“Fuck,” I yell, pulling on my hair for the thousandth time. Wearing only a pair of shorts, I’ve been pacing our hotel room for the past hour, trying to figure out how to handle these catastrophic emotions. I catch a glimpse of my hair in the mirror and if I wasn’t so distraught and nauseous, I’d laugh at the guy in the reflection. Hair twisted and pulled in all different directions, I look like a defeated male, ready to do anything to get the girl.
Funnily enough, that’s how I feel too.
I type back a response to Milly.
Cory: I’m wearing out the rug of the hotel room.
Thankfully she texts back right away.
Milly: Do you want to come to our room?
Cory: No. I don’t want you two to have to deal with my shitty attitude. Who knows what I might do or say?
Milly: Still haven’t heard anything from her?
Cory: Why would I? It’s not like we’re holding each other accountable, or need to check in. We’re just sharing a hotel room. But hell, Milly, I swear to fuck if she doesn’t come back tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Milly: I thought you were trying to avoid her.
Cory: It’s not working. I want her . . . bad. I’m losing my damn mind over here while she’s out with Mr. Suave. Fuck, Milly, I really think I might punch my hand through the wall.
Milly: I’m coming over.
Cory: No, don’t. Please. Just stay with Carson. I’ll be fine.
Milly: I’m worried about you.
Cory: I know you are.
Just then, a rustling sound falls on the other side of the door followed by a softly spoken “fuck.” My heart plummets in my chest, banging against my ribs, sending me into a full-blown panic.
She’s here.
I type as fast as I can.
Cory: I think she’s back.
Just as I hit send, the door opens and I look over my shoulder to see her stop in the doorway when she spots me.
Hand to her chest, she chuckles and says, “Oh, you startled me. I thought you’d be in bed or something.”
Her words are wasted on my ears as I take her in, analyze her appearance. Dress isn’t wrinkled, hair is as smooth as it was when I first saw her, maybe wilted a little from the humidity, and her lipstick, untouched.
Fucking hell . . . maybe she didn’t do anything with the bastard.
“Are you okay?” she asks, setting her key and phone on the countertop of the small kitchenette. “Your hair looks crazy.”
I try to steady my breathing and the swift rise and fall of my bare chest.
I try to tamp down my racing pulse, which is causing my heart to beat so rapidly that I think it might climb out of me.
And I try to draw my eyes off her. But I can’t look away, not when she looks so goddamn beautiful, eyes wide, question in her brow, a blush to her cheek.
Swallowing down the nerves bubbling at the base of my throat, I ask, “Good night?”
She shrugs with one shoulder, staring at her shoes. “It was nice.”
Nice . . . as opposed to . . .
Have nights been “nice” with me?
Whose time did she enjoy more?
I guess the one thing I have over this other dude is she’s standing in my hotel room and not his. That realization helps unclog the ball of anger in my throat so I can quietly ask, “Want to watch some Office?”
She looks up at me through her impossibly long eyelashes. She blinks once, twice, and then says, “Let me get ready for bed; you get it set up.”
I nod and we both start to move around in the room, a heaviness filling the air, clogging up the vents, making the heat spike within my body. And just as she’s about to walk past me to get to the bathroom, I grab her hand to stop her. Her surprised eyes glance up at me, and I don’t know why I stopped her, what I want to say, all I know is that I’m so fucking grateful she’s here and not with some random guy tonight.
“I never told you how beautiful you look tonight,” I say, the words falling past my lips with ease, even though they cause my stomach to ratchet up with unease.
Her red lips part, her eyes search mine.
“Th-thank you,” she says, her voice catching in her throat right before she takes a step away and heads into the bathroom.
Once the click of the door sounds through the room, I push both my hands through my hair and blow out a nervous breath.
Fuck, what am I doing?
I feel so out of control, unsure of what my body is going to do next, what my mouth is going to say. I can feel myself tumbling down a hill with no end in sight, leaving this constricting feeling in my chest, as if there’s a balloon pressing against my chest cavity, and every time Natalie walks into the room, it inflates more and more, making it harder and harder to breathe.
On the edge of losing it, I pick up my phone and text Milly again.
Cory: I feel like I can’t breathe when she’s around. I’m losing all self-control. I don’t think I can avoid her much longer.
Milly: What happened? Where is she?
Cory: Bathroom. She said her evening was nice. She looked untouched. Fuck, Mills, I can’t take this much longer. Almost the last night and I’ve lost all restraint.
Milly: Then just give in.
I shake my head even though she can’t see me.
Cory: I can’t. She wants a fling. I can’t give her that. She’s freshly divorced. I can’t ask her to jump into a relationship.
Milly: Is that what you want? A relationship?
Cory: Fuck yes. Mills, this girl . . . fuck, she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She’s fun, makes me laugh, doesn’t mind making fun of herself, and she’s at her prettiest right before bed, no makeup, face pink from scrubbing, hair piled on top of her head, loose strands hanging by her neck. She . . . she fucking makes me lose my breath.
Milly: Oh my God, Cory. My heart is hammering in my chest.
Cory: Mine too.
Milly: Maybe talk to her?
Cory: If only it were that simple.
I pick up the remote to the TV and turn on Netflix, plugging in my membership ID and password. Once it’s booted up, I cue the episode we’re on and then turn back to my phone.
Milly: I hate hearing you like this. I want to do something. What can I do?
Cory: Nothing, Mills. I love you, but nothing.
Milly: You’re breaking my heart, Cory. Just go after her.
Cory: I’m too fucking terrified. What happens when I get the one taste of her I’ve been craving and she turns around, gives me a thumbs up, and walks away? I won’t be able to handle that. Two more nights left, I can do this.
I press send just as Natalie walks out of the bathroom. Her dress neatly folded in her hands, her heart pajamas draped on her body, and her hair pulled back, face fresh.
Fucking hell.
She’s all I want.
She sets her things down and then stands tall, looking timid and shy as if she doesn’t quite know how to approach me. I don’t blame her. When she walked into the hotel room, I looked like I was about to punch my head through the wall, then I tell her she’s beautiful, and now I can’t take my eyes off her. She must think I’m a goddamn maniac.
“Do you want a drink or something?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
“Okay.” I go to our couch bed, as Natalie has officially named it, and turn down the blankets. “Want to get in?”
She nods quietly and walks over to the bed where she plugs her phone into the charger on “her side” and then slips under the covers.
Heart hammering in my chest, so fucking happy that she’s here right now, but knowing I can’t do anything about it, I join her and press play on the remote.
We both sit there, stiffly straight, not crossing over on each other’s side, but well aware of one another’s proximity. What I wouldn’t pay right now to figure out what she’s thinking. Does she want to be here, watching The Office with me? Does she wish she was still hanging out with Mr. Linen
Shirt? Does she want to reach over and hold my hand?
Hating every second that ticks by with my breath caught in my throat, I try to focus on the show, but I can barely hear it over the pounding of my heart. I want her so fucking bad, I might combust.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Focus on—
She shifts.
She turns toward me, and I feel like my throat is seizing as I try not to look at what she’s doing or where she ends up. I keep my eyes trained on the TV, my heart hammering so hard.
She scoots closer and from the corner of my eye, I see her hesitate until she takes a deep breath, and scoots even closer only to lift my arm and drape it over her shoulder as she closes the space between us.
Holy.
Fuck.
My body lights up like a million Christmas lights are streaming through my veins, setting them off into a frenzy. My limbs turn numb as her soft hair brushes against my bare arm, her close proximity leaving me uneasy and excited simultaneously.
We both sit there, me stiff as a goddamn pole, her trying to curl into me. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know how to react and she must sense it, because I feel her shoulders sag as she starts to push away. “I’m sorry,” she quietly says and begins to scoot, but not before I catch her arm again.
Her surprised face looks back at me from over her shoulder, her full bottom lip barely parted from her equally full upper lip. Her eyes search mine but I have nothing to say. Instead, I tug her back into the position she just vacated, and I dig deep within the courage of my desperate heart to not only pull her next to me, but to casually drape my arm over her shoulder, drawing little circles on her arm.
It's a simple touch, nothing sexual, nothing to call a best friend about. It’s more friendly than anything, but it’s more than we’ve ever done and for tonight, it’s enough. For tonight, I can go to sleep a happy man knowing the girl I can’t seem to get out of my head is spending one more night in my bed. But this time, she’s finally in my arms. Where I want her to stay.
Chapter Fourteen
NATALIE
“Good morning,” I say, smiling back at Cory who just sat up from bed. The covers fall off his bare chest and if I didn’t know he was wearing shorts under the covers, I’d think he was naked from how low they ride on his carved hips.
Cutely, he presses his palm to his eye and smiles back at me. “Good morning,” he says in a groggy but happy voice. He gives me a quick once-over. “Headed to the pool?”
I pull together the white coverup I’m wearing over my yellow two-piece and slip on my sandals. “Breakfast by the pool. Emory got us all a big cabana.” I smirk. “Didn’t you read your itinerary?”
“Barely.” He rubs his eye again and then lifts his arms over his head to stretch.
Shamelessly I take in the expanse of his exposed skin, the way his muscles flatten out when stretching, but then bunch together when he’s back to normal. He, by far, has the best body I’ve ever seen, and I was curled up next to that body last night. Strong and firm, he held me throughout the show until we both passed out. He didn’t snuggle me, but I felt his warmth through the whole night, something I’ve been craving since we first entered this room. Well, in some ways, I’ve been craving that for about nine months. Being held. Feeling safe. Things I’ve missed so very much.
Last night, with Nicholas, was just as I described it with Cory . . . nice. We talked, we joked, we smirked at each other, but as it got later and later, I kept wondering what Cory might be thinking. What he was doing. I told Nicholas I needed to change out of my dress because I was uncomfortable. I was supposed to meet him on the beach to share a few more drinks. But the minute I walked into the hotel room and saw Cory looking distressed and pained, I knew there was no way I could leave the room again. Not when it seemed like he had been pulling on his hair for the last two hours. I sent a quick text to Nicholas when I got into the room and told him I needed a rain check. A rain check I don’t plan on cashing in on.
Last night felt monumental, even though it was the smallest of victories.
While getting ready for bed, I decided to take one more shot at “making a move” because if he looked that upset when I was gone, I knew there had to be a reason, even if it meant he’d never say what it was. So when I was in the bathroom, I told myself I was going to curl into him.
God, the nerves that rushed through me when I got into the bed. Fear pricked at the back of my neck while my stomach rolled like a tidal wave, almost stopping me from lifting his arm. But after finding courage and instigating positive self-talk, once I’d lifted his arm and draped it over my shoulder, I went from victory to insecurity. In seconds.
He was stiff.
He couldn’t have reacted any worse and I realized, this wasn’t going to happen. He must have been upset about something else. I felt like crying, which is why I went to get up, muttered an apology, and was planning my escape into the bathroom.
That was until Cory grabbed me by the arm and brought me back into his embrace, where he held me, stroked my shoulder, and let me revel in his hold.
Like I said, such a small victory, but so monumental because as I stare down at his sleepy face, I can’t help but notice a different air about him, almost like he’s relieved.
“Are you leaving now?” he asks, throwing the sheets to the side and standing from the bed.
“Uh . . .” Eyes up, Natalie. Eyes. Up. “Yeah, I’m starving. Apparently, it’s family style and food is about to be served. I can wait for you though, if you’re quick.”
“Nah, head down and I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.” I give him a small smile, as we don’t talk about the elephant in the room. “I’ll see you down there.”
I go to walk away, but he stops me in the kitchenette, his brawny chest right in front of me. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes and when I do, he smiles at me—the cutest freaking smile I’ve ever seen—and then he slowly wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.
He’s warm and hard, but soft at the same time. It melts me, makes me feel gooey, and sets off this inner schoolgirl reaction of screaming desperately with excitement. Internally.
Lowering his mouth to my ear, he says, “Save me some bacon,” and then he releases me and takes off toward the bathroom, leaving me breathless and incapable of processing anything that’s happening. All I know is Cory Potter has no problem touching me. I could die a happy woman.
* * *
“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Dottie asks from the corner of her mouth.
“What are you talking about?” I adjust my bikini bottoms and angle my body away from the boys, hoping to block them out of what I’m sure will be a conversation about Cory.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Dottie faces me as well, and we both prop our heads up with our hands. “You and Cory keep exchanging these knowing glances, and you’ve both lost the semi-scowl you’ve been wearing for the past few days.” She pokes me in the boob. “Did something happen between you two last night?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean . . .” I think about it and then shake my head. “No.”
“Wait.” She sits a little taller. “Why did you have to think about it?”
“Can you lower your voice, please, and act cool? I can’t have you freaking out with Cory just a few feet away.”
She lies flat and looks toward the sky, arms straight at her side. “Oh God, something did happen.” She clutches her chest. “My black heart can’t take this.” She flips to her side again, making a show out of nothing. “What happened?”
“You’re going to be sadly disappointed when I tell you. You’re too extra right now.”
“Just tell me.” She pokes me in the boob again.
I poke her back.
She pokes me.
I poke her harder.
“Hey.” Her eyes shoot open. “That hurt.”
“You started it.”
“Why are you t
wo poking each other in the boob?” Jason asks, sitting up on the lounger, curling into Dottie, who quickly sheds him away like week-old skin.
“Get out of here. This is girl talk.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jason says, clinging to the edge of the lounge, dodging Dottie’s legs that are trying to lodge him onto the concrete of the pool deck. “If anyone is good at girl talk, it’s me. You both know that. Now what’s the problem?”
“There is no problem and there is no girl talk; there’s nothing to say.”
“What’s going on over here?” Cory asks, sitting on my lounge chair at the very end. I feel my entire body go ramrod straight when his hand connects with my ankle.
Together, Dottie, Jason, and I all follow the path from my hip down past my knee, to my ankle where Cory is gripping me, not a worry or care on his face.
And that’s when Dottie looks back at me and a giant smile crosses her face.
Oh God.
Please don’t make a big deal about this.
Please don’t embarrass me.
Please don’t—
“Dude, you’re touching my sister,” Jason says, causing me to groan and shrink into my lounge chair.
“Gross. Does she have cooties?” Cory asks, quickly picking up his hand and wiping it on his swim trunks.
Of course, Jason thinks this is the funniest thing ever and laughs far too hard for such a juvenile comment. The entire time, Dottie keeps her eyes on me, boring holes into my soul. Silently chastising me for not spitting out whatever I was going to say faster.
“Oh fuck.” Jason wipes under his eyes and laughs while saying, “Cooties.”
The Trade Page 18
