Never Got Over You

by Scott, S. L.

  When there’s nothing left to give, I drop on top of her. Her frame is small under me, so I don’t stay long. When I try to roll to the side, though, her arms tighten around my neck. “I like you here. Stay. Just a moment longer.”

  Kissing her cheek, I rest my head on the pillow under her and begin to relax. But when I hear her breath jag, I move and crash onto the mattress beside her. Her eyes are closed, the weight of the world, and me, released from her expression. “Sorry.”

  She turns to look at me, and I’m granted a sympathetic smile. “Don’t say sorry after we make love, okay?”

  It’s not lost on me that she makes it sound like this will be a regular occurrence, just as I promised. I didn’t know it was possible to be so wrapped up in someone. The change of heart is something new that I’ve only experienced with her.

  Although I was referring to basically crushing her, I kiss her gently, stroking the hair stuck to her cheek and pushing it behind her ear. “Okay.”

  14

  Nick

  Panic overwhelms the good dreams I’m having, and my eyes fly open to find an empty bed beside me. Fuck!

  Apparently, I’ve learned nothing since Catalina.

  I sit up, the smallest bit of hope remaining as I scan the room—top to bottom, left to right—for Natalie. The bathroom door is open with no signs of her inside there either. Last night was too good to let go as if it meant nothing, but she’s gone.

  Slamming my fists down on the mattress, I grit my teeth and close my eyes in anger for letting this happen twice. I take a deep breath and attempt to riddle myself into rational thought. If she left, she had her reasons. Maybe last night didn’t mean as much to her as it did to me.

  As much as I want to take this frustration out on myself, maybe I overlooked reality. I had a few drinks, and although I wasn’t drunk, not even close, did I misjudge what was happening?

  Even though she remains a mystery to me, I find some consolation in the fact she knows my last name and where I’m staying. What she does with that information remains to be seen.

  What’s that phrase about setting someone free, and if they never return, they weren’t yours? I’m fucking this all up, kind of like my relationship with Natalie. She said she loved what I did with my mouth and tongue. One would assume that I might get a number based on that alone. Why did she make me promise her we were more than a one-night stand if she planned to disappear in the morning?

  Natalie’s complicated . . . to say the least, but it’s one of the things that attracts me to her.

  I scrub my hands over my face and get out of bed. Tugging on my briefs, I go to start the shower and grab my phone on the way. Just as I turn on the water, my screen lights up in my other hand.

  I grin as everything that ran through my mind since I woke up is gone in an instant.

  On the screen is a photo of her that she must have taken this morning. Her face is clean of the makeup I kissed away last night, but a fresh layer of pink lipstick has been applied. The break of day sneaking in through the window glows against her skin. She’s absolutely luminous.

  Her smile is mischievous as if she knew I’d wake up and freak out, or maybe that’s what she planned all along. Complicated.

  Although the shower water is still running, I leave the bathroom to snoop around for more clues that will lead me to her. I find my next one on the hotel stationery pad—a note left behind:

  Check your last call.

  Love,

  Natalie

  Smiling. Ear to ear. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve felt this happy. But I’m still quick to check my recent calls log. I chuckle when I see the last contact my phone called—Tequila Girl.

  I call the number and stick in the earbud, waiting for her to answer. “You have my number now,” she answers, her voice a balm to soothe my racing heart.

  If I was smiling before, I’m flat-out grinning like an idiot now. “I do. Good morning, by the way.”

  “Good morning.” There’s a slight pause, and then she adds, “I would have woken you, but you looked so peaceful that I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  Hoping to talk to her for longer than a few minutes, I walk back into the bathroom. “I only found peace because you were next to me, so wake me next time.”

  “With lines like that, I might have to keep you around.”

  I shut off the shower and then return to the bedroom. “They’re not lines. They’re truths.”

  “Tell me more of your truths.” Her voice is a whisper.

  “I’m only in town until tomorrow, and I want to wake up with you beside me.”

  “Are you asking me to come to a sleepover or out on a date with hopes of seeing the sunrise together?”

  I know exactly what I want when it comes to her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reply, “Whatever gives me more time with you.”

  “Such a charmer.” If happiness had a tone, hers embodies it. “You must have had a good night.”

  “The best.”

  “If it makes a difference, I did too.”

  “That makes all the difference.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling shy. We’re joking around and keeping things lighthearted, which is probably best at this hour of the morning, but this is the most I’ve felt for anyone in a long time . . .

  I look down at the pad of paper, tracing my finger over her pretty handwriting, and ask, “Where are you?” A knock on the door draws my attention. “Hold on,” I add quickly.

  “Room service.”

  Smirking, I unlock the door and swing it open. She holds up a bag and a cup carrier with two coffee cups. I say, “I’ve been waiting for you,” and then silently tack on all my life.

  She moves inside the room. “Sorry I’m late.”

  I let the door close on its own and take her by the waist. Holding her tight, I kiss her and then tilt my head to the side to kiss her cheekbone. When I reach her ear, I whisper, “You’re right on time.”

  Despite her hands being full, her arms come around me, and she kisses me. “Sorry I didn’t make it back before you woke up. I wanted to.”

  When I start kissing her neck, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back. I hear the bag hit the floor, and she exhales. The palm of her hand heats the back of my neck as she holds me there. “I hope you don’t have plans for breakfast.”

  Leaning back, I take the tray of coffees from her and pivot to set it down on the dresser. Quick to return to her, I grab her by the ass and lift her into my arms. “I absolutely have plans for breakfast, but they don’t include pastries of any kind.”

  She cups my face, and our lips crush together. Moving toward the bed, I overshoot it, and we tumble onto the mattress. Nothing deters us, though, and she starts pulling her shirt off while I tug down my briefs. Her bra comes off, then she unsnaps her jeans. Stopping, she says, “I need a little help.”

  Looking down at her, I groan, “Not these damn jeans again.” I hop off the bed and grab the denim at her hips. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to buy you the baggiest fucking jeans to wear around me.” I give a little tug, and when she slides down the bed with them, I add, “Brace yourself.”

  An eyebrow raises and then she grins. Fisting the sheets like she did last night, she lifts her hips into the air, digging her head into the bed. “Is this how you want me, Nick?”

  Fucking hell. “Why are you so hot?” I ask rhetorically. I’m so hard for her it hurts, so it’d be nice if I could get these damn jeans off her. I get a good grip again, and this time, I’m successful.

  Her bare pussy reminds me of ripping her panties last night, and my impatience to taste her again has me settling between her legs. Kissing her right there at her core, I steal her breath and cause her to squirm.

  I hear my name through gasps as her heels dig into my shoulder blades. Pressing my dick against the bed, I seek relief, but nothing can replace the memory of how good she felt last night. So I study what makes her wiggle and what makes her moan, learning what she l
ikes and what sends her over the edge to deliver exactly what she needs. Her body embraces my fingers as tremors rip through her.

  Just when I’m about to slide up the bed to score another of her orgasms and lose myself in one of my own, I turn to her. “Please tell me you have another condom on hand.”

  She starts laughing. “Since I’ve been rewarded already . . .” Pushing off the bed, she gets up and walks across the room, not one damn ounce of embarrassment found in the way she moves. Picking up the bag, she continues, “I’m not going to judge you by the lack of preparation, but if we’re going to make this a regular thing . . .” She tosses me the bag. “We’d better stock up.”

  “On bagels or donuts?” I’m still erect from the sight of her naked body, so I shift to ease the discomfort. It won’t work since there’s only one true way to ease the craving.

  Killing me, she takes her time crawling back onto the bed and then kisses my head. “Open it.” I like that she kisses my head before she sits down.

  Opening the bag, I peek inside. “I feel like it’s my birthday or Christmas morning came early.”

  She lies down, and says, “Speaking of coming . . .” Eyeing me, she darts her tongue out over the corner of her mouth. “Where were we?”

  “Right about here.” Our tongues tangle in passion, and I slip my hand between us, rubbing until her body begs for more. I roll the condom down my length and push inside her, our bodies reconnecting once again.

  Unlike last night, I take my time pleasuring her this morning. I want to know what she likes and how she reacts to different positions and angles. Having her turn over and raise her ass in the air, I don’t push boundaries with her yet, but I enjoy watching the way her head tilts back when I dip into her entrance with a slow and calculated drive. The intensity of her heat is felt deep inside me.

  The curve of her hips highlights the small size of her waist. I can’t resist holding them while taking her from behind. I won’t last long, no matter how I try to stave off my release. So I reach around and focus on her bliss, her release becoming mine.

  Through staggered breaths, I fall to the side, and she turns over on her back, and we lie together in the aftermath. She turns to face me with a sweet smile on her face, sweet being the opposite of what we just did. “I have a confession to make.”

  I hate how my heart stops beating as if she’s about to devastate the world we just built. “What is it?”

  “There was a bagel in that bag.”

  Trying not to smile, I ask, “What happened to it?”

  She rubs her hand over her stomach. “I ate it.” Biting her lower lip, there’s that mischievous look in her eyes again. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

  I chuckle but then put on a straight face again. “What do you suggest we do to punish you?”

  “I was thinking I could meet you here later and let you have your way with me.”

  “Is that what you consider a punishment?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow. “Having sex with me.”

  “No, Counselor, but spending the day away from you will be.”

  Admiring the pink of her cheeks caused by the early morning workout, I say, “Who’s the charmer now?” She’s so gorgeous that I feel what she means deep inside me. I don’t want to be away from her either. “Natalie?”

  Her eyes have closed, and her breathing is even. “Yeah?”

  “Sex with you is . . .” I stop, the words getting choked in my throat.

  When I fail to continue, she opens her eyes and caresses my cheek before kissing my chin. “I know.” Snuggling closer, she drapes her arm over my chest. I tighten my arm around her back and kiss her head. She whispers, “I feel the same,” against my chest.

  We lie there in the sunshine beaming through a crack in the curtains. When I’m on the verge of falling asleep again, she says, “St. James.”

  “St. James?”

  “That’s my last name.”

  She can’t see my smile, but that doesn’t matter because I’ll be wearing it for the rest of the day. “Natalie St. James is a beautiful name.”

  15

  Natalie

  Nick Christiansen is the definition of swoon worthy.

  Look it up.

  I should be exhausted after spending the night with Nick, but I’m not. I’m full of giddiness instead. I haven’t felt this good in so long and optimistic about the future professionally and personally. It’s great to feel like my life is back on track again.

  After locking the apartment door, I lean against the back of it and fist my hands in excitement. Not wanting to wake Tatum because she’s a bear if she wakes up before ten, I squeal silently to release the energy coursing through me.

  Do I go to bed to make up for the sleep I lost last night or get ready to slay the day?

  Even though my parents don’t expect me to come by the office before lunch, I take the opportunity to impress them. Shower it is! Today is the day I save my business.

  Knowing my mom loves when I dress up, I plan the perfect outfit for today while showering off my night, and Nick. His scent may be washed from my body, but my muscles ache deliciously as a reminder of him, a sensation I haven’t felt in quite some time.

  Dressed and ready to go, I walk out of my bedroom to find Tatum leaning over a bowl of cereal. “Good—”

  “Shh!” I’m hit with a glare. I’d recognize that look anywhere—the slumped shoulders and squinting eyes even under the faintest sunlight, old makeup because she was too tired to take it off last night, and the shushing. Yeah, that’s a dead giveaway.

  “You have a hangover?” I whisper.

  She drops her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose. “You could say that.”

  “I just did.”

  “Ha. Ha.” Holding the large black Chanel frames up, she looks me over. “You look like a lawyer.” I burst out laughing. Maybe I should wear this for Nick later. She continues, “Where are you going?”

  Clasping my briefcase in my hands, I reply, “To see a man about a loan.”

  Her mouth quirks up at the sides. “You’re going to see your dad?”

  “I sure am. Wish me luck.”

  She slides off the barstool and comes to hug me. “I wish you all the luck in the world, my friend.” Leaning back, she adds, “You got this, Nat. Don’t be intimidated. Stand up for what you believe in—yourself and us.”

  “I will, and I hope you feel better.” I open the door, but before I go, I say, “And thanks for the pep talk.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. That and the Lucky Charms.”

  “They are delicious.”

  “Magically.”

  With a pep in my step, I hurry down the stairs and call a car to deliver me to Wall Street. As soon as I arrive on the infamous street, I duck inside the building and head up to the Manhattan Financials’ offices on the twenty-fifth floor.

  The elevator doors slide open, and I keep walking toward the entrance, signaling to the receptionist that I’m here to see my dad. Although she’s on the phone, she waves me in after buzzing me through. I spent every summer from my eleventh-grade year in high school to my junior year in college interning here. I’ve worked every job from mailroom to reception. I was brought into meetings with my parents to observe them in action.

  Despite their best efforts to teach me financial advising and the brokerage side of the business, I never acquired a taste for either. Stockbrokers are intense, and I’d rather spend people’s money than manage it. Although the gifting profession sounds easy, it takes a knack for reading people. What will have their heart racing with excitement not only to give a great present, but they seek the reward for the thought. I have to stay two steps ahead of popular gifts and know what’s the next hot item.

  My parents have tried to understand what I’m trying to create, but other than hiring me to sort out their corporate holiday gifts, they lose sight of the potential.

  Taking a deep breath, I psych myself up for the sales pitch of a lifetime
and then knock. From the other side of the door, my father calls, “Come in.”

  Entering his office has never intimidated me until now. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Natalie.” He only glances up for a split second before he returns to analyze something on the computer monitor that has his face all twisted. “Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

  Mom comes in before I sit down. Hugging me, she asks, “How are you, honey?”

  “I’m good. Really good.” I want to sing Nick Christiansen’s praises, but my parents are the last people who should hear about my sexual exploits. Though they might be interested in hearing about what a gentleman he is and that he’s a lawyer. Parents love lawyers for their children, especially if one of said children has no aspirations of becoming one.

  “That’s good to hear.” My mom sits next to me. “Let’s talk.”

  With that phrase out there, I barely have time to set down my bag. My dad turns away from the screen to look at me. “It seems the loan was calculated at the correct rate and should last you through the end of the term. Which, of course, is the end of November.”

  Covering my hand on the arm of the chair, my mom adds, “We know how hard you’ve worked on STJ, even with the heavy course load you were taking your senior year. We can see how it could turn into an exciting revenue stream. It utilizes your creativity, craftiness, and people skills. I can speak for both your father and I when I say that we do hope to have you join our team one day. But you’re allowed to pursue your own dreams, which you’re doing.”

  A glance from my mother to my father is the equivalent of a tag in the ring to take over. Without missing a beat, he folds his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “I can see you came prepared, Natalie, and I’ve already read over the email you sent. Not to discount the fact that you’re here to defend your plans, but we support you.”

  Still sitting with my back stiff as a board, I nod. “Thank you. That’s very much appreciated.”