“Just in time,” I say with a smile. The plan is to act like our tense moment never happened, at least until I can figure out how to apologize without oversharing.
He turns around, then stares. He studies me from top to bottom, running over my shoulders to breasts to hips and legs…then back up as he takes me in. Probably just shocked I’m not in proper clothes, but my heart shivers hotly anyway. Something in his eyes makes me feel like he’s caressing me with his gaze. Heat flutters in my belly and suddenly I’m slightly lightheaded, like I’m not getting enough air.
I shake myself mentally before I do something embarrassing. “Too weird, even for a fake girlfriend?” I spread my arms with an overly casual smile.
His eyebrows pull together into a V. A mixture of displeasure and confusion flashes across his face.
Maybe he really doesn’t want me in this shirt.Anxiety unfurls. I open and close my hands a few times to calm my nerves, to very little effect. I already sort of blew him off earlier, and I don’t want to do that again. “I was thinking about changing into the dress from yesterday, but it’s my breakup dress. If I wear it again, it’ll definitely be weird. Like I’m still pining over him or something. Which I’m not. For sure. No way. That would totally undermine our attempt to put up a façade.”
Nicholas’s frown deepens as I continue to babble. Obviously, I’m not helping.Oh my God, shut up, shut up, shut up.
But my mouth doesn’t get the memo. “And what if your mom heard that the girl you said was your girlfriend is hung up on somebody else? I wouldn’t want her to think you aren’t as good as Owen. Because you are. Like, way, way better than him. Like he’s a donkey, and you’re a horse.”
The tip of his right eyebrow twitches.
Oh crap. I insulted him.“I mean, like, he’s not even a donkey. More like a jackass. And you’re a stallion. A sexy horse. The kind of horse I’d like to—” I put both hands over my mouth because I was about to add “sleep with,” and it’d be super perverted to say “horse I’d like to sleep with.”
My heart races. Heat suffuses my face until you could fry a couple of eggs on my cheeks.
A corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I’m a sexy stallion?” His eyes sparkle.
I lower my hands. “Well, yes.” I smile, relieved he either didn’t catch the other stuff or chose to ignore it. “Totally.”
“I like you in my shirt.” Approval warms his tone. And is that appreciation in his eyes?
“Thank you.” A little of my tension dissipates. I probably just overthought the situation. More coffee might help, but then we’re out the door and heading to the brand-new truck.
It’s so big and high off the ground. I stare, wondering how I’m going to be able to climb inside without looking ridiculous.
“Allow me.” Nicholas reaches over. This close, I can smell the fresh scent of soap and shampoo over the hot male flesh. The skin at the back of my neck tingles as he opens the door and places his large hands on my waist. The heat from his palms sends delicious goosebumps spreading over my back, and the air in my lungs holds as he effortlessly lifts me up so I can get inside the truck.
“Thank you.” No man has ever been able to leave me slightly dazed from just a platonic touch, and the words come out a little breathlessly.
“My pleasure.” His voice brushes me like soft velvet, while his fingertips caress my hip and thigh as he arranges my shirt dress. Although he’s covering me up, the gesture feels erotic, a prelude to something more. My nerve endings sing like I just came, and my face grows hot again.
Stop thinking about sex. Or orgasms. Or anything else that’s going to end up embarrassing you. This isNicholas. He’s not interested in you that way.
He’s been nothing but a complete gentleman. Look how he just ensured I was properly covered.
Nicholas drives us over to Owen’s townhouse. The huge black pickup truck purrs as he confidently maneuvers through the traffic. I don’t know how he can drive something this large so easily. I can’t drive anything too big because I get nervous that I might ding a door or something. His competence makes my blood run hotter. I bet if we were in the caveman era, he’d be the lead hunter. The guy who caught the biggest mammoths and got the best pelts.
I need something to distract myself from obsessing about Nicholas, so I pull out my phone and scroll around on Pulse, one of the social media apps Owen and I use outside of our Instagram personas.
I see he’s tagged me. Did he post about the meal from Dolce? Owen probably finished the dinner so he could write a review for the place. But no. The post isn’t about the restaurant. He must’ve gone clubbing with Dana after Nicholas and I left, because he posted over sixty photos of him and Dana, drinking, dancing and kissing.
He wrote one short caption for all the photos:Having the best time of my life with my new love.
I thumb through them with the lurid, unblinking focus of somebody who can’t look away from a train wreck. It’s painful to see my ex having fun with my high school nemesis, not because I have any romantic feelings left for him, but because it makes my heart ache to wonder if things went wrong because of me. Is it common for a guy to say, “I love you,” a lot, then wake up one day and go, “Nope, I don’t love you”?
Or maybe he has always been a bad guy, and I just never recognized it—like a pathetic, gullible fool.
Frank, a mutual friend, commented last night.
I thought Molly moved in with you like two months ago or something. What happened?
Owen wasted no time disparaging me.
Actually, three months ago. Which is about how long it took before I realized how incompatible we were. Thank God I figured it out sooner rather than later. She just drags me down and won’t do anything interesting other than reading some stupid porn, and I just can’t be with somebody who doesn’t really enhance my life in any way.
