Page 20 of Unwritten Rules

His pride fills me from head to toe when his stoic features brighten the entire room.

He smiles broadly, finally taking a seat to study me intently. “I didn’t know that. So what did you decide to study?”

I smile back even wider. “English Literature, duh!”

He snorts a laugh. “Well, let me see if I can pull some strings at Walden-Forbes so you won’t miss the rest of the term.”

My smile broadens impossibly. “I would love that, Nate. Thank you!”

Initially, I fight it, but before I can help it, I’m overcome with all-encompassing tiredness – part fatigue and part relief at having this man in my corner – that I can’t keep my eyes open for another second. Nate notices from his seat opposite me.

The distance between us is another unwanted reminder that things are not as they once were. Pre-kiss, he’d have sat beside me, possibly with an arm over my shoulder or a foot on my lap.

He’s immediately on his feet, rounding the coffee table between us, when I finally say to hell with it. My eyes fall closed, and I flop back onto the enormous L-shaped sofa that dominates the space in my living area.

I feel him lower himself beside me. His hand ghosts across my face as I feel him gently pushing back some errant strands of hair from my forehead.

My eyes flutter open, but barely – the effort involved is too great to even try harder.

“I’m tired.”

My barely intelligible mumble makes his full, pink lips, shrouded in facial hair, draw up in a broad grin as he flashes his perfectly straight white teeth. “I can see that, littlest DeMarco.”

I prefer the other nickname he gave me. Back then.

“I’m okay. G’night.”

I nuzzle further into the snug couch, perfectly content to sleep here. I’m more than happy to continue our conversation with a clear mind in the morning until suddenly I’m being lifted bridal-style from my cushioned haven.

As I watch from underneath my lashes, Nate moves down the hallway, carrying me like I weigh no more than a feather.

“Which room?” His deep voice rumbles through his chest and into my ear, pressed against his hard pecs.

“Second to the right.”

I feel him nudge the door open with his foot, gingerly making his way in the almost darkness to place me on my bed, so gently as though I’m made of the most delicate china. My heart squeezes inside my chest; those little gestures of his speak volumes, whispering much more than words to my wayward heart.

Pulling back to his full height, he quickly finds the switch for the dim bedside lamp before reaching down to remove my trainers and socks from my feet. Next, he draws a sheet up over the lower half of my torso and tucks my plush deer, Mitzi, in beside me. Then he glances about the space, stopping when his eyes find a large deep purple cuddler armchair that Olivia bought as a housewarming gift.

He shucks his shoes, followed by his jacket, before unbuttoning the sleeves of his white shirt to roll them up slightly. If I had the energy, I’d drool at the displayed hair-dusted forearms before me.

Eliza always refers to Nate’s forearms as “arm porn.”

The girl isn’t wrong.

I prop myself up slightly on one elbow when he crosses the room to hoist the armchair into his strong hold, depositing it closer to my bedside.

When he slowly turns to meet my eyes, our gazes lock and hold as he leisurely lowers himself into the seat, his features unreadable as ever.

“Go back to sleep, littlest DeMarco.”

I quirk a brow in bewilderment. “And where are you sleeping?”

Wordlessly patting either armrest, Nate sinks back into the chair with his arms crossed over his chest, and his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

“There? That’s ridiculous. You can sleep—”

“No, Mila.” His tone brooks no argument, so I know it’s utterly pointless to continue.