by Scott, S. L.
I hold the phone out for her, wanting to see something in her eyes that tells me I’m not alone in this desire to spend more time together.
Her bottom lip is tugged under her teeth as she appears to have her own internal debate. When her gaze glides up to mine, she says, “It’s fine. It’s a party on a yacht. They can’t make it return to shore, so I’m good waiting. She’ll return eventually.”
Pocketing the phone, I reply, “The island is small. I’m sure they won’t be gone all night.” I’m tempted to text Harrison to stay away a little longer. “But we should have time to eat before they return.”
“We can still eat together even if they do,” she says. “And I bet the boat doesn’t have burgers.”
“No,” I say, enchanted by the way she thinks. “I bet it doesn’t.”
“What should we do in the meantime?”
“Meantime is such an interesting phrase. The space between, the time difference between the past and the future.” She comes toward me. “Whatever happens in the meantime doesn’t count, right?” The words are subtle, but I hear the same desire to stay.
“It’s time unaccounted for.”
“Under that definition, technically, we can do whatever we want.” Her eyes brighten with possibility as she looks into mine. “What should we do with this meantime?”
Stretching my arm out, I signal behind her. “A dip in the plunge pool?”
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She comes to the door and leans against the frame, her body silhouetted in the doorway with the sun shining behind her.
I could stay there, but she’s a lot tempting herself. I move just inside the villa, and since she hasn’t said anything, I throw out, “Or we can watch a movie?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she says, “You sure are forgiving considering I invaded your villa.”
“We’re in the meantime, so is this even happening?”
She giggles. “Good point.” Her chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and huff of an exhale. Standing up straight, she adds, “I should probably be up front with you—”
“About?”
Disappointment filters through her fine features. “I can’t sleep with you.”
Smirking, I reply, “I wasn’t going to bed, so no worries.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You told me not to get any ideas the moment you walked in and mentioned no dating or sex, so I figured that included tonight as well.”
“Very perceptive.” When she turns to the patio, her hair swings through the air. As she walks back outside, she adds, “I’m on a love embargo, so even if I wanted to have sex with you, Nick, I can’t.”
Completely fascinated, I return to the terrace to do some invading of her personal space. “What you’re saying is that you want to, but can’t?”
She plucks the front of her shirt. “It’s hot.”
“It sure is.” Damn, is she ever.
I could spend the rest of the night analyzing her reaction. I’m going into law for a reason. It’s concrete, set, but flexible when approached from the right angle. Psychology isn’t an arena that suits me or my analytical mind. Though I still find myself wanting to impress her, which is crazy considering we live on opposite sides of the country.
There’s no future for us. And there’s no tonight either due to her love embargo, which is another Natalie curiosity. Yet I can’t resist flirting with her. Wanting her.
Unlike her cute, drunken comments earlier that she does want me, finds me sexy, and even called me her dream man, she’s changing as she sobers. Still gorgeous. But less assertive.
And that’s when I realize what makes her different from other women I’ve dated and why I’m so intrigued by the woman in front of me. “I can’t read you, Natalie.”
Sitting on the chaise, she leans back and kicks her feet up. Closing her eyes, she soaks in the last of the sun’s rays, and says, “I’m an open book, Nick. If you can’t read me, you can ask me anything.”
I sit on the chair beside her. “Where do we begin?”
6
Nick
I never found fries sexy . . . until I met Natalie.
If the sight of her lips wrapped around the thick cuts of potatoes didn’t do the trick, then hearing her moan in pleasure did. I’ve been uncomfortably hard ever since.
The scent of burgers still lingers in the air, but I’m over the food, wanting to be under Natalie. Imagining her on top of me, riding me with that confidence she carries like a chip on her shoulder—potato pun intended—has me wishing for more time than we’ll get tonight. So far, we’ve had just over an hour of banter, good food, and laughter. When was the last time I just hung with a girl and enjoyed myself so thoroughly? I have no idea, but it’s been a while.
She slips out from the chair, leaving me sitting at the table. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”
“Of course not. Let me show you where it is.”
As I enter the bedroom, a million thoughts race through my mind of what I’m supposed to do while she’s in the bathroom.
Do I wait awkwardly on the bed or divert to the chair in the corner?
Do I turn on the TV or grab a book?
Do I return to the living room and wait out there?
Or maybe I’m overthinking this, and it’s not a master plan to get me into the bedroom, but she just has to use the bathroom.
I literally have no ideas when it comes to her, so her command about not getting any is technically working. And I’m not upset by that fact. It’s good to live by instinct, do what feels good and what comes naturally instead of being accountable to someone else’s deadline.
“That’s okay,” she says. “I know where it is.”
Oh, so yeah, definitely overthought that one. When she disappears into the other room, I stay on the couch and look around.
8:19.
Twiddling my thumbs, I start to wonder if Harrison and Tatum will barge in and ruin my night. Two hours ago, I would have welcomed the company, but now, I quite like the time alone with Natalie.
8:21.
I stand and walk to the open door of the terrace. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I think about the job with my dad and how happy he is that I’m joining the company.
8:22.
Taking the bar exam in three months will solidify his offer. Until then, I can’t have a life. Embarrassing Corbin Christiansen is out of the question. So studying is my new pastime.
8:24.
It’s only been five minutes, but damn, I’m beginning to miss her. I should check on her. Cutting through the living room, I ask, “Everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
When I reach the doorway, I stop and grin. Lying on the bed with her ankles crossed and her hands behind her head as if she intends to stay awhile, she adds, “What took you so long?”
With a running start, I jump on the bed, causing her to bounce. Tucking my hands behind my head, I turn my head to face her. “I was trying to give you privacy.”
“Always the gentleman. It’s a great quality.” We lie next to each other for a few minutes, no words exchanged—no pressure, no expectations. She makes it easy to find peace in the quiet.
I can’t hear the hand on my watch ticking, but I feel every second of our time together. As if she can sense my nervous energy, she glances over at me. “Hope you don’t mind me resting. Day-drinking and stuffing myself with carbs was not the best idea I’ve had. Not if I intend to stay awake, that is.”
“What’s your worst?”
“My worst idea was when I left Carlton Klein alone in my room.”
I shift onto my side. “I’m going to need more details on that story.”
“I had the worst crush on him in tenth grade. He stopped by one day to get help with French . . .” She laughs. “I should have seen that one coming. We frenched all right. And then I went to the kitchen to get sodas, and when I returned, he was gone.”
“The kissing was that bad?”
“Him showing my panties to everyone who would look the next day was that bad.” Her eyelids dip closed, and brows pull together as if the pain still exists inside her. We’re lying here together like a line might have already been crossed, so I caress her cheek and gently try to ease the tension with the pad of my thumb.
Her skin is soft, and the rankle of her brow relaxes. She leans into it when she opens her eyes again. “He told everyone we had sex.” I can’t help but notice how shyness has crept into her tone, and it’s softened.
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“The girls didn’t believe him, but the guys did.” The little lines disappear, and a small smile emerges. “Silver lining was that no girl would go near him after that spectacle, and I never lacked for dates.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
“Trust me, there was no love lost between us. We spent the next three years as mortal enemies. Last I heard, he went to Berkley to get as far from the city as possible. I hope he got the fresh start he was searching for.”
I pull my hand back, resting it between us. “Do you mean that?”
She nods. “We all deserve second chances. He used me to become popular. It backfired because the avenue he chose made him lose credibility. Lies would have done the trick. The prop made it a stunt. No girl would see that and think, ‘hey, that’s a guy I’d like to date.’ Nope. All they imagine is their panties are the next on display.”
“You have a good heart, Natalie. I’m glad Carlton Klein didn’t change it.”
Laughter rattles her shoulders. “He’s done the least amount of damage to me. He was my worst idea, not my worst decision, but that’s not a story for two strangers getting to know each other.”
I roll onto my back again, staring at the beams crossing the ceiling. Taking a chance, I reach over and take her hand. “I made a few bad decisions in my life.” Her fingers fold between mine. I glance over and add, “You’re not one of them.”
That elicits another smile, not shy, but big and broad—gorgeous like her. Keeping our hands clasped together, she rolls toward me, an eagerness built into her expression. “Tell me about your day, and don’t leave out the good parts. I want all the details.”
As requested, I tick through my day from the sunrise surf to lunch at a food truck. She never once appears bored, but rather entirely engaged. I say, “I’m not sure why we picked to go inside that bar other than it sounded like a good time from outside.”
Looking pleased as punch, she says, “It’s not destiny if that’s where you’re going with this, Mr. Optimistic. It’s . . .” She looks away, searching for some evasive explanation, then takes a deep breath. Her exhale takes a while as if measured in the confines of time. A quick glance, and then she returns her attention to the ceiling. “Nick?”
“Yes?”
“You have me rethinking my stance.”
“On?” I ask, not wanting to stare at her but not even trying to find an excuse to do it anyway.
“You and the sex.”
Okay, for real. How am I supposed to keep a straight face after that comment? It’s impossible. “We’ve been dancing around this since you showed up, so here are my thoughts even though you didn’t ask,” I start after the laughter stops. “First, the sex? Did we make a pact I’m not aware of? I feel like I would remember that? Or is this a recurring theme for you to stick to the embargo you mentioned and not have sex by reminding yourself every hour or so?”
“Hm.” Considering the question, she twists her lips to the side. Her eyes narrow, and she proceeds with caution. “And second?”
“Second, I assume the sex is referring to sex with me, but you made it really clear there would be no sex, monkey business, and to keep ideas out of my head the moment you walked in. I, for one, can live by your rules, but I have to say I think it would be quite fun to find out if the same chemistry extends beyond what’s currently happening between us. Just my two cents.”
“That was a lot, Nick. If you were trying to woo me into bed, a simple, hey, you’re hot followed by some kissing is a great start.” Exasperated, she rolls her eyes as if the whole world has worn her down. “It’s on the table. Geez, I’m right here lying next to you. Do I have to be naked for you to make a move?”
I grin. “That’s not a terrible idea.”
“Oh my God,” she says, throwing her arms in the air and letting them fall heavily to the mattress again. “You’re incorrigible.” Me? “I finally give in to my whims, and now you’re the impossible one. You’ve done your job. I’m charmed, rummed up, and dined, so why are you arguing with me instead of kissing me like you mean it?”
“As much as I loved to take credit for any of those arguments, I’ve actually not done anything to earn an ounce of your affections if that’s how you’re calculating this deal.”
She sits up, her eyes volleying between the open door and the end of the bed. I tuck my hands behind my head again and wait for the comeback I can sense she’s constructing. When she finally turns to me, she rests her chin on the round of her shoulder, and says, “Maybe it’s naïve of me, but I feel safe with you. I have no clue why, but I like you, Nick.”
“I like you, too.”
“But if you don’t want to have sex, I’d like to stay in bed with you. We could talk, or I’m sure the hotel has a backgammon set.”
Sliding my hand across the blanket, I rest against her hip, wanting to hear every crazy thought that comes to her head. “Be forewarned, I’m really good at backgammon.”
“Only one way to find out.” She slips her legs off the side of the bed and reaches for the phone on the nightstand. There’s a pause, and then she says, “Do you have backgammon available? . . . Okay. Yes. Also, rum. Send that up as well, please.” Whipping back to me, she asks, “What kind?”
“You were drinking Bacardi. Order a bottle of their best rum, and we should be good.”
She places the order and hangs up the phone but then stands, planting her hands on her hips. “I thought for sure this was going in a different direction.”
“For the record, I never said I didn’t want to have sex, but I can’t say I’m disappointed.”
Another laugh escapes her. “You surprise me, Nick.”
My name has become so familiar with her tongue that it sounds like it belongs long term. I’m kind of hoping it lasts. “How so?”
“Remember how I said not to get any ideas?”
“Very clearly.”
“Did you ever get any?”
I eye her, those sexy legs, and that shirt that does her figure a disservice. “One or ten.”
“Guess what?”
“You got a few ideas of your own?”
“Mm-hmm.” A knock on the door grabs our attention, and she hops off the bed. “Lots of ideas on how to pass the time, so don’t go anywhere.”
If she only knew that I have no intention of wasting a second I have with her. She’s a breath of fresh air in a life that’s become stale. “I’ll be right here when you return.”
She licks the corner of her mouth before nodding. “I’ll be quick.”
As soon as she answers the door, I jump up from the bed and dig through my backpack in search of a mint, gum, or anything that will cover burger breath. Not that I think things are leading back to kissing, but if they do, I’m not going to pass up the offer like I did back in the lobby. What a fucking idiot I am. I had someone I’m actually interested in kissing me, but I let that little voice in my head stop me from returning the same. She was drunk.
I don’t kiss or have sex with drunk women. I’m not some beacon of integrity, but it’s just a good moral to live by.
I score a piece of minty gum and rush to chew it up before spitting it back out in the wrapper when I hear the flush of the toilet. I check for any messages on my phone. There’s nothing from Harrison, but I’m not bothered. I’m actually wondering if I should message him to stay gone a lot longer.
When I hear the door click closed, I drop
it on the dresser and dive back onto the bed, resuming my position just as she re-enters the room. Her eyes dart between me and the disheveled blanket, and she says, “Why do you look guilty?”
“Me?” My voice goes up an octave. Damn it. I clear my throat. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Ooookay.” She turns and says, “I don’t know if the cart will fit in here. I’ll see.”
I scramble out of bed and cut across the room to beat her to the door. “I got it.”
Pinned to the wall, she covers her chest. “Geez almighty, you scared me.”
“What can I say? I love backgammon.”
“Apparently.” She takes the other side of the cart, looking proud as a peacock at the table covered in bottles of soda, alcohol, waters, and three desserts. But her expression falls until her gaze reaches the lower tray, and she spots the game. “Where should we set up? Bedroom, living room, or terrace?”
“Depends on the rules.”
Tapping her lips, she lowers her hand. “You’re right. The bedroom it is.”
I legit had no clue where she was going to choose, so I can only imagine what led her to the bed. Guess I’m about to find out.
She grabs the game. “Come on.”
I push the cart into the bedroom and set it at the end of the mattress. She opens the leather case and starts separating the pieces to each other’s perspective sides while I crack open the rum. “Tonight is a surprise.”
“I know,” she replies. “It’s so much better than I imagined.”
“You imagined it going badly?”
She looks up from the game board. “No, just figured we would have done it already. It’s nice to have foreplay.”
Foreplay? I crank my neck from the double take. “Is that what this is?”
“I was assuming since most guys would be bored by now.”
No way could I be bored with her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“What would I be kidding about?” Sure, she’s been hot and cold, and hard to read at times, but having an expectation placed on the time she spends with a guy rubs me the wrong way. She doesn’t owe me anything. Definitely seems like she attracts some losers, myself excluded, of course, because I’m not that guy.
