Page 123 of Spring Break Fling

Nikko could stew in his self-righteous, judgmental little world all he wanted.

“Fuck you, Nikko.”

By the time I zipped up the bag, I was vibrating with fury. I supposed I was glad I found out he wasn’t really in this for the long haul before I quit my job and uprooted my whole life. He seemed to think he was the only one that would be making a sacrifice if we moved to New York. I was leaving behind my friends and family and the place I grew up. It wasn’t like this was going to be a cakewalk. I wanted him there with me. It was a big city, and it would be nice to have a friend. A protector.

He was leaving me. I didn’t understand how he could just quit. I wanted him to be my cheerleader. If he was getting the chance to run a big tattoo shop, I would support him.

Wouldn’t I?

I shook it off. It didn’t matter. This was a test of the strength of our relationship. We failed. I heard someone knocking on the door. I stomped over, yanking the door open to find Nikko standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking maddeningly calm.

“Your stuff’s ready,” I said flatly, stepping aside.

“Thanks,” he replied, his voice unreadable as he brushed past me into the apartment. He went straight to the bedroom, where his bag sat waiting for him to collect it.

I followed, crossing my arms. “You’re really doing this, huh?”

“Yup,” he said, grabbing the duffel and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You’re such an ass,” I blurted. “You know that? A complete, grade-A ass.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hannah, I’m not here to fight.”

“Too bad, because I am!” I snapped, stepping in front of him. “You’re just going to leave because I’m taking a job? Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”

He met my gaze, his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. “You think I’m leaving because of the job?”

“You literally said that, Nikko.”

“I’m leaving because you’re lying to yourself.”

I froze, my mouth halfway open. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not chasing a dream,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re running on autopilot, letting people like Clarke tell you what your dream should be.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said, even as his words chipped away at something inside me. “I’ve wanted this my whole life.”

“Have you?” He stepped closer, and for a second, I wanted to back away. “Because the woman I love talks about passion, about building something real and meaningful. You’re telling me that’s what this job is?”

“Why can’t you just let me have this?” I said, my voice cracking. I hated how small it sounded.

“I am,” he said quietly. “I’m not standing in your way. But I won’t stand by you while you throw yourself into something that’ll crush you.”

“You think I’m weak,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, his tone fierce. “I think you’re scared. You’re settling for what’s easy because the hard thing—betting on yourself—feels impossible.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “You don’t get to decide what my dreams are.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me this job is your real dream, Hannah. That you’re not just trying to prove something to Clarke or your parents or whoever the hell else made you feel like you weren’t enough. You want all of your coworkers to applaud you. You’re trying to prove to them you are as good as you know you are. You don’t have to prove shit to anyone. I don’t understand why you can’t be happy with who you are. You know you kicked ass on that project. Why do you need them to say you did?”

“Because not all of us are like you,” I spat. “I’m not cocky. I like to know I’m doing well. I want to be appreciated for my hard work.”

Nikko’s expression softened slightly. “I’m not cocky. I’m confident. There’s a difference. I don’t need people to tell me what I’m worth. I don’t give a shit what people think about me. They don’t know me. They don’t matter to me.”

“You care what people think about a tattoo you do,” I shot back.

He smirked. “No, I don’t. Unless they are an expert and they are better than me, I don’t give a shit.”