by Scott, S. L.
Well . . . I am that guy. I’ve had sex with plenty of women, but sex was something mutually agreed upon, not a precursor for the date. The natural course of the night took shape, and we would have sex. That doesn’t have to be the case tonight.
Just as she opens a soda, I reach over and cover her hand with mine, stilling it. “I’m going to say something I hope doesn’t ruin the night.”
Seriousness fills her features as she tenses. “Okay. I’m listening.”
I scrub my hands over my face, not believing I’m about to say this. When I open my eyes, I say, “I’m not going to have sex with you, Natalie. I’m not using reverse psychology or asking anything of you. There are no ulterior motives. I’m simply enjoying your company enough to want to take sex off the table so we can continue this good time.”
“And here I thought sex on a table was a good time.” She’s going to kill me one sexual comment at a time. Her laughter dissipates, and she looks toward the window, trying to straighten the line of her mouth. She can’t and starts laughing again. When her eyes land back on me, she adds, “I appreciate what you’re saying. I suddenly sound like a nymphomaniac. Believe it or not, I don’t sleep with every date. I haven’t slept with a lot of men, in general, but there was just something meeting you the way I did, well . . . I hate getting emotional. That’s the tequila again.”
“Rum.”
“Yes, rum.” She sits back on the bed and crawls up toward the headboard. Resting back, she asks, “Is it wrong I want to kick your ass in backgammon?”
Although she’s distracting from one topic—an important one at that—her honesty is as refreshing as her personality. “Nothing like a bit of healthy competition.” I chuckle and start pouring drinks. I know I need a stiff one after that discussion.
“By the way, if you’re trying to woo me, you’re doing a stellar job. I’m wooed.”
Laughter bounces between us, and I wonder if I am wooing her. I don’t normally woo any woman. I don’t have to, but Natalie deserves it. From the things she’s said, it’s clear that she’s been hurt in the past. But she’s strong, trying to hide any vulnerability, and I’m inclined to show her that a good time with a man doesn’t have to be tied to how the night ends.
Whether this turns into more than a game of backgammon, though, remains to be seen. Either way, I get to spend my night with a beautiful woman, away from the noise of a crowded boat. It doesn’t really get any better than this.
7
Natalie
How does Nick make a pip sound sexy?
He opens his mouth and speaks. That’s how. Everything he says, from cocked dice to the lover’s leap, has me on the verge of spontaneously combusting. Don’t even get me started on the beavers. I agreed to that before we started the first game and still have no idea what it means. But I sure do love hearing him say it.
Beavers.
Beavers.
Beavers.
“Two out of three,” he says, bearing his last checker and politely not throwing his victory in my face. My brother totally would.
I fall back on the bed, arms draped above my head, and give him the credit he deserves. “Congrats on the win.” I’m not a sore loser. This was only about the second or third time I’ve played in my life. I don’t even know where the suggestion to play backgammon came from, but I’m glad it appeared. I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, especially over what my grandmother would call old-fashioned fun.
I catch his eyes skimming my body just before he clears his throat and gets up from the bed. “I should check my phone.”
Secretly, I wish he wouldn’t.
In the past two hours, I’ve decided that as much as I thought this had all the makings of a memorable one-night stand, I’m glad we didn’t come back here and fall into bed. Well, we did fall into bed, but I’m glad we didn’t have sex. We’ve kept it light with superficial stuff, not wanting to bog our night down with details that won’t matter come morning. Hanging out and just getting to know him has been fun.
As for making out, that’s a whole other story. Surely, it’s not normal to want to kiss someone and have them return it, I might add, so badly. When I’m not caught up in the game and how to play, I’m caught up in the memory of those plush lips, the scratch of his scruff against my skin, and the undeniable rise in temperature between us when I unsuccessfully kissed him in the lobby.
The rejection stung worse than a wasp, but there was no ill intent found in his expression. I believe him. As for that foreplay? Theoretically, it’s not breaking any laws—or embargos—if we make out before we know each other’s last names.
Attempting my best Lois Lane, I stretch, flirting with the Clark Kent version of Nick as he stares at his phone. All night, I thought he’d make a move, but he’s got the willpower of Superman. Damn it.
Becoming a limp lump on the mattress when my flirtations don’t get his attention, I briefly give in to my heavy lids and close them. No, I cannot fall asleep here even though my body has decided otherwise. It’s been a long day, what can I say? Well, I can say a lot to Tatum for blowing me off and leaving me stranded, but since I’m a good friend and don’t mind the current view, I let it go . . . until later, of course, when she’ll hear all about it.
In an effort to stay awake, I ask, “Anything interesting?”
“No,” he replies, grinning to himself and sounding relieved if I’m reading him correctly. When he catches me staring, he adds, “Is it wrong to want more time with you?”
Now I’m the one with the foolish grin. “You’re such a charmer.”
“Like in backgammon, sometimes I win, and sometimes I lose.” It’s good to hear he might be having similar struggles.
Wanting to tease, I straighten my mouth for the sake of the play. “I have to be honest, Nick.” I prop myself up, leaning back on my hands nonchalantly. “I might not be your best idea. You might have had a chance two hours ago, but now, I’m fading. I won’t stop you from the pursuit, but you’ve been warned.”
“As long as I’ve been warned, it’s on me.” God, I’d like to be on him. Is it the rejection that has me so hot for him? I’m pretty sure it’s everything about him. “Since you’re fading,” he starts, tucking his phone in his back pocket, “you can stay here and get some rest. I’ll hang out in the living room and let you know when Harrison returns.”
Wait, that’s not what I wanted. Not at all. Shoot, he read me all wrong. I’ve been hot and cold, and coming on so strong with this man, I’ve scared him away completely. But what do I want? Where could this possibly lead? Checking the clock, I realize I have to leave for the airport in eight hours. The fun I was having blaming the alcohol has ended. I only have myself to blame for any further embarrassment.
It seems impossible to determine in the next few seconds, so I start to believe in his plan. “It’s probably best if we call it a night. Thanks for letting me borrow your bed.”
“No worries.”
Snuggling down, I roll to my side, but my eyes trail him as he moves to the doorway. Even with the distance between us, I can see the weight of the day beginning to drag his shoulders down. As he turns out the light, he says, “I’ll let you know when I hear from the others.”
“The others sounds like they’re aliens or something.”
“Go to sleep, Natalie.” I may not be able to see his smile, but I can sense it in his tone.
I giggle. “Sorry, my mind goes into overdrive sometimes. Night.”
“Good night.”
I watch him disappear into the other room. I love that I can smell his scent around me, but I hate the emptiness filling the room.
I can be alone.
I swear I can.
My last relationship reminds me daily that I’m better off alone than being with someone who doesn’t respect me. Nick is different. I can already tell because most guys would have jumped at the opportunity to have sex. Not that I’m going to declare Nick a saint just yet, but he’s definitely stealing the title of
Prince Charming.
Lying here, I close my eyes and think about how nice it would be to have the warmth of his body wrapped around me.
Yep. I definitely have a problem being alone. This is when I break the cycle and learn to stand on my own two feet. I don’t need a man. Wanting them is the bad habit I need to break.
Readjusting, I punch the pillow to fluff the down and tug the blanket out from under me to cover my body. The room is quiet, so I listen for any sounds in the living room. Yes, I’m half-ass eavesdropping on Nick. But I’m met with silence.
Why is it so quiet? I sit up, trying harder to pick up on anything—the sound of typing a text because what psycho turns off that sound, of talking on the phone or even whispering, or the TV playing to pass the time or fall asleep on the couch while waiting. I get nothing.
The bed has lost its comfort, so I flip off the covers and pad to the door. Curiosity consumes me, so I peek out and see him standing in the doorway to the terrace. He takes a sip of the dark liquid, the melting ice taking up more space than the liquor in the glass.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the doorframe. Nick’s back is to me, his shirt billowing in the wind. His curls look more natural in this setting. Maybe they weren’t windblown or curled from the helmet, but natural instead. Either way, my affection for them has grown exponentially . . . just as it has for the man.
“Nick?” My voice is quiet in the spacious villa, but he hears me and turns around.
“You’re up? You’re not tired?”
“I am, but . . .” I chicken out, shifting my weight to the other foot and fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “Did you hear from Harrison?” I have no idea what I’m doing. Flirting? Seducing? Biding my time until Tatum returns? Please don’t let Tatum return any time soon.
Why does that sharp-edged jaw and shoulders broad enough to span Brooklyn to Manhattan have to be so tempting? I dance around what I really want to ask. “What do you think about us becoming friends?”
There’s a quiet strength about Nick—the way he moves so effortlessly, the comfort he embodies in his own skin, and how observant he is as if he can see right through me. The most genuine smile I’ve ever seen covers all other pretenses, letting them fall away and easing his muscles. “It’s better than strangers.”
“I agree.”
“What does this friendship entail? Sharing personal information?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Phone numbers? Maybe even room numbers since you know mine?”
Quirking my lips to the side, I roll my eyes. “I got your number all right, but I was thinking more along the lines of snuggling.”
“Snuggling?”
“Yes, Nick, it’s another term for cuddling. My body and your body sharing heat and, I don’t know, just lying in the same bed together.” I sound like an idiot, but my gut also twists at the thought of being rejected again.
As if he can read my mind, he sets his glass on the coffee table and comes toward me, taking hold of my hands. “Will you snuggle with me, Natalie?”
“Are you sure?” I ask, sounding aloof.
He chuckles but still leads me back into the bedroom. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”
"The middle.”
A wry grin, visible even in the low light, crosses his lips. “Okay, you get in, and I’ll find a spot.”
I scramble under the covers as he patiently waits for me to settle in. I lie in the middle of the mattress, arms and legs spread wide, but then laughter takes hold, and I bring them to my sides and move to the left—just a little.
His eyes catch the light, revealing his amusement as he crawls on top of the covers beside me. It’s only a moment, not even a minute before I warn him, “I’m coming over.”
Wordlessly, his arm goes wide, and I snuggle against his side. He’s not lacking words for long, though. “Now that you got me here, what are you going to do with me?”
“Shhh. Snuggling also involves the quiet game.” I give myself away when I giggle, my body shaking against his.
“I have to say, that’s not one of my favorite games. I tend to lose when I play.”
Now he chooses to talk up a storm. “Suddenly, this doesn’t surprise me. If it makes you feel better, I usually lose, too. Maybe we can try together.”
“Losing, or are you trying to get me to shut up?”
Patting his chest—the hard chest where his heart thunders underneath—I say, “Never. I like the sound of your voice.” I like the rhythm of your heart. I like the strength in your arms even when you’re relaxed. I very much like snuggling with Nick.
It’s not just the faded scent of his cologne that I’ll miss come morning. It’s the slow and gentle connection we’re building, the way he beat me at backgammon but didn’t rub it in my face, and the look I caught in his eyes when I lay suspended in his arms at the bar. We’ve already shared a myriad of moments, and it’s only just gone midnight.
I close my eyes, letting these growing emotions drift away like the ocean tide. No use spending energy on something that has an expiration date the next morning. I wiggle a little closer when his arm tightens around me. “Good night,” I whisper.
“I like the sound of your voice, too.”
And then he kisses my forehead.
In the moonlight sneaking in through the window as his breath steadies along with mine, I smile. I’m a sucker for a forehead kiss. Almost nothing is more romantic than that caress. With my cheek pressed to his chest, I realize I’m also a sucker for Nick.
* * *
I could lie here in heaven forever and never want for anything more than this weightlessness that bears no burdens to my life. I feel free in Nick’s bed, practically purring while wrapped in his sheet in the warm and inviting space.
And although it’s so similar to our room, I feel safe tucked in Nick’s bed surrounded by his belongings. So much of Nick invades my world that I didn’t note earlier when I was wide awake. The hints of rum coat his breath, and a leather satchel worn enough to have traveled the world is next to the bed. A book . . . a tangible book with a bookmark sticking out from between the pages is on the nightstand next to a silver travel alarm clock. These aren’t the items of any college guy I know.
The clock, book, and bag are sophisticated like the man who owns them. Even the rum smells sexy coming from him. I’m sure my breath is the exact opposite.
It’s tempting to snoop around and learn more about this man I’ve spent my night with while he sleeps. He’s older but not by much—life hasn’t yet dug into his expression, leaving its mark—yet enough to easily compare him to the guys I dated at university, making them seem immature in comparison, especially my ex.
The breakup with Dane still hangs heavily over my head. It’s dumb, just as I was for trusting him . . . I swiftly sweep away all thoughts of him, wanting to relish in Nick for a bit, happy to let him consume my thoughts instead. His kind side can’t be denied. He’s given me a place to rest, eat, and wait, all without asking for a single thing in return.
Despite my desire to lounge around, I slip out of bed after a few hours of sleep, knowing I’ve stayed longer than I should, and tiptoe into the bathroom. I freshen up and then tuck my shirt into the front of the waistband of my shorts, leaving the tail to float behind me as I pad through the suite in bare feet. The tiles are cool against my skin, and the breeze sneaking in from outside through the door is a much-needed breath of fresh air. It cools me from the heat Nick left behind as he caressed my skin.
I find my shoes and slip them back on. I don’t know where his phone is to check the messages, but there’s no sign of his friend anywhere either.
Checking the time, I wonder if Tatum ever made it back. With one hour until we need to start our trek back to New York, I’m willing to take the chance and head back to our room.
The sinking feeling in my gut that I’m forgetting something isn’t logical since I showed up at Nick’s door with nothing. I peek into the bedroom one more time, spying him lying right where
I left him. I hate leaving, wondering if I’m walking out on a good thing.
I am.
Although last night was filled with many highs, laughs, and something that I thought had the potential to bloom into more, this relationship was always meant to be strangers who bonded once on vacation. First-name basis. And I’m okay with that.
My life is too messy to drag someone across the country to become a part of it.
I head for the door and open it, but I’m not eager to rush out. With my life on the East Coast calling, I take a deep breath and push through my instant regret. “Thanks for being a friend for a night,” I whisper as I leave Nick behind.
I didn’t know how hurt I’d been prior to snuggling in his arms, the betrayal of other men wedged into my heart. Being a man of integrity, with kindness and an awesome sense of humor, Nick soothed that pain away, restoring my faith.
“Goodbye, Mr. Smug and Sexy.”
8
Nick
I open my eyes and find the bed empty beside me. Fuck.
Jumping up, I grab my phone from the dresser and look for any sign of Natalie. But my brain is still half asleep, so I waste time on stupid things like looking for a text. “Natalie?” I call out, glancing through the open door to the bathroom and then moving into the living room. I could kick myself for falling asleep, but how could I not when I was holding her in my arms? I haven’t felt that kind of peace to let my mind rest in years. I found it with her, though. “Natalie?”
Peeking out through the glass, I hold the smallest bit of hope she might be on the terrace, lounging on the chair or leaning on the railing. A deep-seated disappointment returns because I didn’t even get her full name. I have no way of contacting her to tell her how much I enjoyed playing backgammon.
It was more than the game I enjoyed. I should have told her how much last night meant to me. I look at the door when I find no sign of her anywhere else. Glancing over to Harrison’s room, I notice his bed is still turned down from housekeeping, making it easy to conclude he scored with Tatum as well as a place to stay last night.
