It shouldn’t matter whether he and Nicki are compatible. This thing between them isn’t real.
“There’s a reason I bought this house, princess. And it’s not just because it was a good investment.”
“It’s amazing,” Andrew whispers, mesmerized by it all—crashing waves, perfect views, salt air in his hair and Nicki at his side, the warmth of his arm as it rests against Andrew’s oddly comforting. It’s so easy to pretend this is real, that he’s here in Nicki’s home because Nicki wants him to be in his space, wants to be around Andrew, for real.
It’s so easy to imagine that it hurts, a physical ache in his chest he hides like always.
“I can send someone back to pack your things.”
“No.”
“Look, it's safer here. This house is private with state of the art security and?—”
“Not no, I won’t move in,” Andrew cuts him off. “I meant no, you can’t send someone. I need to pack my own things. I don’t want anyone else touching my things.”
If Andrew was smart, he would say no. Hell, if Andrew were smart, he wouldn’t be doing any of this. Everything they’re doing is unraveling all the carefully constructed lines Andrew has drawn in the sand. Here, Nicki is blurring those lines with his brutish kindness, because there’s no mistaking what he did was kind. He came for Andrew, without question or reservation. He came for Andrew like he mattered.
Moving into Nicki’s home, even if he pretends it’s for the location and views and not to soak up how Nicki makes him feel—protected, wanted, safe—is a recipe for disaster. Andrew is going to be broken beyond repair when all this ends, and if he were smart he’d put a stop to it all right now.
Except Andrew is tired of being smart. He’s tired of being in control and planning and always making the smart, safe choice. Just this once he’s going to be reckless and selfish and let himself have this—have Nicki—at least, until he doesn’t need Andrew anymore.
Later, when he’s alone with no one to call when things get hard, he’s going to regret this. He’s going to regret Nicholas Whitmore, but right now he wants to pretend. Andrew wants to pretend that Nicki wants him, not because of the role he plays or what he can do for Nicki, but just because he’s Andrew.
The lie hurts, but not as much as the lie he tells himself—that he can survive being used by Nicki.
* * *
A knotof tension winds itself around Andrew’s chest, suffocating the little bit of calm he just cultivated staring at the sea. The group chat he shares with his brothers has so many new messages it’s capped out notifications, yet the alerts never stop coming. Part of him wishes he hadn’t stopped to get his phone before letting Nicki show him the house. A sense of responsibility and guilt at making his family worry made him retrieve it from the car, but the prospect of having to engage in the group chat makes him mildly nauseated and utterly overwhelmed.
He can’t even imagine what they must be thinking right now. They're probably going to be shocked. Incredulous, definitely. Will they believe someone like Nicki would ever date someone like Andrew? Will they think he’s lying? Technically, he is lying, but the idea of being called on it, of knowing that they don’t believe someone like Nicki would date him brings up a lot of bad memories.
“Stop looking at that fucking thing,” Nicki gripes.
On cue, several new alerts pop up, most from Charlie. He doesn’t let himself read them, instead swiping away the notification. He can’t deal with them yet, and the guilt is as staggering as the uncertainty about what the hell he’s doing.
“Eyes on me, princess.”
Andrew’s eyes snap up from his phone to Nicki whose dark blue eyes and stern expression are fixed on Andrew. He looks kind of pissed off, but Andrew is learning that seems to be Nicki’s default expression if he’s not bored or sleeping.
“But—”
“No buts,” Nicki argues, grabbing the phone from Andrew’s hand and opening the car door. He tosses the phone on the driver’s seat before slamming the door and locking the car.
“What the hell, Nicki?”
“I’m going to give you a tour of the house.”
“And you can’t do that if I’m holding my phone.”
“Not if you won’t stop fucking frowning at it.”
“I wasn’t frowning at my phone,” Andrew lies automatically, sighing when Nicki arches a knowing eyebrow.
What’s the point in lying to Nicki? He apparently can tell when Andrew is, and really, he’s not someone Andrew needs to impress. They’re stuck together for better or worse until Nicki’s event.
“Fine, I was frowning. My brothers are dramatic and nosy and—they’re not going to believe you’re dating me.”
“Why the fuck not?”
