Nate lets out a confused laugh. “Why would you think that?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice before it all falls into place. “No,” he denies.
“‘You’re as bitter as your coffee.’ ‘I take my coffee with milk and sugar.’ Are you forgetting what you said to me?”
His hand rises to stifle his laughter, but he fails miserably. “It was a joke!” He struggled to wheeze the words between gasps, but all I can think about is the lie I’ve been living for the past three months.
“That was no joke! I’ve been drinking black coffee since that day because of the traumayougave me.”
“Vivienne.” Nate stills, biting back his smile, when another choked-out sound betrays him. “Have you actually?”
Nate takes my silence and the rapid blinking of my eyes as his answer.
“Oh no.” He puts his cup out for me. “It’s okay. We can do a coffee switcharoo, if you'd like?”
I shake my head from side to side.
The last thing I’ll do is accept an apology from this guy, especially after the poor-tasting coffee I’ve been drinking every day.
“I would not like that. I feel conned. That was very rude and very disrespectful.” I angle my body away from him, cup tucked by my side.
His amusement only grows higher as he motions with his free hand to hand it over. “Come on, Viv, hand it over. The faster we get our respective coffees, the better we’ll both feel.”
My heart stops at the sound of the nickname on his lips. There’s something so nice about it. So sweet. So personal. People usually called me by my first name—that’s how I liked it—but there’s something about the way he says it that I like way more.
Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that I got bamboozled.
“I’d rather get a new cup of coffee. Your lips touched that, and I don’t want them anywhere near me.”
“Funny enough. I think that’s the reason I want it,” Nate says with a smirk.
I turn around in shock, so caught off guard by what he’s said that I don’t realize he’s pulled the cup out of my hands and replaced it with his. He takes a long sip, sighs in satisfaction, winks, and walks away all within the blink of an eye.
“Gosh, I feel so much better already,” he says loudly enough for me to hear.
Me? I don’t respond. I can’t—not when I’m still shocked.
Instead, I stand in the middle of this convenience store, surrounded by rows of colorful chips as I watch broad shoulders, a tall frame, and a firm ass walk away—as if he hadn’t just implied he wanted his lips on mine.Again.
CHAPTER 22
NATE
We made it to the conference hotel in one piece—surprisingly—given that some idiot decided to aggressively slam on his brakes in the middle of the highway for no good reason. But at this point, I couldn’t care less. I’m past the point of exhaustion, and the only thing on my mind is sleep.
I knew driving for almost twelve consecutive hours would drain my energy, but it was worth it. For one, Vivienne got here without air travel. For two, we didn’t need to spend the night at some random motel just because we stopped.
Unfortunately, we’ve now got a problem in that very department.
With a sigh, I swipe the key card to our hotel room, looking back at an impatient Vivienne waiting for me to turn the handle.
When seconds pass and the door still hasn’t opened, she frowns.
She’s probably wondering why we’re still standing here and not in the comfort of a bed. But it’s all by design. I’m stalling because what’s beyond those doors could be my last straw.
I’ve been trying my damn best to keep this thing between us platonic, but the more time goes on, the harder that becomes. The brooding, standoffish type isn’t who I am,especiallywhen I’m around her—the guy laughing at the convenience store, flirting any chance he could get, is.
I made her a promise—one I fully intend to keep. And that comment about having her lips on mine? It wasn’tanywhere near the bounds of our napkin contract.
Now, the knowledge that we’ll be sharing a room with no one around to keep watch feels like a match waiting to be struck.
