I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO comfortable in my entire life.
I’m pretty sure my eyes are swollen shut and I can barely swallow due to an incredibly raw throat and there’s a weird crick bothering my neck yet I’m oddly cozy. A pleasant veil of warmth keeps me in a lulled state of almost-asleep that I don’t want to leave. With a yawn, I arch closer to the freaking radiator I must’ve smuggled into bed.
I freeze when the radiator groans. “Keep doing that, querida, and we’re gonna have a very awkward situation.”
My eyes sting as they wrench open, rapidly blinking away the bleariness until I can make out my surroundings. I’m in my bedroom—unsurprising considering I’ve barely left over the past week—but there’s something distinctly…different.
First of all, judging by the amount of light flooding the room, I managed to get more than three measly hours of restless sleep for the first time since Monday. Tormenting dreams of banging fists and slurred threats have kept me wide awake.
Secondly, my door is cracked open as though someone’s come and gone, and I always sleep with it firmly shut.
Thirdly, and most worryingly of all; the thick forearm banded tight around my waist that’s attached to the large body flush against my back, presumably the owner of the hot breath tickling the back of my neck.
Oh, and the rock-hard thing I do not want to think about digging into my ass.
Crap.
Painfully slowly, I shift onto my opposite side, my eyes half-closed as if that will prevent the sight I know I’m about to see. Yet even though I’m expecting it, my lungs still empty when I’m greeted by nothing but gold, and the memories of last night come rushing back in one overwhelming wave.
Nick turning up and me feeling so much better at the mere sight of him that I threw up a wall of bitter rage to ward it off because I didn’t want to feel better. The horrible words we spat at each other, none of which I meant, none of which I’m holding against him because I was looking for it, egging him on, hoping he’d snap because it’s easier to be angry at someone who’s returning the energy. My fight giving out at the glimmer of concern that never faltered, even when he yelled at me. Me breaking down in his arms for God knows how many hours while he held me, hushed me, soothed me until I must’ve passed out.
Sitting up as quickly as my weak body will allow, I rake my hands down my face and over my hair—as if that’ll fix anything—and shuffle until there’s as much of a gap between us as my small bed will allow. Drawing my knees up to my chest for comfort, I rest my cheek atop them facing Nick, clearing my throat before croaking a completely casual, “Good morning.”
Yawning, Nicks rolls on his side, an arm lazily crooked behind his head, and I have to avert my gaze because no one should be allowed look that good the moment they wake up, or sound as good as he does when he rasps a greeting in return. Fiddling anxiously with a corner of my duvet, I frown at Nick’s attire of a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans with the zip and top button undone, and I definitely do not look at bulge saluting me. “You slept here?”
Nick cracks a sad smile. “Didn’t wanna leave you alone.”
“Oh.” God, I’m not awake enough for this. “Thank you.”
I didn’t know a body could simultaneously tense and relax but mine does when Nick’s arm flops toward me, a thumb swiping what I’m sure is an extremely puffy undereye. “How do you feel?”
Mortified. Uncomfortable. Like I’m in desperate need of a long shower and a therapy session. “Fine.”
Nick messes with my hair, smoothing out the tangles carefully, his expression tight with concern. “Will you tell me what happened?”
I hesitate; I’m yet to say it aloud. I’m scared if I do it’s going to come out silly, like I’m overreacting and making a mountain of a mole hill because, really, nothing happened. Dylan turned up out of nowhere, banged on my door a couple of times and yelled some unintelligible things, and I got spooked. A long-lasting spook, extended by the fact he won’t stop calling me—no matter how many numbers I block, a new one always pops up.
My reluctance, however, is no match for Nick’s patience; he traces miscellaneous shapes along the slope of my neck, lulling me into a false sense of security until I relent. I tell him what happened in a quiet voice with a heavy dose of dismissal, backing it up with an ‘it’s not a big deal’ that makes us both flinch.
Nick’s hand drifts as I speak, floating across my shoulder and down my arm, tapping the back of my clenched fist until it opens and I let him lace our fingers together, the move as confusing as it is comforting. “He touch you?” It’s a stiff question laced with dread, as stiff as the set of his shoulders as he scans every visible inch of me.
“Didn’t even speak to him. I pretended I wasn’t home.” I neglect to mention I cowered in the corner for thirty minutes until a neighbor chased him away.
“I’m sorry,” Nick sighs after a long moment of tight-lipped silence. “About that and about last night.”
“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“I can take it.” He squeezes my hand, a dejected tilt to his lips. “I prefer you yelling at me over you ignoring me.”
I wince. “I’m sorry about that too.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” there’s no need to clarify what it is, his tone says it all, “but I want to.”
“We don’t have to,” I agree, wriggling my hand from his grip so I can fuse it with my other in my lap. “I get it, really. You don’t have to worry about me becoming all weird and clingy.”
“I wasn’t worried about that.”
“Okay.” I swallow, nervously rolling my lips together. “Really, it’s fine. We can go back to the way it was before.”
I brace myself for a nod, a relieved smile, a few muttered words of agreement followed by Nick getting up and skedaddling so I can die of humiliation slash wallow in peace. That’s not what I get though. Instead, I get Nick rolling to prop himself up on an elbow, cocking his head at me with something almost challenging in his gaze. “I don’t wanna do that.”
Confusion creases my brow. “What?”
Nick opens his mouth to deliver the clarification I desperately need, and I almost whine and kick like a toddler when an alarm suddenly goes off, interrupting him. I swear internally while he curses aloud, digging his ringing phone out of his pocket, silencing it, and swearing again. “I have to go.”
My shoulders slump with an unexpected amount of disappointment. “Oh.”
Nick squeezes my calf as he clambers over me. My cheeks heats as he fastens his jeans, flashing a glimpse of tan, toned, tattooed lower stomach. “I have work.”
Huh. I didn’t even know he had a job. “Where do you work?”
It’s almost awkward, the way he clears his throat, and he definitely seems a little uneasy as he says, “The Paper Trail.”
“The bookstore?”
Nick coughs, overly focused on his feet as he shoves them into shoes. “Uh huh.”
Oh, God. Why? Why? Hot, sweet—most of the time—and he works in a bookstore? Be still my freaking beating heart. “I like that place. It’s cute.” Super cute, and very un-Nick, so contradictory to the dark and mysterious aesthetic he has going on with all its jewel-tones and plants and quirky, kitsch decorations.
Nick grunts as he perches on my bed again, gently looping a hand around my ankle. “Can I come back later? Please?”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I nod, and whatever uncomfortable conversation we’re bound to have suddenly seems worth it for the bright smile he graces me with.
“Marry him.”
My groan echoes around the living room. “Luna.”
“He teaches you self-defense. He beat up Dylan. He brings you coffee. He works in a bookstore.” She flicks a finger up with each sentence, her voice becoming squealier and squealier as she counts all the reasons why I simply must become the next Mrs. Silva. “He’s fucking perfect.”
From the opposite end of the sofa, Kate hums a noise of agreement. “And he made you come.”
“Yeah.” Luna snaps her fingers, shooting Kate an approving look, the antithesis to the scowl I send her. “That too. Top of the list.”
“Both of you, stop it.”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t have scandalous, angry sex after you finished yelling at each other last night.”
“I just told you that we didn’t!”
“And how are we to trust you,” Luna tuts, “after you waited an entire week to tell us about your Thanksgiving shenanigans?”
“Jesus Christ.” My head hits the back of the sofa with a thud as I slump against the cushions, wishing they’d swallow me whole. I knew spilling the beans about what happened would incur a bombardment of teasing commentary. That’s why I kept my mouth shut. Even before anything happened between us, mocking quips weren’t uncommon and suspicion was rife, particularly from the blonde portion of our trio; Luna couldn’t, and clearly still can’t, wrap her head around the concept of us just being friends—something about ‘the way he looks at me’ or something silly like that. Kate, as always, played her cards a little closer to her chest, kept her analysis of Nick and I’s relationship to herself, but now that the cat is out of the bag, everything else is pouring out with it.
“Oh, come on, Mils,” she sighs, swishing a hand through the air. “You know he likes you.”
“No, I don’t, actually.”
“And you like him.”
“No, I don’t, actually,” I repeat, kissing my teeth in annoyance when my friends chuckle. “I don’t!”
Not a lot, anyway. A perfectly normal amount that barely, barely, breaks the boundary of how much you like a good friend.
Whatever amount equates to letting him eat me out on a kitchen counter.
While Kate huffs her belief, Luna sighs dreamily, her temple knocking against mine as dramatically pats beneath her completely dry eyes. “I can’t believe our Mils is gonna be the one to tame Nicolas Silva. I might cry.”
“Oh, shut up.” I shove the little drama queen away, and she flops onto Kate with a squeal. “If anyone’s been tamed, it’s you.”
Pale eyes narrow. “Take that back.”
“Don’t worry.” Kate abdicates from the Amelia Torment Campaign and hops aboard the Ridicule Luna Bandwagon. “Girlfriend looks good on you.”
Luna groans, hiding behind her hands but not quick to conceal a glimpse of a smile and a definite blush. Suffice to say, we got the shock of our lives when Luna arrived back from Thanksgiving break toting the very thing she’d always sworn against; a boyfriend. And not just any; she bagged the man made of the most boyfriend material in all of Sun Valley—Oscar Jackson. I’m not particularly close to the guy—we haven’t had many opportunities to bond considering his lips are usually occupied attacking Luna’s—but I know he’s nice. And not nice in the dismissive compliment kind of way you assign to someone you barely know or when you’re trying to be polite, but the text-book definition of the word you use for a genuinely good guy. Just short of shy but quiet, for sure. And an undeniably safe choice.
Not one of those words would be the first you used to describe Luna but they work, weirdly, and they’re happy, clearly, so aside from the odd dose of gentle ribbing my friend definitely deserves, I’m free from objections.
I’m not going to lie though; after she broke the news, I escaped to the privacy of my shower and spent an hour half-laughing, half-crying as I compared the oh-so-drastic outcomes of our holiday weekends.
I’m about to continue the heckling when the doorbell rings, and all three of us turn in unison to frown at the front door. Two subtle kicks to my thigh urge me to answer—I’m the closest, that’s our rule—and I rise with a sigh, throwing a question over my shoulder as I cross the room. “Did we order food and forget about it again?”
A husky chuckle I’d know anywhere greets me as I open the door. “Not sure you can find me on DoorDash, querida, but thank you for implying I’m good enough to eat.”
Yeah, I most definitely did not order a six-foot-four Brazilian man equipped with a smirk and a plastic bag stamped with the logo of our local Chinese takeout, but I did forget about it. Kind of. I partly forgot, partly assumed he wouldn’t show up again, at least not tonight.
Unlike the other times Nick has been here, he doesn’t wait for an invitation to come in; he simply barges past me and heads for the kitchen, sparing the girls a wave before bumbling around like he owns the place.
It takes me a second to reboot. Another to close the door, and one more to turn around and gape at the man snagging cutlery from drawer, and stacking up an impressive amount of foil takeout containers. My gaze swings from him to my friends, and I stifle an embarrassed groan at their reactions to this unexpected situation.
Luna’s risen up on her knees to get a better view of the show, her hands cupping her cheeks and her mouth pursed as she holds in what I’m sure is an ear-splitting squeal. Kate’s adopted a similar position but she looks like she can’t decide whether to be amused or confused or concerned. She settles on the former as she gets to her feet, yanking Luna up with her. “We’ll be in our rooms if you need us.”
Nick quirks a brow, waving a hand at the mountain of Chinese food. “I brought enough for everyone.”
A tiny noise escapes Luna, like the sound of a whisper of air leaving a balloon, and I watch as she subtly waggles five fingers in my direction, another thing added to her list. “Well-”
“We’re fine,” Kate cuts her off with another hard yank. “Thank you, though.”
Nick lifts his chin at them as they scuttle from the room—one a hell of a lot more reluctantly than the other—and then, we’re alone.
I feel like, at this point, I should be beyond feeling awkward around Nick. Yet here I am, dithering like a loser, unsure of where to look or how to act. Clearing my throat, I pad toward him, my fingers curling around the edge of the tiny island separating the kitchen from the living room. “What is this?”
“Food,” the smart-ass replies.
I offer him a deadpan look. “Why, Nick?”
“I told you I was coming back over.” Cracking the lid of what looks like sweet and sour eggplant, he slides it toward me, following it up with a portion of stir-fried broccoli—one day, I’m going to ask how this man knows all of my orders to a T. “And I thought you’d be more agreeable on a full stomach. Less likely to flee.”
Despite myself, I laugh. When he offers me a fork, I take it, and we both dig in.
I manage a grand total of six bites before the suspense gets me. “So?”
Nick pauses shoveling beef noodles into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he swallows and sighs. “I shouldn’t have said it wasn’t a big deal. I get that it was a dickhead thing to say but you were clearly panicking and I wanted to calm you down.”
“I wasn’t-”
“Yes, you were,” he stops my lie before it can fully form. “And that’s okay, I get it. It was out of nowhere and it was a lot but it happened and you didn’t have to run away. You didn’t have to avoid me all week either.”
Nick rounds the counter, intimidating as he stalks toward me but not in a scary way—in a way that sends tingles of anticipation down my spin. Coming to a stop, his hand curves over my waist, the other resting on the slope of my neck—his favorite spot—and he uses the grip to tug me closer. “Here’s the thing, Amelia. I like what we did. I wanna do it again, among other things. And I think you wanna too but you’re letting that pretty little head get in the way.”
“It’s complicated, Nick.” So freaking complicated for so many reasons, none of which I can properly recall as lips brush my fluttering pulse.
“Uncomplicate it.”
“Cass-” Nick’s groan cuts me off, and he retreats from kissing my neck, displeasure evident in his gaze. “I can’t lie to him.”
“It’s not lying if he doesn’t ask.” Soft lips kiss forehead in a surprisingly tender move. “We’ll be careful.”
Careful; code for sneaking around. It should infuriate me, the implication that whatever’s between us will be a secret but in an odd twist, the thought relaxes me. Takes the pressure off. Makes the somewhat preposterous idea of me and him a little less…daunting.
And, if I’m honest, it sounds fucking fun.
I swallow hard, my breath stuttering as all the contact starts to go to my head. “I don’t want a boyfriend.”
A soft chuckle tickles my cheek. “I’m not trying to be your boyfriend. I just think it would be a waste.”
“What would?”
“I’m attracted to you,” he states like the fact is common knowledge and doesn’t scramble my insides as much as his mouth brushing the corner of mine does. “You’re attracted to me.” The opposite corner tingles as it receives the same treatment. “What’s the harm in having a little fun?”
God, he’s making it all sound so easy. “So, we would be…”
“Whatever you want to be, querida.”
I’m not sure what that is, not until it comes flying out of my mouth like some gut instinct desperate to be heard. “I want a distraction.”
A pause. A shared breath loaded with hesitation and anticipation as he scans every inch of my face before finally, his lips touch mine. “Whatever you want.”
