IT TAKES LESS than two days for me to realize that maybe I’m not cut out for a casual, secret, distracting, friends-with-benefits relationship.
I’m not a jealous person. Really, I’m not—when I’m with someone, I trust them unless given a reason not to. However, I’ve never been with someone like Nick who attracts women like flies to freaking honey. We’re in the library, for God’s sake, and no less than four girls have sauntered up to him in the span of a single hour. I’m so distracted by it, I haven’t absorbed a word of the textbook sprawled in front of me—studying is a foreign concept right now. All I’m capable of is excessively clicking the top of my pen while trying to put a leash on the weird, unfamiliar green monster writhing in my gut.
“You know,” a voice murmurs in my ear as a pen jabs me in the ribs. “If you wanna keep your little experiment a secret, you’re gonna have to practice the whole subtle thing.”
I slide Kate a glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Almost as soon as I told the girls about the newest development in my life, I regretted it. Not that I actually told them; Nick and I’d barely sealed the deal before they were barging into the room, blurting false apologies for interrupting us. Well, one of them did; the other shrieked “I fucking knew it” whilst doing a little dance on the spot and making lewd noises.
No prizes for guessing who that was.
It makes my life a little easier, them knowing, since it means I don’t have to sneak around in my own home but on the contrary, it makes it a helluva lot harder to lie.
“Relax.” Kate nudges me, discreetly jerking her head toward where Nick sits on the opposite side of the wide library table, Cass by his side. “He’s not doing anything.”
Which is true. He isn’t. In an utterly un-Nick fashion, he’s not sparing the entourage crowded around him more than a polite smile. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s directing them to Cass. I’m wracking my brain trying to recount a time when he’s turned someone down, and apart from that girl who got real familiar with my ribcage, I’m coming up empty. My rational mind can acknowledge that, and appreciate it.
The irrational part, however, is a different story. It insists on reminding me that the exact parameters of our… situationship have yet to be defined. For all I know, he could be allowed to do whatever he wants with other women. I could be allowed to do whatever I want with other men. I am hopelessly out of my depth here and it’s throwing me off.
Clicking my tongue, I flop back in my chair. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I side with the facts, baby,” Kate coos, patting my thigh. “And your guy is too busy mooning over you to entertain anyone else.”
Ignoring the mushy feeling her reassurance incites, I grumble, “He’s not my guy.”
Kate snorts, re-directs her gaze toward Nick, and snorts again. “He sure as fuck isn’t anyone else’s guy.”
“What’re we gossiping about?”
We both jump as Ben plops himself in the empty seat on my other side, the book he was searching for hitting the table with a loud thump. “Nothing,” we answer too quickly.
Pale green eyes narrow and flit between us, droll sarcasm tingeing his tone as he drawls, “That wasn’t suspicious at all.”
“You find what you were looking for?” Kate, God bless her, smoothly changes the subject, easily distracting the kid by tossing a pack of Red Vines his way. That’s the thing about Ben; he’s the human equivalent of a golden retriever puppy. Inquisitive, persistent, and you wave a treat in his face and everything else is forgotten. Every time, it works like a charm, and now is no exception—snagging a handful of red licorice ropes, he eagerly goes off on a tangent about his newest assignment.
Ben’s major makes perfect sense to me. Something about the perfectly windswept blond hair, the cocksure attitude, and the ripped jeans, colorful Converse, oversized shirt combination he favors simply screams ‘yup, I’m a musical prodigy.’ Just last night as we gathered in the guys’ living room for an impromptu pizza-and-movie night, he’d whipped out his ukulele—a battered old thing covered in Sharpie-scribbled lyrics and faded stickers—and added to the illusion, serenading us with at least half of Harry Styles’ discography. It felt like we were in some cliche coming-of-age movie about the importance of friendship and Ben’s melodic voice was the soundtrack.
While I likened his voice to a lullaby mere hours ago, and as much as I’ve grown to love the kid because I really have, I’d cut out his vocal cords if it meant he stopped repeatedly humming the exact same notes. Well, to my ears, they sound the same. According to Ben, they’re entirely different, and Kate and I have got to choose what sounds better or else it’ll be our fault when he fails his final composition of the semester.
“Stop making that noise,” I beg, gesturing to the Red Vine he’s gnawing on, “or I’m seriously going to ram that down your throat.”
I shouldn’t be surprised when Ben finds unintended dirtiness in that threat. “Don’t tease me, Tiny.” He winks, waving the long piece of candy like a lasso. “You know I’m working on my gag reflex.”
God, my own damn gag reflex is triggered by the image that evokes.
Ben snickers as Kate and I shiver and dry-heave dramatically, but all three of us sober up when a shadow falls over our section of the table. A yelp escapes Ben as a hand lands on the back of his chair and yanks so it’s teetering on the back two legs, attempting to tip him off but he holds on tight. Dropping his head back, he scowls. “Can I help you?”
Nick wiggles the chair again, another attempt to dethrone Ben. “Scram, kid.”
“Excuse me.”
Ignoring the indignant screech, Nick waves an A4 notepad in my direction, quirking a smile that’s far from innocent. “Need a proofreader.”
Ben tries to swipe the notepad, pouting when Nick evades him. “I can read too, you know.”
“You can?” Nick drawls sarcastically, proving the third time’s the charm when he angles the chair again and Ben finally tumbles out. Waving a dismissive hand at the kid mumbling profanities and discreetly waving a middle finger his way, Nick claims the recently vacated seat. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I need a nursery rhyme corrected.”
The laugh in my throat dies when Nick shifts to face me. I don’t like the look on his face at all; it’s not the look of a guy who’s simply wandering over to ask for help on an essay. It’s way too freaking smug for my liking.
Nick tosses his notepad on the table but neither of us is paying attention to it, both well aware that it was a ploy. As he did with Ben, he grabs my chair too but he doesn’t chuck me out of it. He hooks a hand around a leg and carefully drags me closer until we’re basically thigh to thigh. Glancing around nervously, a relieved puff of air escapes me; Cass has wandered off somewhere, none the wiser when Nick slinks an arm around the back of my seat, not quite touching me but dangerously close to it.
I swallow hard when fingers lightly brush my shoulder, burning through the material of my sweatshirt. “Not gonna lie, Amelia,” he twirls a strand of hair around his finger and tugs, “you’re hot when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.” I’m very aware that I should shrug him off, that we’re too close for public observation, yet I’m powerless to do anything but titter awkwardly. “You can do whatever you want.”
Nick makes a noise deep in his throat as his tongue runs over his teeth. “Can I?”
My first instinct has me opening my mouth to deliver a snapped ‘yup,’ but at the last second, I think better of it. Quietly, I admit, “I don’t know.” Like I said, I’m entirely out of my depth here. “Maybe we should, uh, set some rules? Like boundaries or whatever? So it doesn’t get… messy.”
Even messier than it already has the potential to be, I should say.
“Rules,” Nick muses absentmindedly, still fiddling with my hair. He likes doing that, I’ve noticed, and I have no objection. In general, he’s a lot more touchy-feely than I expected—I have no objections to that either. “I can do that.”
Okay. Great. Right direction.
Testing our luck more than he already is, Nick leans closer until it’s impossible to see anything but him and that freaking dimple-popping smirk. “You gonna tell me what these rules are or do I have to read your mind?”
Rolling my eyes, I playfully shove him away, and it’s right on time too; Cass saunters over, squinting at our proximity, and I get that feeling you get when you’re a kid and you’re caught doing something naughty. “Your mother never teach you about personal space, Nicolas?”
“Your mother never teach you about paranoia?” Nick retorts, slumping casually in his seat. To everyone else, it looks as though his arms simply drop to his side; no one else can see his hand as it clamps on my thigh. “Relax, Cass,” he croons, and I don’t know how the hell my brother misses the sly wink he aims my way. “She’s helping me with something. Apparently, I need to brush up on my grammar rules.”
I’m aiming for confident as I stride into The Paper Trail later that day, clutching a paper takeout bag from Greenies and armed with a newfound sense of clarity.
Somewhere between pretending to study whilst being discreetly pawed beneath the table and slogging through a work shift with an inexplicable case of the jitters, I came to a conclusion; I’m in control here. Whatever I want, that’s what Nick said. The rules, our boundaries, they’re up to me. He’s handing over the reins, and I should take them instead of being awkward and nervous and constantly doubting everything when he’s yet to give me a reason to. I want to go back to how it was between us before the fateful kitchen incident because I was comfortable then and that was fun, and it’s supposed to be fun, this thing between us. A welcome distraction. It’d be a crying shame if I wasted it because I can’t get out of my damn head.
It struck me as I finished up work that Nick is always the one dropping in on me, catching me off guard, and that doesn’t feel fair. It probably adds to the skittish energy I’ve been adopting in his presence lately. So, I’m balancing the scales a little.
Guided by the coworker behind the register, I find Nick tucked away at the back of the store. He’s at the far end of an aisle, sandwiched between two towering walls of books, a stack balanced in the crook of his arm that he’s working on depositing amongst the shelves. He’s utterly absorbed in what he’s doing, pausing every so often to skim a blurb or flip through a couple of pages, and briefly, I linger. I’ve remarked many a time on how Nick is a man worth admiring, and apparently, rings true even when he’s doing something as mundane as working.
And as I stare, I find myself thinking WWLED; What Would Luna Evans Do?
Whistle.
I freaking wolf whistle in the middle of a bookstore.
An immediate cringe follows the noise but I hide it as Nick’s surprised gaze snaps upward, his expression melting into an ear-to-ear grin that’s entirely too amused and freaking twinkly for my liking.
Depositing the remaining books on a random shelf, he closes the distance between us in a couple of long strides, his hands settling on my waist the moment he’s within reach. “Did you just whistle at me?”
You’re a dipshit, I silently reprimand myself as I contemplate whether or not the bookshelves are light enough for me to topple but heavy enough to crush me and put me out of my misery. “Maybe.”
An internal groan echoes around my silly mind as the freaking dimples come out to play. “Are you drunk?”
“Shut up,” I mumble, my face screwing up in embarrassment.
Chuckling, Nick pries my hands away when I try to hide behind them, holding them firm as he leans in and kisses me too gently for my brain to handle. “It was cute.”
This is what fucks with me, I realize. The softness. When he’s sweet to me—and only me, through his own admission. That’s what throws me off the most, what causes the flip to switch to awkward. I can the handle flirty player version of Nick—if that Nick fucked me over, I’d survive it. But this Nick? The one a girl could get attached to? I’m not so sure.
Kate would say I’m catastrophizing. Lu would chastise me because ‘expect the worst, get the worst’ is her mindset. In a rare twist, I listen to them both. Pushing any worrisome thoughts aside, I re-bolster myself, mentally pump up my confidence, and I groan. “I wasn’t aiming for cute.”
If Luna had done it, no way would it have been cute.
However, I quickly decide cute is perfectly okay when Nick kisses me again with the same sweet reverence. It doesn’t last long, though, before I’m spun and pressed up against a bookshelf, moaning a stifled noise when Nick deepens the kiss with a lash of his tongue.
In a matter of seconds, I’m wrecked, gasping for air as my knees wobble and my head spins and the bundle of nerves between my legs aches for attention, every graze of the seam of my jeans against it as Nick’s hips rock into mine damn near maddening. The bag of food in my hands drops to the ground as they scramble for purchase on the large body pinning me in place, finding it in his hair—I have to rise on the very tip of my toes to reach, and Nick assists me with an oh-so-helpful palm on my ass balancing me, kneading the soft flesh through my jeans. He’s doing exactly what our agreement entails, he’s distracting me, but now is one of those rare times I need a clear head.
Nick groans as I wrench myself away, keeping him somewhat at bay with a hand planted high on his chest. “We have to talk.”
I bite my lip to stop a laugh when the grown-ass man pouts. The action backfires, though, because it draws his attention to the very place I’m trying to avert it from. Groaning again, Nick dips his head, grazing the corner of my mouth before trailing to my jaw and peppering kisses that make me sigh. “So talk, querida. I’m listening, I promise.”
I wrack my brain for the list I carefully curated earlier but with him sucking on the sensitive skin where my neck meets my hair, I’m having a helluva lot of trouble conjuring it up. “No sleepovers,” I eventually manage to grind out, punctuated by a whimper as teeth nip my ear lobe.
“Veto,” he grunts, the hand not on my ass drifting to the waistband of my jeans, fingers toying with the top button. “Try kicking me out of your bed at night, querida. I dare you.”
What was I saying earlier about control? Yeah. I have it. Sure. Uh-huh.
I try again. “We don’t tell anyone.”
“We already covered that one.” He makes his way back up to my mouth at the same time his hand drifts south. My breath catches as slowly, he unbuttons my jeans, drags down the zip, and when he finds no objections, slips his hand inside the stiff denim.
You’re in public, rationale screams, yet nowhere in me can I find it to care.
Neither I nor the thin fabric of my panties put up a fight as Nick gently nudges brushes a knuckle against my throbbing clit. “What else?”
Good question. God, he’s really blowing my plan to shit, all my focus diverting to his hand cupping my pussy. “No sex.”
The golden rule. I’m not going to kid myself and pretend that sex won’t lead to me getting attached; it will. I freaking know it will. I’m a chronic monogamist and if I don’t have one hard boundary, I’ll crumble. It’s non-negotiable and I brace myself for…maybe not an argument, but definitely a complaint.
It doesn’t come.
“Okay,” Nick agrees way easier than I would’ve expected, even rewarding me with a hard press of his thumb. “Next?”
“No dates.”
Aside from the no-sex rule, that’s the one most steadfast; dates imply dating, and that’s a confusion my impressionable mind can live without.
I didn’t think that would be the rule to cause Nick hesitation but it does; infuriatingly, he pauses everything, drawing back slightly to peer down at me. “What’re we counting as a date, Amelia?”
I squirm, trying to grind against his hand, but he’s unrelenting. A moan-sigh-groan hybrid leaves me. “I don’t know.” Believe it or not, I’m not a dating connoisseur. “Dinner. Movies. That kind of stuff.”
Nick contemplates that for a too-long, exasperating moment. I almost fall to the floor in relief when he kisses his teeth, almost out of frustration, and starts tracing my clit in slow, tight circles, gaining speed the more I moan and writhe.
It’s a short-lived relief; right as I reach the edge I’m quickly guided to, Nick slows his pace and reduces the pressure, enough so I’m still hovering but I can’t quite get there.
“Bringing you dinner?” he asks, his voice rougher, breathier, than usual. “Does that count?”
“No.” I’m hardly going to object to hand-delivered food, especially considering there’s a burger from Greenies at our feet with his name on it. Through the pounding of blood in my ears, I swear I hear a muffled ‘thank fuck’ in response.
“And boxing?” When I shake my head, I’m rewarded with a harsh kiss, a harsher, toe-tingling touch. “Coffee?” My head shakes again and doesn’t stop when his final question is, “This?” and his pleased hum spreads warmth through my chest.
“Good to know.” I mewl when a hand twines in my hair and yanks my head back slightly so my gaze can collide with a fiery gold one. “I like doing all of that, querida,” Nick all but growls, “but if I wanna take you out, I’m gonna. Makes my cock hard imagining you getting all dressed up for me.”
Oh, God.
“Someone could see us,” I protest but it’s weak, and I use the same excuse as earlier because it’s all my muddled brain can come up with. “It’s too messy.”
“Someone could see us right now.” Mouth pressed to my temple, Nick slips two fingers inside of me. “And I like messy.”
Choking on a scream, I bury my face in his neck, nodding frantically, agreeing to God knows what, but I don’t care. I think we’re done, I think I’ve remembered all those goddamn rules that have turned out to be pointless, I think the tight coil in my lower belly is finally going to be allowed to snap.
And then Nick issues a directive of his own.
“No one else,” he murmurs, the scissoring of his fingers inside of me almost frantic. “Just me and you, querida.”
He waits for my jerky, frantic nod, before crooking his fingers and smashing his thumb against my clit, and finally, I explode, my cries muffled by the palm that cements itself over my mouth.
Nick barely gives me a chance to catch my breath before stealing it all away again. Looking all too proud of himself, he leans back, a wholly indecent glint in his eyes as he licks his fingers clean. “Thanks for dinner.”
