by Black, Lacey
The way he says that makes me smile. It’s a small one, but it’s there nonetheless. The idea of being a part of a team once more, of having a friend or someone close to you to share the burden is awfully appealing.
Plus, there’s Nick, and he’s quite appealing himself.
We lie in silence for a while, the occasional noise of a passing vehicle mixed with our breathing are the only sounds. I think about Josh and everything we shared, and then I try to look to the future. It’s scary and dark. A mystery. But if I think about what Nick said, about taking small steps toward whatever the future may hold for me, then it doesn’t look so daunting.
It almost feels manageable.
“You know, there’s never been another man in this bed.”
“I can go,” Nick says, starting to get up.
“No,” I reply immediately, reaching for his arm. “Stay. I want you to stay.” And I’m surprised to realize how much truth is in that statement. “Please.”
His hazel eyes look dark in the moonlight, and they follow my every move. They appear so relaxed, so familiar, and yet hold so many secrets. His cheekbones are high and his jaw covered in two days’ worth of stubble. Nick hasn’t shaved daily since Collette moved out of his life and took his cat.
I glance at his nose, which is usually fairly straight, but tonight is a bit tweaked and puffy. You know, from where I punched him?
And then my eyes fall to his lips. His perfectly kissable, soft lips. I probably shouldn’t be thinking about them that way, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Your lip is swollen,” I whisper, lightly touching the smarted flesh of his bottom lip.
“Pssh, you should see the other guy,” he teases, trying to give me a grin, but realizing it pulls against the broken flesh.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’ve never been beat up by a gorgeous woman before. Not that I’ll be telling all my buddies, but it wasn’t so bad.”
“You think I’m gorgeous?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Dammit!
“I think you’re incredibly beautiful. And smart. And funny. And when you smile, I think the sun shines even brighter.”
My heart gallops in my chest and I almost forget how to breathe. I have no idea what to say, or if I’m supposed to say anything in return. What do I say, “Thanks, you’re pretty damn hot yourself?”
Instead of saying words, I place my arm across his side, resting it on his back. The movement brings our bodies much closer than they’ve ever really been – especially on this more intimate level. Nick brings his arm up and sets it on my side. He moves so slowly, as if testing the waters.
I don’t stop him.
When our arms are crossed, essentially holding each other, I lean my head forward against his jaw. I exhale deeply, then breathe in his woodsy scent. Sure, there’s a weird mixture of sweat and blood, but it’s oddly familiar. He just smells like…Nick. Leaning in even more, my cheek comes to rest on his chest. His very firm, muscular chest. I can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath his tank top, a solid reminder that he’s alive. That I’m alive.
I close my eyes and relax into our new (and really nice) position, entwined together on top of my bed. The events of the night, the day, the week, and hell, probably the last couple of years, finally catch up to me and start to drag me under. My eyelids can no longer stay open and my mind just wants to shut down. For the first time in…forever, I don’t dwell on the past, like I normally do at bedtime. I don’t think about what I lost or the one who was stolen from me. I don’t picture our future and what could have been.
For the first time in so very long, I’m not alone.
Chapter Twelve
Nick
I wake to sunlight in my eyes and a warm hand against my chest. It’s almost a startling revelation, but then memories of last night flood my mind quickly, reminding me of where I am and why I’m here.
Meghan.
I try not to move. I’m afraid that if I move, so will her hand, which is under my shirt and splayed on my chest, and in the respect of full disclosure, I really, really like her touching me. I like it so much, in fact, that the proof is in my pants. And they’re not exactly the best pants to camouflage such evidence. The loose, white material pretty much looks just like the six-man tent I used to camp with in my youth. That’s something I need to change – and quickly. The last thing I need is for Meghan to wake and see my dick saluting her.
Grandma, Grandma, Grandma, Grandma. Nothing kills a hard-on like the memories of your grandma making you a Spiderman birthday cake when you’re ten years old, right?
Right.
Just when my pesky cock starts to act appropriately in the presence of a friend, I get a good look at the beautiful woman in my arms. God, she’s breathtaking. She looks completely relaxed, vulnerable even, as she sleeps on my arm. Even when she’s drooling on me, she’s still a vision.
Her brown hair is sorta wild, splayed out against the soft blue and brown comforter. We’re both still curled up on our sides, the way we fell asleep together last night – even if she fell asleep much sooner than I did. For almost two hours, I watched her sleep like a creeper, memorizing everything I could possibly commit to memory of the woman who was sleeping against my chest.
Last night. That was something. My nose feels fine, but my lip is a bit tender this morning. But I don’t give a shit. She could beat the shit out of me again if it meant letting out all of that anger she’d been hanging on to for so long. I’ve never seen her like that – upset to the point of violence, but I’m glad it happened. It was almost like a cleansing, a washing of her soul and the demons that plague her.
Is she healed? Ready to move on with her life? Hell no. But maybe now she’ll actually start trying, instead of merely existing. That’s what I want for her – to try. To see her easy smiles every day, to hear those little bubbles of laughter. I’ve heard anger is an important part of the grieving process, and maybe now that she’s unleashed two years worth of fury, she’ll finally face what troubles her.
And I wasn’t kidding. I feel like we’re in this together. She needs a friend, more than anything. Even if it means I’m permanently benched in the friend zone, I’d do it just so she gains that little spark of life back in her beautiful emerald eyes.
Which is why I should probably get up. I should remove myself from this comfortable little bubble I’m in, and leave. She can wake up on her own and go about getting ready for her day, without anything like regret setting in. I think that’s my biggest fear: that she’ll regret asking me to stay. Even though nothing happened, I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable that I’m here – in her bed.
Though, it’s a pretty fucking fantastic place to be.
Before I can slip from the place where she sleeps, a pair of green eyes open and meet mine. I feel her tense, but then immediately relax. Instead of the panic I expect her to feel, she offers me a small smile. That fucking smile is my undoing.
“Good morning,” I whisper, still terrified to move.
“Hi.” Her eyes seem to smile as she looks at me, her head still firmly resting on my forearm. She stretches her body out straight, the movements pushing her chest upward, toward my face. My cock notices. My eyes do too. Meghan also seems to notice where her hand is. I feel her fingers flex against my peck, but they don’t move. Instead, they almost seem to explore. I’m pretty sure no one is breathing at the moment as her fingers dance on my skin. “What time is it?” she finally asks, a small yawn slipping from her lips.
Glancing over her shoulder, I spot her alarm clock. “Six fifteen.”
“Wow, really? I never sleep this late or hard without waking up at least once,” she says, almost absently to herself.
“You were rather exhausted when you fell asleep.” She doesn’t answer with words, but merely nods her head.
“Your lip is all swollen and bruised,” she says after a few long seconds of silence. I also notice she still hasn’t moved her hand from my chest.
>
“I’ll be okay.”
“It’s probably going to hurt to eat for a while,” she says softly, her eyes full of concern and guilt.
“I’ll be fine, Meghan. I won’t starve.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please stop saying that. I’m not sorry at all.”
“I still feel bad that I hurt you.”
“I’ll live.” My stomach chooses that moment to growl. She’s not the only one who slept soundly last night. I’m usually up by now and at the gym with Rhenn. He hasn’t blown up my phone, which I’m grateful for. I think even he knows that last night was kind of a big moment for her and is letting us be. “I’ll tell ya what. You can make it up to me with breakfast.”
Her eyes light up. “I’m buying.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, I am, so get over it.”
“Fine, but only if I can buy lunch.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Perfect.” She moves, as if to get up, and glances down at where her hand disappears beneath my shirt. Instead of ripping it away like I expect her to, she slowly drags her hand down my chest, grazing my abs. Yep, there goes my cock again. He’s thinking about one thing, and one thing only, and it’s not about the friend line that’s clearly drawn in the sand. My entire body tightens as her soft fingers practically caress my abdomen before slowly pulling from my shirt.
I miss her touch immediately.
But then she does something I’m completely not expecting.
Meghan Summer winks at me and gives me a saucy little smile before turning and climbing from the bed. “I’m going to jump in the shower,” she says over her shoulder before strutting into the adjoining bathroom. Yes, strutting. It’s not the walk of someone who’s embarrassed or shy. It’s the walk of someone who rather enjoyed copping a feel.
I like this side of Meghan.
I like it a lot.
When the shower starts up, I make my way to the kitchen. I know how much she enjoys coffee in the morning, so I fire up the coffee maker. While it’s percolating, I take a few minutes to check out her domain. Yeah, I’ve been here before, but I’ve never really gotten a good look at the place – well, except for the pair of men’s shoes still by the door. It’s a comfortable space with soft colors and lighting, and accents of a feminine touch. Not too many, but a few things here and there, like a purple throw pillow that says Home and a pink candle that’s been used a few times.
The scent of coffee fills the air, so I return to the kitchen to pour two cups. I grab the two mugs sitting in the cabinet above the sink and fill them both about three-quarters of the way. I know Meghan needs to add creamer to hers, while I’m more of a plain sugar man.
A few minutes later, I hear soft footfalls in the hall and am greeted by a freshly showered Meghan. A trace of her shampoo fills the air, mixing with the coffee, which could forever be my new favorite scent. She’s wearing green scrubs with toothbrushes on them, her long hair in a standard ponytail, and minimal makeup. Yet, she still looks as beautiful as ever.
“I made coffee,” I tell her, nodding to the two mugs sitting on the counter.
She smiles but then stops when her eyes meet the cups. A look takes over her face. It’s part sadness, part confusion. Shit, what the hell did I do? “Is something wrong?” I ask, wanting to take a step toward her, yet not wanting to upset her any more than I clearly have.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. When her eyes connect with mine, she gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I’m being silly.” She seems to be looking for the right words, so I wait. “It’s just that…that cup. It was Josh’s.”
Oh.
Shit.
I’m drinking out of her dead fiancé’s coffee cup.
Swell job, Nicholas.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I reply instantly, grabbing the cup, intending to pour it out.
“No!” she says, quickly coming at me. “Please don’t.” Meghan holds my hand, which is holding the cup, and our eyes connect. “I want you to use it.”
“I don’t have to.” Why do my words feel like they’re choking me?
“I need you to. Please.”
She lets go of my hand and watches as I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip. The hot liquid against my smarted lip doesn’t feel so great, but I ignore the discomfort and focus on the fact that something bigger is happening here. She’s acknowledging that it’s okay to let go of something from her past – something as small as a coffee cup.
To me, it’s a huge step.
When she seems satisfied that I’m drinking from the mug, she reaches for her own and adds the creamer I placed on the counter. “So,” she starts.
“So,” I mimic, both of us leaning a hip against the counter. “I realized something while you were in the shower. I don’t have any clothes here and you don’t have a car.” Her eyes immediately drop to my outfit – the white tank top I was wearing under my karate gi.
“Shit, you’re right,” she mumbles, a pink tint sliding up her neck.
“I was thinking that we still have time for this breakfast thing. Since you’re ready for work, I’ll drive to my place, hop in the shower, and get ready. I at least need shoes.”
“You don’t have shoes?” She seems mortified.
“I was a little preoccupied last night to put them on,” I tell her casually with a shrug. “Anyway, we can stop at the café for a bite to eat, and then, I can either take us to work or drop you off at the dojo to get your car, depending on the time.”
“That sounds like a solid plan. I can’t believe you left without shoes.”
“I was fine. My feet where the last thing I was worried about,” I answer honestly.
“I’m sure. You were more concerned about the blood gushing from your nose and lip,” she says sheepishly.
“No, I was more concerned about Meghan, who was in desperate need of a friend at that moment.”
Her eyes soften and lips curl upward. “Meghan did need a friend, and she’s very grateful to Nick for being there for her.”
“There is no place that Nick would have rather been.”
“I’m not sure about that,” she replies with a laugh. “I didn’t know crying, emotional women were Nick’s thing.”
And again, before I can stop myself, I reply, “I think Meghan is Nick’s thing.”
She looks up at me with wonder, excitement, and maybe even uncertainty in her eyes, but she smiles nonetheless. She doesn’t run screaming from the room, nor gently remind me that I’m her friend and only her friend. I’ll chalk that one up in the win category.
No, I’m not entirely sure where this is going, or what the future may hold for her and I, but the door to finding out feels cracked open. I just have to be careful to enter slowly, and not kick the door and bust in the way I want to.
Slow and steady is the key.
* * *
After a quick stop at my house, in which I run through the shower in record time and throw on the first pair of Dockers and dress shirt I can find, we’re off to the café for breakfast. Having Meghan sitting in the passenger seat seems almost too natural. Like she was meant to be there. I try not to let my mind go there, but it does.
And now I can’t unthink it.
The café is fairly busy with both families and individuals heading into work. We’re able to find an open booth, but before we can sit down, our attention is drawn to the opposite side of the room. “Youuwhooooo, Meggy Pie!”
“Crap,” Meghan mumbles as we both turn to the couple waiving their hands. “We should go say hello.”
“We should,” I reply, following behind as Meghan makes her way toward her grandparents.
“Well, look at this! What a wonderful surprise,” Emma says, her entire face lighting up with excitement. “Join us,” she adds, motioning with her hand to the booth opposite of where Orval and she sit together.
“Oh, we don’t have much time. We just stopped in for a bite before heading to work,”
Meghan replies.
“You’ll get food just as quickly here that you would on the other side of the room,” Orval contradicts. It’s the first time I notice that his hand is holding hers on top of the table.
“Unless, you know, you two would like to be alone for a bit. Then, by all means, please go sit over in that quiet, private little booth in the corner,” Emma adds, an ornery glint in her sparkling eyes.
“No, no. No privacy needed. We can sit,” Meghan quickly replies, sliding into the empty booth.
I follow suit, the outside of my thigh gently touching hers beneath the table. She doesn’t move over farther, so neither do I.
“So, what brings you two out? Together.” Oh, that mischievous ol’ woman is definitely up to something. She’s like a dog with a new bone.
“We just ran into each other and decided to have a quick bite before heading into the office.” I notice Meghan doesn’t mention anything about the sleepover, not that I blame her.
“Sure, sure. Everyone’s gotta eat, right?” she says, that look still in her eyes. “Besides, I’m sure it was easy running into each other.” Emma shrugs casually before taking a sip of her black coffee.
I can feel Meghan tense in the seat next to me. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, since his car was at your house all night, I imagine you probably ran into each other a few times. You know, in the hallway, the kitchen…the bedroom.” Emma’s smile turns victorious as she gazes at her granddaughter from across the table.
Meghan gasps next to me. “You were spying on me?”
“Of course not, dear. I sent Orvie out for ice cream, and he happened to mention seeing Nick’s car.”
“I’m not on the route to the ice cream parlor, Grandpa,” Meghan glares across at the old man.
He shrugs at her comment. “I always drive past your place, Meggy Pie. I check up on all of my granddaughters.” There’s no remorse, only compassion as he makes his confession.
“You do?” Meghan asks.
“Always. How do you think we knew about Jaime and Ryan’s long history of having the sex in their driveway?”
“Oh my God,” Meghan mumbles. “They live in the country,” she reminds them.