A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. We’ve been texting constantly over the past five days. Good morning texts that make my stomach flip. Random check-ins during my hellish workdays. Late-night conversations that stretch past midnight until one of us finally admits we need sleep.
The apartment has become my sanctuary. My escape from Derek’s passive-aggressive commentary and the way he parades his new girlfriend around the office as if she’s a trophy he won by dumping me.
Every night this week, I’ve come straight here after work, armed with paintbrushes and determination, transforming Nitro’s barely-lived-in space into something that feels like a home.
And Nitro?He’s been the bright spot in otherwise miserable days.
Me:Wall is done! Looks amazing. And yes to lunch. I’m starving.
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy:On my way. Don’t paint yourself into a corner.
Me:There you go with those dad jokes again, old man…
Nitro the Nice Uber Guy:Hey, I may be old, but the older you are, the better you are at… painting. *Smirking face Emoji*
The emoji makes me grin like an idiot. Three days ago, he started using emojis badly, like a dad who just discovered texting, and it’s possibly the most endearing thing I’ve ever witnessed.
I’m sliding my cell back into my pocket when there’s a knock at the door. My heart does that annoying flutter thing it’s been doing every time I think Nitro might be near, but when I check the time, I realize he couldn’t possibly be here yet unless he teleported.
And with the things I have learned about Nitro so far, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he added wizard into the mix at this point.
I make my way to the door, and as I pull it back, I’m greeted by a sight that makes me laugh out loud.
“Surprise!” Beck throws his arms wide, camera bag slung over one shoulder, overnight duffel over the other, and the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Your favorite brother has arrived to save you from whatever disaster you’re currently creating.”
“Beck!” I launch myself at him, not caring that I’m covered in paint splatters. He catches me easily, spinning me around in the doorway as if we’re in some kind of rom-com reunion scene.
“Easy there, Picasso.” He sets me down, holding me at arm’s length to assess the damage. “You look like you got into a fight with a paint store and lost.”
“I’m redecorating.” I gesture at the apartment behind me, suddenly nervous about what he’ll think. Beck’s opinion has always mattered more than I like to admit.
He steps inside, and I watch his face as he takes in the transformation. The teal accent wall. The throw pillows I found at a thrift store that somehow tie the whole room together. The curtains that let in just the right amount of light. The string lights I hung along the bookshelf that Nitro doesn’t even use, but I filled with books I found at a secondhand store.
“Holy shit, Marley.” Beck slowly sets his bags down, turning in circles. “This place is… wow. When you said you were decorating some guy’s apartment, I thought you meant buying a plant or something. This is a whole-ass makeover.”
“It needed it,” I say defensively. “The place was depressing. Barely any furniture, zero personality, like a sad bachelor pad meets witness protection program.”
“And whose apartment is this again?” Beck’s eyebrow arches in that way that means he already knows the answer and is just waiting for me to confirm it.
“Nitro’s.”
“Niiitrooo.” He draws out the name, grinning. “The fake boyfriend Nitro? The Uber driver Nitro? The guy whose name you mentioned approximately forty-seven times during our last phone call?”
“I did not—”
“‘Nitro thinks I should add more color.’ ‘Nitro brought me coffee.’ ‘Nitro said the funniest thing yesterday…’” Beck mimics my voice with alarming accuracy, adding on a mock giggle for effect. “Should I continue, or are you sufficiently embarrassed?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Okay, fine. We’ve been talking a lot. He’s been really supportive during this whole Derek nightmare.”
“Mm-hmm.” Beck moves to the wall, running his hand along the paint job. “And he just gave you free rein to redesign hisentireapartment? Out of thegoodnessof his heart?”
“He barely uses this place. He stays at the clubhouse mostly—”
“Clubhouse?”Beck spins around so fast he nearly knocks over a lamp. “What clubhouse? Is he in a gang? A cult? A very aggressive book club?”
“He’s VP of a motorcycle club.” The words come out more defensive than I intended.
Beck’s eyes go wide. “You’re fake dating a biker? Marley, that’s…” He pauses, his grin spreading wider. “That’s thehottestthing I’veeverheard. Tell me everything. And I meaneverything.Does he have tattoos? Obviously, he has tattoos! How many? Where? Can I photograph them? O… M… G… does he look like Charlie Hunnam? The Jax Teller kind, not the Ed Gein kind, eww!”
