“Because I’m not good at much.”
Nick stopped, turning around fully this time, plate in hand, his gaze cutting through me like a blade. Nick moved in, slow andunintentional, and suddenly I had to tip my chin up just to hold his gaze. The air between us pulsed, thick and electric.
“Your parents never told you they were proud of you?”
“No.” The word slipped out brittle, broken. I stared down at the counter, memories flooding back — the dark, desperate nights, the high of escape, the shame of coming back down. “I wasn’t a bad student… just more into drugs and…” I swallowed, throat tight. “Partying.”
He didn’t flinch. Just kept moving. Listening. Like he knew there were demons crawling inside me and didn’t care.
“Surely you have something you’re really good at.”
Acting.
I shook my head. “Nah. When all you’re told you’re good for is being pretty… people assume that’s all you are, that you’re not capable of thinking for yourself. That you’re just good for sex… or being some blonde bimbo.”
Nick placed the bacon-laced sandwich on a plate, setting it down in front of me, the scent dizzying and mouthwatering. But it was the way he looked at me — really looked at me — that made my skin burn.
“Are you—” he started, shrugging almost shyly.
“Am I what?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Good in bed?”
My fingers clenched around the sandwich so hard I thought I might crush it. The room spun slightly, a slow, dangerous tilt I couldn’t stop. The question cracked open a thousand wounds inside me. I stared at him, pulse roaring in my ears. I didn’t know. Not really. Because hookups were just survival — numb, mechanical, desperate.
“Isn’t it the guy that has to be good in bed?” I muttered, grabbing the sandwich, taking a savage bite just to ground myself. The flavor exploded on my tongue — salty, sweet, sinful. I moaned without meaning to, closing my eyes against the pure pleasure.
Nick chuckled low in his throat, that same wicked grin tugging at his mouth.
“Thank you,” he said.
I swallowed, savoring every second of the distraction.
“And great sex isn’t just about getting off,” he added casually, almost too casually.
I froze mid-chew, heart stopping, staring across the table at him. The word hit me low, sinking into my gut like a brand. Connection. I wondered if he could see how badly I wanted it. Wanted him.
“It’s about connection.”That would explain my lack of great sex.
I’d never had a connection with anyone I’d been intimate with—if I could even call it intimacy. Most of the guys I hooked up with were nameless shadows in dark rooms, the kind of encounters where the lights stayed off and the clothes barely came off before it was over. Quick. Forgettable.
I did it because I thought it was expected of me. Just like my stepdad taught me. Just like I was supposed to.
I felt Nick’s gaze anchor me to the present, hot and unrelenting.
“You speak like you’re talking from experience,” I tell him.
“I’ve had a handful of girlfriends, and the sex was always better with someone I shared a connection with over one-night stands or random hookups.”
His voice rumbled low, dragging a shiver straight down my spine.
“Right, I’ll take your word for it.”
I shoved another bite of sandwich into my mouth, ducking my head to avoid the weight of his eyes. The knot forming in my gut told me he saw more than I wanted him to.
He watched me for a beat, chewing slowly, assessing me like he could peel back my layers without lifting a single finger.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he asked.
