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“Where’d you find those?” With a gasp, I try to snatch them, but he holds the cards behind his back.
“You left them at my place, so I figured I’d bring them here. Now, admit you miss me, and I’ll give them back.”
“I don’t miss you,” I lie to protect myself.
“You’re such a pretty liar that I want to believe it’s the truth, but I bet if I dipped my fingers beneath that dress that I can’t stop staring at, I’d find your panties wet for me, and only me.”
“Or you’d find me drier than the Sahara in July, but I guess you’ll never know.”
“Now, that’s a bet I’d take.” He kisses my cheek. “You already know how much I like burying my head between your thighs.”
“That’s not happening,” I say to put distance between us, but his words already have that familiar need building.
“But it is,” he counters.
“You’re too cocky.”
“No. Just hopeful.” He waves the notecards. “Do you want these or not?”
Heat sinks into my body, so I squeeze my legs together, arching a brow. “We both know you’re going to give me the notecards, anyway. You forget that I know you too, and you’d never sabotage my speech.”
His teasing expression fades faster than a shooting star. “You’re right. I wouldn’t because this is important to you. So, why don’t you admit that you miss me as much as I miss you? Because I’m trying here, but this has been hell for me. I know we want different things, Nina, but I just want you. We can figure this out together.”
I draw in a sharp breath. His charming, genuine words make irritation scratch down my spine. Why does he have to make it so difficult for me not to fall for him?
I’m already imagining myself making sacrifices. Leaving my fellowship. Starting a family in my early twenties. Convincing myself that I can be the girlfriend of a pro hockey player even though I hate crowds. I’d have to give up everything to love him.
I throw out a hand. “What do you want me to do, Rhode? Quit my fellowship to be the partner of a hockey player?”
A frown mars his face. “No, I’d never ask you for that, but I’ve been thinking a lot about my contract, and—”
“You’re not giving up hockey for me, either. I won’t let you.”
His brows rise. “You won’t let me? It’s my life.”
“I know, and I care about your life.” I snatch the notecards from his grasp, using them as a shield. “I can’t do this right now. I have a speech to prepare for, but…” I soften. “Thank you. I’m really glad you came.”
He moves closer, his hand gliding down my spine, caressing the curve of my lower back before lingering above my ass. “I was always going to come for you, Nina. This is important to you, but we’re talking about this later because I’m not giving you up.” His eyes drop to the cards shaking in my hands. “You nervous?”
“No,” I say too quickly because all I feel are his words burning into my heart.
Rhode has flaws, I know he does, but the worst part is that I like his flaws. Like the way he pronounces espresso as expresso, or how he’s a little overprotective because he cares, or that he sometimes eats a jar of pickles in bed.
I perk up.
Actually, that’s disgusting. I latch onto that flaw. It’s exactly the visual I need to stop this desire from rising in my body.
He reaches out to hold my sweaty palm. “You’re going to do amazing, Nina. You’ve been working on this for months, and I’ve heard you practicing in the shower. You’ll be great.”
The shower visual brings back memories of Rhode’s body. The way it felt as he pushed into me, fucked me against a door, filled me up with something I didn’t know I needed. He’s the only man who could make me breathless from both moaning and laughing. Rhode's gaze drifts down, lingering on the curve of my lips with a smoldering intensity.
Pickles. Think pickles, Nina.
“Hello, everyone!”
I jump, ripping my gaze to my pottery professor in his burgundy corduroy jacket, standing in front of the crowd.
He taps the mic. “I'm Pierre Michaels, the owner of this gallery and your humble host for the evening. Thank you for coming out to support this wonderful association of artists for The Peaceful Mind Project.”
