums at the same time an aggressively sweet perfume assaults my nostrils. “Oh my God, baby, hi!”
I right myself as pretty brunette attach herself to Nick’s side, hands roaming like they have every right to. Although, what do I know. Maybe they do. However, I’d hazard a guess based on Nick’s grimace, they don’t.
“Do I know you?” he asks in a tone so harsh I’d feel bad for the girl if the little bitch hadn’t just bodychecked me with the force of a fucking rugby player. I think she bruised a damn rib.
The freakishly strong mystery woman pouts at Nick, one hand twirling a lock of her highlight-streaked, ashy brown hair while the other wraps around his bicep like a perfectly manicured boa constrictor. “You’re so funny, babe,” she preens, damn near creating a wind the fluttering of her lashes. “It’s Janine.”
She states her name like he’s supposed to know it and, God, is it hard not to laugh when Nick’s perfectly blank expression remains unchanging.
“Janine,” the not-as-memorable-as-she-thinks woman repeats, rolling her eyes playfully with a tittering laugh like this is all one big joke. She shoots me a dramatic ‘can you believe this guy?’ look which I return with nothing more than a closed-mouthed, wide-eyed brow raise. There’s a hint of something nasty in the upward tilt of her lips as she stares right at me while addressing Nick with a confident flip of her hair, “Like you could forget me after Halloween.” Her suggestive tone leaves no guessing as to what kind of unforgettable activity they engaged in that night. Withholding the grimace begging to make an appearance, I silently pray whatever happened didn’t occur in the bed I slept in.
“Oh.” Realization finally dawns on Nick’s face. “Janice? From the bathroom?”
I have to press my lips together so, so tightly to keep from laughing while simultaneously huffing an internal sigh of relief. Bathroom, not his bed. Damn, busy night for that location.
Janine’s face lights up for a split second before falling into a frown. “Janine,” she repeats for a third time and dear God, Amelia, do not laugh.
Nick blinks. “Does it matter?”
Subtly, I extend a leg, my foot colliding with Nick’s shin. Don’t be cruel, I mouth with a pointed look.
Help me, he mouths back with a pointed look of his own.
I roll my eyes but I’m already plotting; I do owe him. Wide-eyed, I shimmy my shoulders discreetly. Jerking his head in acknowledgment, he obeys what I silently command, carefully shaking off his oddly violent groupie, that easy, placating smile of is occupying her attention so she barely notices. The minute she’s off him, I’m replacing her, slipping in front of Nick like a human barrier. Instantly, without encouragement, a hand cups my hip and tugs me backwards into a hard chest. The muscles in my stomach contracts as a warm palm splays across my skin, and I will my smile not to falter as something somersaults in my belly. “Hi. I’m Amelia.”
Oh, if looks could kill. Janine grits her teeth like they’re liable to tear into me if giving the chance, forming the sorriest excuse for a smile I’ve ever seen as she spits a pitiful greeting of her own. “Hi.”
I hope no one notices the tremor of my hand as I set it over the one making my insides wobble, my fingers slotting into place atop Nick’s. “Can we help you with something?”
To her credit, Janine adapts quickly. Within seconds, her furious scowl melting into a saccharine grin aimed at Nick, and Nick alone. Like I’m not plastered to the front of him, like an extension of himself. Like his thumb isn’t dangerously close to brushing the underside of my boob.
To be fair, I’m pretending that’s not happening too.
“I was gonna ask if you wanted to buy me a drink.”
“I’m busy.”
I snort, the noise morphing into a sharp inhale when the pads of Nick’s warm fingers press harder into my skin. My breathing remains stagnant as his other hand travels upwards, relocating from my hip, trailing up my bare arm. His pinky grazes my collarbone as he brushes a red plait aside, thick fingers curling around my shoulder and squeezing gently.
Janine tracks the movement, practically glowing green. “Well, maybe we could-”
“Listen, Jean,” Nick cuts her off and my chest actually hurts from stifling laughter yet again. “I’m tryna talk to my girl so if you could leave us alone, that’d be great.”
My girl, my silly little brain sings.
Jesus, I need to get out of here.
Embarrassment flushes Janine’s cheeks. I’d feel sorry for the girl, I really would, if not for the bruises I’m sure are blooming. “Yeah,” she clears her throat, tossing her hair again. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
“No, you won’t,” Nick mutters and this time, there’s no force in the world that could keep my laughter in, even if it does earn me a parting scowl as Janine flounces off, her hips swaying in a way I guess is supposed to be alluring.
I tilt my head back, seeking out Nick’s gaze but it’s already on me. I’m momentarily ensnared by his smile because God know it’s a good one. It takes more time than I’m willing to admit to snap myself out of it but I manage, narrowing my eyes at his grin. “Wipe that smile off your face, Silva. I’m pretty sure I’m going to wake up with a stiletto in my back tomorrow.”
His laugh catches me off guard. The rich, husky chuckle that bursts from him, vibrating from his body through mine and almost making my knees buckle. He’s freaking luminous as he smirks down at me, eyes teasing. “Could always sleep in my bed. I’ll protect you.”
“Dream on.”
“Believe me, querida, I will.”
Mustering an unimpressed look, I reluctantly duck out of his grasp, immediately feeling cold without his warmth surrounded me. It was distracting, him touching me, us messing with his groupie, but now, the moment’s passed. The exhaustion is seeping back in. So, with a nod towards the exit, I say, “Think I’ve had enough fun for one night. Tell Cass I said bye?”
“Wait.” A hand catches me by my the shoulder before I can disappear like I’m desperate too. With a bone-rattling sigh, I glance at Nick expectantly, an odd mixture of foreboding and exhilaration settling in my gut when I find him brandishing car keys. “I have an idea.”
Four words scream trouble. A bright red warning sign flashes in my mind. My common sense chastises me for even considering taking the hand he offers me.
Yet I accept his offer anyway.
Heavy panting breaths tickle my cheek as hands hold my hips firmly, a hard front presses flush against my sweat-soaked back. “Another one,” a husky voice commands and I shiver despite my elevated temperature.
“I can’t,” I groan, every inch of my body aching.
“Come on, querida,” my torturer coos. “You can do one more.”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
Even without looking, I know he’s adopted that infuriating smirk. “You asked for it.”
Of all the scenarios I imagined as Nick led me out of the pub—carefully avoiding our friends because we knew they’d kick up a fuss no matter what we told them – this wasn’t one of them. I didn’t expect to be breathless and sweaty and plastered against an equally breathless and sweaty Nick with the clock steadily ticking towards midnight. I didn’t think his big idea would involve whisking me away to Sun Valley Fitness Centre and introducing me to the punishing world of boxing.
I can’t feel my arms. Genuinely, if I couldn’t see them poised in front of me, weighted down by the gloves protecting my hands, I’d think they’d fallen off. My whole body feels numb, ready to buckle, yet somehow, I have enough energy to tense when Nick’s hand moves from my hip to my stomach.
“You’re holding too much tension here,” he murmurs, tapping the bare strip of stomach between my tank and the shorts I borrowed from him. Unsurprisingly, they don’t fit. I secured them at the back with a hair tie but I’ve long since stopped worrying about them potentially falling down; I’m more worried about me falling down, period.
“You’ve gotta loosen up,” Nick continues, and if my breath was capable of catching right, it would. I should be used to him handling me by now; it’s been hours of him using gentle touches to guide me. Yet every time, he elicits a physical reaction from me. “Use your whole body, not just your arms.”
“I’m not tense,” I protest. “I’m exhausted.”
His chuckle has the hair on the back of my neck standing to attention. “One more. Then we can stop.”
I groan. I grumble. I consider expelling my last shreds of energy by socking Nick in the gut but I don’t. Instead, when he backs up and calls out a combination I’m beginning to feel familiar with, I do it.
And despite my complaining, despite the aching burning emanating from my freaking bones, I like it. I really, really like it. A stiff wind might be able to flatten me right now but regardless, I feel strong. Powerful. Simultaneously shattered beyond belief and brimming with adrenaline.
I was hesitant when we first got here. Hesitance nagged at me, even as Nick’s intentions became clear when he tossed me a change of pants and started wrapping some kind of soft material around his hands. He did the same to me, thumbs brushing my racing pulse as he secured fabric around my wrists, thumbs, and palms. To ensure I don’t sprain anything, he explained. Then, without giving me a second to question it, he slipped a pair of boxing gloves over my hands, laced them up, and gently nudged me towards one of the heavy leather bags suspended from the ceiling.
“Just punch,” he murmured. “Don’t think, just punch.”
So, I did.
And I kept punching.
For hours, we’ve alternated between him demonstrating and me copying. He’s put me through my paces, teaching me a billion combinations and yelling me through a series of his favorite workouts, and while I really want to punch him, I kind of want to kiss him too.
Platonically, of course.
Because I didn’t realize how much I needed an outlet like this until the sweat started flowing.
I want to burst into grateful, relieved tears as I finish my final combination and all but collapse on the floor, landing on my ass with a thump. Bracing my forearms against my knees, my head flops forward, my forehead sticking to my gloves as I try and fail to breathe. “I think I’m dying.”
“You’re fine.” The little shit who did this to me snickers. I hear him plop down in front of me, another groan ripping from my throat when strong hands wrap around my ankles and yank me a couple of inches closer until I’m nestled between his legs.
I’m literally trapped between his thighs, my feet basically tucked beneath his ass, but I can’t find it in me to give a crap when I have bigger things to worry about. “I’m never gonna be able to breath again.”
More deep laughter contradicts my excessive groans as he pries my arms away from me, extending them so he can can unlace my gloves and yank them off. He takes his time unwrapping my hands, his attention lingering on one wrist in particular. The pad of his thumb smoothes over the purple imperfection doing its best to last. “Does it hurt?”
“Nope.” It pangs every so often but I’m so hopped up on endorphins, I’ve barely noticed. Tomorrow, it’ll probably ache a little. I don’t particularly care.
With a jerky nod, Nick drops my hands, leaning back on his palms and honestly, fuck him for looking so attractive right now. He’s as sweaty and flushed and disheveled as I am yet he pulls it off. I look like I’ve been dragged backward through a hedge. He looks like he’s about to pose for Men’s Health. I’m fighting for my life. He’s grinning like he could go another couple of rounds.
“I think I hate you.”
“You mean ‘thank you so much, Nicolas’?”
Knocking my knees against the inner thighs cocooning me, I fix him with a glare. It only lasts a second, though, before softening. “Thank you, Nicolas.”
“Anytime, querida.”
