He glances at the screen, hitting the curb on the other side of the road. “What was that you were just talking about before? A table?”
“Obviously the sleep would come after that.”
Nick doesn’t say anything for a beat. The playfulness in his expression wanes slowly, like someone is draining it, and the sight knots my stomach.
“I can’t come over tonight,” he finally says, eyes serious.
Fuck.
It was too soon.
Or maybe I’m reading this whole situation wrong.
“Why?”
I soundwaymore desperate than I should.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, long enough that I pick up the phone to make sure the video hasn’t frozen, and when I do, I accidentally tap the camera option.
Shit.
God, he’s really going to think I’m really eager now.
Hang up. Hang up.
Only, his eyes light up so much when my face flashes across the screen that it pauses me. His previous serious look is entirely gone, and he’s smiling in a way that makes me shift in the seat, chest heating.
No one’s ever looked at me like that.
“There you are, angel,” he says.
A visible, jagged breath leaves me. I’d wonder why the air in my house is so cold that I can see my breath, except I realize I forgot to turn my heater on when I came inside.
“Hi,” I manage.
It’s too late to turn the video off now, especially with the way he’s regarding me.
A nervous laugh leaves him, and I swear there’s a blush on his cheeks too. “I didn’t think you’d let me see you tonight.”
“I literally just told you to come over,” I say, though my voice feels like it’s sticking.
“That’s really fucking tempting,” he says under his breath. “You… God, that’s tempting.”
I sit up further in the seat, leaned over and waiting on him to say yes. “What’s stopping you?”
Nick doesn’t speak for a few seconds. I can see the street lights drifting further and further behind him, like he’s walking into the dark area of the park by the beach. His face disappears into the shadows, and all I can see is a soft illumination of the screen against his skin. It makes his eyes look black, his bone structure sharper, and I swear there’s a glimmer of something long in his hair.
“Isaid something about romance.Iwant to romance you,” he says.
The screen darkens, and I have to clear my throat. “Something tells me your brand of romance isn’t tiny chocolates and roses.”
He chuckles, and even though he’s on the phone, I feel it radiate down my spine. With his face suddenly hidden, his voice feels like it’s in the room with me. Like I can feel a heated hand on my neck, a breeze across my bare knees.
“Chocolates and roses are on my list, just not in the way you’re thinking.”
“And the table?” I ask.
“If you want the table, baby, I’ll make you my feast.”
