“Are you hungry? Thirsty? This is sort of weird, isn’t it?” Nate laughs again, running a hand through his hair and biting his lip as he looks at me. I relax a little, comforted to know that he’s at least a little bit as nervous as I am.
“I was actually talking myself into leaving,” I admit, gesturing toward the front door. His face falls.
“You don’t want to stay?”
“No, I do, but…I probably shouldn’t.” There were things I was going to say—well-thought-out reasons I was going to give—and now I can’t remember a single one. I can’t leave. How could anyone leave Nate?
“Please stay,” he requests, putting a hand on my shoulder as though he’s going to steer me further into the house. I glance down at his fingers, proud of how I didn’t flinch away. He sees me looking and snatches his hand back. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” I came over here with the express purpose of feeling his hands on me, and frankly, I’m going to be disappointed if I don’t get it.
“Why is this so awkward?” He laughs, scrubbing his palms vigorously over his face. “Listen, can I just kiss you? Because I think if we get that out of the way, it’ll be better. Unless that’s not why you’re here, which is fine too. We can do whatever. But if you’re here to hook up, I’d like to request kissing be involved, because?—"
I cut him off by putting my hands on his hips and scrunching his shirt up in my fingers. Using the grip to pull him none-too-gently toward me, I tip my chin upward once his chest brushes mine. Nate inhales in surprise. Taking this as precisely what it is, he doesn’t hesitate to cup my face in his hands and lean down to kiss me.
It takes me a second to kiss him back, distracted by the fear of how I’ll react to his hands directly on my face. But instead of that familiar prickle of discomfort and the rush of vertigo, I’m treated to a delightful swoop in my stomach, like I’ve missed a step walking down stairs. It’s a good feeling, for once. A normalone. Wanting to take advantage, I ruck up the hem of his shirt and put my own hands directly against his chest. He gasps and pushes me backward until I come up hard against the wall.
“Fuck,” he mutters, when I change my grip to pull him harder against me. His hands are rough—calloused, like he’s no stranger to manual labor—and the scratch of those palms against the sensitive skin of my cheeks is heady. I so rarely get to experience this, I want to take it while I can. I want more.
Breaking my mouth away from his, I kiss frantically down his neck and pull on his shirt.
“Can we take this off?”
He huffs a laugh, but immediately yanks it over his head. Before I can move to put my hands on every inch of his torso, he palms my face once more and tips my eyes up to meet his. My chest tightens at the look of unmistakable longing in his stunning eyes. Longing for me.
“Do you want to?—”
“Yes,” I agree, leaning forward to try and kiss him again. He laughs, and the warmth of his breath against my lips sends my heart galloping.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he says after a time, stepping backward and running a thumb across my cheek before letting go. “The walls are great, but I’ve got plans for you in an actual bed.”
Scooping up his shirt, he tugs it back on as though uncomfortable walking around half naked. I flush, a little embarrassed by my eagerness to get his clothes off. He makes a move like he wants to reach for my hand, but swings his arm away instead. I shake my head and grab his forearm, sliding my hand down to his.
“It’s fine. You can touch me.” His face lights up at the words and he gives me a solid tug toward the staircase, stepping to the side so that I can precede him up. He looks ashappy about the news as I am. I feel like we need to hurry up, because it’s possible I’m running on borrowed time. It’s possible that in ten minutes, the rough texture of his hand against mine will make me want to vomit.
Please, just give me this. Let me enjoy this,I beg the universe.
“Okay, so I’m not quite done packing. I promise I’m not usually this messy,” Nate says, interrupting the stern talking-to I was giving myself. He reaches forward to open the door, letting me into his room, a slightly sheepish look on his face. Given the way the clothes are scattered about, and the suitcase is lying open in the middle of the floor, it looks like the thing exploded. My lips twitch, automatically trying to curl into a smile at the sight. Why is it that the things that usually annoy me seem to be attractive and adorable when Nate does them?
“Want me to help you pack?” I offer.
“Oh my god, no. I want you to get naked.”
He demonstrates this by tucking his fingers through one of my belt loops and tugging. Glancing over at the wall, I put one hand on the button of my jeans and reach the other toward the light switch. Nate catches my wrist.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Turning the lights off.”
He stares at me, incredulous. “What? No! How will I see you?”
I don’t point out thatnotseeing me would, in fact, be the whole point of turning the lights off. The room is bright with the overhead light on. Getting naked in this room is going to leave nothing to the imagination. I clear my throat.
“Well…if you’re sure.”
“Of course, I’m sure.” He huffs, fingers trailing lightly down my abdomen.
I’m not someone who blushes easily, but this manages to make my cheeks heat. It’s not that I’m shy, really, but there’s a difference between getting naked in a locker room and getting naked in front of someone you’re probably going to have sex with. Especially when that person is Nate, whose body looks like it was chiseled from marble by Michelangelo. While I, on the other hand, have about as much muscle definition as Gumby.
