We take turns, going back and forth, giving and taking, and by the time we reach the climax of the scene—pun clearly intended—I’m breathless and a little bit sweaty, my heart pounding in my chest. Who knew writing could count as cardio?
I’m about to close my laptop, maybe go dive into one of the snow piles outside to cool my heated skin, but then Nick keeps typing.
He cups her cheek in his hand, perched over her, their chests pressed together so it feels as if their hearts beat as one. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you. And if this is all you need from me, closure or one last time or a way to work out the sexual tension, if this is the last time I hold you in my arms, then I need you to know that I love you still. That I will love you always.”
My heart stops in my chest.
Sure, these words are coming from our hero, but I can’t help but wonder if they’re also coming from Nick. Wewould be fools to deny the sexual tension between us—it’s only been building since that first moment backstage, when just a single brush of his skin on mine sent my goose bumps into overdrive.
But is there something deeper here? Can there be something more?
Nick has only been back in my life less than a week—two if we want to count the week of DMing—but the impact is already undeniable. From the way his banter stoked the creative part of my brain that was dormant for months to the way a simple brush of his skin against mine during our stupid massage was more arousing than all the foreplay of my last three one-night stands combined. I would be an idiot to forget how he hurt me, but am I also an idiot if I don’t fully explore this? Even if it turns out to be nothing?
Part of me wants to reach out to Alyssa and Kennedy, call in some backup, but the bigger part of me is too afraid of what they might say. I feel like that should act as a warning of some sort, but I choose to ignore it.
Besides, time is of the essence here. Something tells me that once we leave this inn, once we lose this forced proximity, it will be too easy to walk away and never look back. Never get the answers I really need.
I slam my laptop shut before I call down to room service, ordering dinner and a bottle of wine. I travel down the hallway to the ice machine, filling the bucket so we have it on hand for later. I notice the bottle of whiskey has been cracked, but there’s still plenty left, more than enough for my needs.
I take a quick shower and put on some makeup. I’vebeen wearing the same outfit for three days now, and my wardrobe options are limited. My underwear rotation means I’m back in the red lace thong and bra, thank god. I could put my red dress from the party back on, but I want to be comfortable, and nothing about sitting in skintight fabric is comfortable. So I slide into my jeans and steal a T-shirt from Nick’s bag. The cotton is soft on my skin, and it smells like him. I indulge in a whiff because there’s no one around to see me.
And then, when I’m fully ready, I take out my phone and text him. It’s been so long since I sent him a text that our old messages have disappeared, lost to the years of phone upgrades.
Me:Can you come up to the room? I think we need to talk.
It doesn’t take him more than a second to answer me.
Nick:Be right there.
I take a few steadying breaths. Though I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly ready for this. I don’t even know what I want to say to him, I just know that that elusive closure seems to be dangling right in front of me and this is my way of reaching out and grabbing it.
When the door to the room opens a minute later, I’m sitting in the armchair. The room service has been delivered, the extremely nice and patient employee helped me arrange the rolly little table in between the bed and armchair so we can both sit and pretend like we’re grown-ups having a real meal together.
Nick’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his forehead as he takes in the scene. “What’s all this?”
I gesture for him to take a seat. “I figured it was time we cut the bullshit and have a real conversation.”
His eyebrows creep up even farther. “Should I be scared right now? Why do I feel a sense of foreboding overcoming me?”
“Haha. I took the liberty of ordering dinner.” I wave my hands over the table like Vanna White.
“If this is my Christmas present, I feel like I should let you know I didn’t get you anything.” Nick hesitates for a second more before awkwardly sliding onto the bed and tucking his long legs under the tiny table.
I pick up my glass of wine and hold it up. “Cheers.”
Nick clinks his glass against mine. “What exactly are we toasting to?”
“How about an evening of honesty?” I look him right in the eyes as I sip my wine. I can’t afford seven years of bad sex, and I’m not taking any chances.
Nick’s brow furrows and there’s more than a hint of trepidation in his eyes. “Can I at least enjoy my dinner first?”
“I suppose.” I dig into the pasta dish sitting in front of me. It’s not bad, considering we’ve been eating from the same restaurant for days in a row.
“I stopped by the front desk on my way up and they let me know the storm is supposed to pass tonight. You should be able to head home tomorrow.” Nick takes a bite of his own pasta and lets out a little groan of appreciation.
I swallow thickly before responding because that groan sounded a lot like arousal, and we are not going there right now. “Yeah, I ran into Lauren in the lobby a little bit ago and she mentioned that.”
“I’m sure you’re excited to be getting out of here.”
