And I do.
Unraveling beneath him, the room blurs, the edges of everything fading until the only thing I feel is him. My moans fill the room as my body shakes, his name escaping my lips in a breathless cry I can’t contain.
I gasp and melt, and just as the haze begins to clear, the pizza oven dings.
The absurdity breaks the last of my restraint, and I dissolve into laughter, my forehead resting against his chest. He pulls his hand from my jeans, watching me catch my breath as he licks his fingers clean.
“Dinner’s ready,” he says with a wink, then gives me a quick kiss before helping me down from the counter.
I button my jeans back up, adjusting the borrowed shirt. My heart is still racing, a mix of exhilaration and disbelief. I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.
I glance at Nash, who looks as satisfied as I feel.
“Let’s eat,” he says, pulling the pizzas from the oven and placing them on two plates. He grabs the plates and I follow him to the couch, sitting close enough that our legs touch.
The rest of the night is easy. Everything with Nash feels easy. We spiral into conversation, our voices bouncing off the brick walls and hardwood, our feet tangled on the coffee table in front of us.
Nash tells me about his obsession with the “Berenstain Bears Conspiracy”. He’s convinced there’s a timeline where it’s spelled differently.
“Don’t tell me you also think the earth is flat,” I say through laughter.
The smile falls from his face.
“You should know I’m not that unhinged, doll,” he says, his grin creeping back into place. And I feel the corners of my own mouth pull up, my chest warming at Nash calling me that name again.
I tell him about my first day of law school, being the first student called to stand and present the facts of a case from our torts book.
“Wait. How would you know all of that on the first day?” Nash asks.
I chuckle. “In law school, you’re given assigned reading and expected to have it done before class so the case law can be reviewedduringclass. The first day of school is no exception.”
“So when you get called on, you have to stand up and tell everyone else about the case?”
“Everything about it. The facts, the law that was applied, how the law applies to the facts of the case, and then the court’s holding based on that analysis.”
“Sounds brutal,” he replies.
“Oh, it is,” I confirm. “It’s called the Socratic Method. And it’s even worse when you don’t know the case. But I had done my homework, and I knew the facts and the law well.”
“Of course you did,” he says, almost with an air of pride in his voice.
His confidence in me brings a slight blush to my cheeks as I continue to recount my first cold call. “But my professor didn’t like the way I explained the holding of the case. She started calling on every other student in the class until she found one that explained it the way she wanted it. It was a little embarrassing, but that’s not the worst part.”
“Oh?” he says, raising his eyebrows. It’s endearing how intently he listens to me, locked in to every word I’m saying.
“Nope. After class, I went to the bathroom, and when I looked in the mirror, I realized my mascara had smeared all around my eyes. I was completely mortified. I mean, I stood in front of my entire class looking like a raccoon,” I say, throwing my hands up.
Nash bursts into laughter.
With Nash, there’s no pretense. He’s all impulse and honesty, and it’s weirdly disarming not to have to guard myself or fill the silence with anything but what’s real. My walls lower just enough that I forget to check myself before I say what I mean, before I laugh too hard, before I tell stories I never planned to share.
Time blurs, and every hour is both too long and far too short.
When I finally check the clock, it’s nearly midnight, and I realize I should get back to Salem before this turns into me spending the night.
He walks me to my car, the air cool against my skin after the heat of everything we’ve done tonight. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing, and I lean in, giving him a soft, lingering kiss.
“This was fun,” I say honestly.
