by Jessica Roe
Finally that smirk falls off his face. He leans forward and captures my hand in both of his. “I have more respect for you than anyone in the whole world, Ivy,” he says earnestly, and I know him well enough to hear the truth in his words. He may be a crazy, dumb idiot, but I think he really believes this is the right move. “That's why I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. And after these past few days, I can't help feeling like exactly that is going to happen. That day in the rain we opened up this brand new door in our relationship. Maybe we shouldn't have, but we did and now we can't just close it again because it's there.”
“What's there?”
“This. . .sexual tension.” He's starting to look as frustrated as I feel now. “Come on, you know how it goes. You meet someone, there's sexual tension, you have sex and the next morning it's gone. At least, that's what happens for the two of us – it's just the kind of people we are. It's why we've never done well with the whole relationship thing. And now there's sexual tension between you and me, so we should have sex and then the next morning it'll all be gone and we can go back to normal again. Because we're the kind of friends that can do this without it being weird afterwards, I know we are.”
I hate hate hate that, in a really messed up way, this is kind of making sense to me. “I wish you would stop saying sexual tension so much,” is all I say weakly.
His thumbs rub gently over my hands, sending jaggedy tingles shooting straight up my arms. Ah, here's that charm and flirtation. “Ever since we had that moment in the rain you've been all I've been able to think about. It's driving me damned crazy.”
I find myself leaning forward, drawn towards him, and I start to wonder if maybe what he's saying might work after all. He is talking about all of my favorite things. . .
Like Nash. I love Nash.
And then there's sex. I love sex too. Especially the no strings kind.
I pull my hand away suddenly, aware that I've just fallen under the same spell as every woman Nash has ever been with.
Ugh! Guys are so LAME! Why do they think that sex is the answer to everything? Sex and punching? And me, I'm lame too. Lame for almost letting him talk me into his ridiculous idea.
I point a finger at him, glaring. “Stop it, or I'll tell your mother you propositioned me.”
He grins and leans back again, folding his arms across his chest. “Go ahead. You know what she's like when it comes to you and me. Hell, she'd probably get together with Deb and cover the entire apartment with candles and rose petals.”
My elbows rest on the table as I drop my face into my hands, chewing the side of my cheek in fury. Nothing gets through to this guy, not when he's got an idea in that stubborn, thick head of his. “It would just be rebound sex,” I point out. “Because neither of us are over our last relationships.”
“Even better,” he has the gall to say. “One night of hot rebound sex. Hey, it might be what we both need to get us out of our funks.”
That is it. “You're an imbecile,” I hiss, rising from my seat and shoving the rest of my bagel in his mouth so he can't use it to spout any more crap. Gathering my things, I make sure to give him the cold shoulder as I stomp my way out of the apartment to go to work.
+++
Dr. Ormand is in with a patient and the waiting room is once again empty, so I use the opportunity to send Nash a video message because I've been simmering for the last few hours and I need to rant.
Making sure the camera is pointing at my face, I hit record. “First of all,” I start. “I want you to know that I hate you. Not hate hate,” I feel the need to add, because he might be a knuckle head, but I could never actually hate him. “Just temporary hate. The kind that can be bought off with chocolate and flowers. Or cake. Or new towels because you keep using mine – which is not okay by the way – and then leaving them on your bathroom floor so they get all damp and gross. And I know you said it's because mine are softer than yours, but just go buy yourself some softer towels, dude. It won't make you any less of a guy.”
I clear my throat, because I kind of got off topic there. “Second of all, I wanted to tell you all the reasons why I think your 'let's have sex' idea is insane and just plain wrong.”
I hold up a finger. “One. Sex between you and I would not make things go back to the way they were before. Not unless we were having sex before and I somehow missed it. Sex would change things for always, because I would forever have intimate knowledge of your penis and the image of my vagina would be imprinted on your brain for the rest of our lives and it would be all I could think about every time we spoke. It's just plain logic, my friend.
“Two. Rebound sex is only cool when it's with a stranger, or with someone you don't give a crap about. Because after it's done you can sneak out the next morning and never have to deal with them ever again. It is not cool to have rebound sex with somebody you have not only known your whole life, but also somebody you have to live with. Because every time you looked at them, all you'd see is the reason you were rebounding, which would bring up crappy memories of your crappy relationship and why you needed to rebound in the first place.
“Three. If our mothers ever found out, they would have joint heart attacks and die of excitement. They would die. Do you really want our mothers to die, Nash? Do you? Do you? Because that would be murder, which also – not cool.
“Four. . .”
The door to the office opens, bringing an end to my tirade, and a girl I recognize from high school slips in.
I narrow my eyes at the camera. “Okay,” I hiss. “There were many more reasons, but someone's here so I have to go.” I shut it off and hit send, grateful for the interruption because I'd been totally lying – there had been no more reasons. Number four would have stumped me for sure.
“Hey, Calin,” I call over the desk. Despite being so into fashion, I'd never been the kind of girl who hung out much with other girls in high school but from what I remember, I'd liked Calin more than most. She'd always been nice, and would pretend not to notice when I'd copied off her in calculus which was obviously very cool.
“Hi, Ivy.” She smiles, pushing her long, dark hair away from her narrow face. “I heard you were back in town.”
“News travels fast.” I lean forward curiously. “Hey, is that a wedding ring?”
She grins shyly. “Yep, Harry and I finally tied the knot last year.”
“Harry? The same Harry you were dating way back in tenth grade?”
“That's the one.”
I shake my head, a wide smile stretching out over my face. I like to hear about sweet stories like this, the ones that remind me of my parents. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” She leans her elbows on the desk. “I have an appointment at twelve thirty. I'm a little early though.”
“No worries, Dr. Ormand won't be long.” I type her details into the computer. “Ah, cracked tooth, right?”
She grimaces. “Yeah. I let Harry cook Christmas dinner this year. I have no idea what the heck I bit down on but I'm pretty sure it wasn't turkey.”
“Try not to stress, Dr. Ormand will be able to sort something.” He may be a shiny nosed creeper, but he is an admittedly good dentist. “If it's not too bad he might be able to bond it. He'll get into it all with you when you go in there.”
“Sounds horrifyingly scary.”
“The bonding or getting into it with Dr. Ormand?”
A snort bursts out of her. “Both.”
I grin, remembering why I liked her back in high school. “It'll be fine, I'm sure.”
“Thanks, Ivy.” She bites down on her lip, seeming unsure, and it isn't hard to figure out what's coming next. “I heard about what happened in San Francisco.”
“Yeah. . .” I'm not really sure what to add. I never am.
Ivy slept with a married guy. Ivy did not mean to. Ivy got fired. Ivy came home. Ivy is still a good girl really, deep down.
“Do you still make your own clothes?” she asks, surprising me. I'd expected to hear
the regular 'everyone makes mistakes' speech that I've had in some form from everybody else in Fortune since I've been back.
“Not for a long while now. I never really had time to design anything outside of Heikki.”
“That's a shame. I used to love Ivy's Designs. You remember that dress you made me for my aunt's wedding? I loved that thing. I got almost as much attention that day as my aunt – she was not happy.”
“Oh, the pale green one, right? With the a-line skirt?” That had been one of my best pieces. I hadn't made it specifically for Calin like I had with some of the others that girls had ordered, but with a few alterations it had fit her like a dream.
“That's right. Didn't my mom used to let you sell a few things from her boutique?”
“She did.” There are a couple of nice boutiques in Fortune, though mostly they sell clothes and accessories aimed at older generations. Anyone under the age of thirty tends to do their shopping in one of the larger towns nearby, or even in the city. Calin's mom's store had been the same as the others, but she'd been nice enough to let me put up a line. It had done well enough that we'd both made a decent profit off of it.
“You know, I took over the place a couple of years ago after Mom retired,” Calin tells me. I can practically see the gears turning inside her head, and any moment I expect her to start stroking an imaginary beard. “I've been trying to introduce a more youthful fashion to the store to encourage in a younger crowd. If you decide to start designing your own stuff again I'd be happy to give you some space in the boutique. More than happy.”
I blink, taken aback, because designing my own stuff again, it hasn't even been something I've considered. I've been too busy worrying that I'll never be hired by any decent fashion empire again, and procrastinating in this tiny town dental office. But. . .I couldn't, right? Doing it as a kid was one thing, but doing it now? Working for myself? It would be way more complicated. To really make a career out of it I'd have to put in so many hours, hours that I just don't have unless I want to give up my job here. And I'd need money and people who would actually want to buy my stuff and. . .
“Thanks,” I say. “But I'm not sure I'll be going down that path.”
She shrugs, glancing up as Ola leads Dr. Ormand's latest patient out and gestures her in. “Think about it,” is all she says as she follow her into the room.
+++
“Yo dumbo, I'm home!” I call when I get back from work later that evening. Tossing my bag and jacket on the small table by the door, I kick off my nude heels with a grateful sigh. They're probably way too high for a receptionist job, but they go perfectly with my navy blue Peter Pan collar dress. “Did you get my video?”
“Yeah,” comes his muffled reply from behind his bedroom door. “I was gonna send you one back of me looking all sweaty and rugged after the gym since I know you love it when I'm shirtless so much, but I thought I'd wait and just give you the show in person.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a losing battle as a blush stains my cheeks. His head was big enough before he'd noticed my ogling – now he's just insufferable. “Jerk!”
“I know, I know.” I pause in the middle of the hallway as he steps out of his bedroom, my hand coming up to rest at the base of my throat like I'm one of those silly, swooning women from the nineteenth century. Despite myself, my breath catches at the sight of Nash in his perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit, and I belatedly remember his dinner plans with clients tonight. I'm used to Nash in jeans and a tee, or Nash in slacks and a shirt for work, or even Nash in running shorts and a vest for the gym, but this Nash. . .this Nash I'm not used to. The color makes his eyes seem darker and he looks so ridiculously handsome with his hair smoothed back and his butt all tightly encased in those pants that for a moment I almost forget who I am, who I'm supposed to be when it comes to him. For a moment I'm not Ivy, friend and room mate of Nash. No, for a moment I'm a woman standing in front of a man that she wants very, very much.
His head tilts as he catches me watching him, his eyes growing impossibly darker. “Like what you see, little Ivy?”
“Stop it,” I breathe out.
He stalks towards me like a panther cornering his prey. I back up against the front door, but he keeps on coming. “I can't,” he murmurs. “Because every time I look at you all I can think of is. . .” His body presses up against mine as he steps completely and totally into my space. “. . .this.”
I swallow soundlessly as he leans in close and touches the tip of his nose to the sensitive skin beneath my ear. He inhales, his lips brushing against the bottom of my neck. He's done this kind of thing to me many times before, but it was playful then; it didn't mean anything. Now. . .now it means everything, and it leaves me feeling boneless, like I could collapse at any moment and his body against mine would be the only thing keeping me upright. “Nash. . .” I meant it to be a complaint, but it comes out as more of a needy moan.
With a swift intake of breath, like the sound of his name on my lips does something to him, he brings his large hands up to cup my shoulders. Slowly, he trails his fingers down my arms until he catches my wrists. He lifts them up, pressing them into the wall on either side of my head.
I feel hot. Hot all over. There's something inside of me that needs to get out and I need him. I need him to-
I should push him away, I know that. But I can't, and not because he's much bigger than I am – Nash would never truly hold me against my will. No, I can't push him away because every inch of my body wants to bring him closer. I like the feel of him pressing against me, I like his heat, I like the warmth of his harsh breath on my neck. I like that all I can smell is him; aftershave and soap and man.
“Ivy,” he utters, bringing his forehead to rest against mine. I realize then that, though he started this, he's just as affected by me as I am by him. I can feel it in every rigid line of his body, in the heartbeat pounding fast against my own chest, and I can definitely feel it in the hardness pressed against my lower stomach.
He lets go of my wrists and his hands slide down my body to my outer thighs, his fingers teasing the edge of my dress.
I denied this. Told him he was crazy and that it would never work. But God, I want him. I want this, even if it is the most stupid idea in the history of stupid ideas.
My heart pounds dangerously, my head spins and my eyes are closed, but if I opened them then I'm sure I'd find my body in flames.
Like I'm no longer in control of myself, my face angles up, searching him out. His head tilts down, and then our lips are brushing. It's achingly tender, so feather light that I almost wouldn't feel him if my lips weren't so incredibly sensitive and swollen with want already.
Nash groans, his body somehow pressing harder against mine. We still, neither of us daring to take that next step, to go from the brush of the lips to the kiss we both so desperately need. My hands rise to his chest, clenching his white shirt in my fingers and probably leaving the pristine material wrinkled though I'm long past caring. I'm long past caring about anything that doesn't involve entwining my body with his and never, ever coming up for air.
“Tell me you don't want this as much as I do,” he whispers against my lips, and I can't. Of course I can't.
He lifts a hand to cup the back of my neck and-
His cell phone rings, sounding startlingly loud to my ears. I jolt back, my head thudding painfully against the door. Nash's eyes clench shut in utter frustration and his forehead briefly presses against mine once more.
“That'll be Dad. Fuck,” he growls, ripping himself from me. I sidestep away from the door to lean against the wall, but I don't move any further because my knees are not up to the task of holding me up by themselves right now.
The phone cuts off, only to start ringing insistently again a second later. Nash ignores it, instead watching me, taking in my dazed eyes and my flushed cheeks and my rapidly rising and falling chest with a pained look on his face. “Fuck,” he repeats. I don't think even he was expecting how intense that would be, a
nd it seems to have scared him as much as it's scaring the hell out of me.
I nod my head, my palms flat on the wall behind me, both to hold me up and to keep me from touching him again. “Fuck,” I agree.
He seems like he wants to say something else, but thinks better of it. He exits swiftly without saying so much as a single word.
I stand in the hallway for a while until my legs are no longer custard but the ever so slightly more sturdy jelly, then I make my way to the kitchen to find something. I don't know what. Water, maybe. Or Vodka. Tequila. A bucketful of ice. But I come to a stop when I see what he's left for me on the table. Chocolate. The biggest bouquet of daisies, because he knows they're my favorite kind of flower now that I have a niece of the same name – not that I'd tell anyone else that ever. A cake. A pile of ridiculously fluffy towels in pink, personalized with my name. Oh yeah, this guy is smooth. And is that. . .is that a shirtless picture of him?
I laugh despite myself, but that laugh quickly fades away. My knees finally give in and I slide down to the floor, my back against the fridge as the events of the last ten minutes catch up with me.
Our lips barely brushed, but that might just have been the hottest kiss of my entire life.
I'm so screwed.
Chapter 10
Nash
Frowning into the small mirror in my bathroom, I fiddle with the damned bow tie around my throat, cursing Nathan and his stupid black tie party. It's New Year's Eve, I should be able to spend the evening dressed as comfortably as I want, especially since I plan to be so drunk I can barely even walk by the end of the night. I need it, after the last tense week with Ivy.
But then, she does appear to like me in formal wear. . .
Though I'm not gonna lie, I seem to have seriously lost my cool when it comes to her. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. I knew I wanted her, of course I did, but after feeling her against me in the hallway the other day, now I'm finding it difficult to even think straight whenever she's around. I hadn't expected it to be like that between the two of us, so intense and fucking mind blowing. We didn't even kiss!
