Page 60 of Spring Break Fling

He didn’t call me out on it. He just watched me for a moment, his dark eyes full of questions he didn’t ask.

I stared out at the ocean. I couldn’t look at him. He was opening up to me, letting me see the pain in his life, and I wasn’t letting him get in. I felt torn, caught in a storm of emotions that battered at my defenses. With Nikko so close, every part of me tingling from his touch, it was increasingly difficult to hold on to my resolve.

“Why can’t you open up?” he finally asked.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts and stay strong. “It’s complicated,” I managed to say, hating how feeble it sounded even to me.

He smirked and shook his head. “Yeah, isn’t it always.”

I wanted to apologize, but what could I say? I’m only here to fuck with you? To make you want me so I could dump you?

No. I couldn’t.

If I kept sitting here with him, I was going to spill my guts. I was going to tell him my whole life story and end up having sex with him. That would be a mistake. I couldn’t let myself fall into that trap. And it would be a trap. He was so easy to fall for.

“It’s getting late,” I said, pulling away. “We should probably head back. I really do need to work on my pitch for the client.”

Disappointment flickered across his face, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, stood, and started packing up the remains of our picnic.

The drive back to my hotel was quiet. The silence wasn’t tense but it was heavy. When he pulled up to the curb, he turned to me, his hand resting on the steering wheel.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he said. “You can’t keep hiding.”

I swallowed hard, nodding without meeting his gaze.

“Goodnight, Hannah,” he said softly.

“Goodnight, Nikko,” I replied, slipping out of the car.

As I watched him drive away, I felt the war raging inside me—desire battling with self-preservation, hope fighting against fear. I so wanted to fall for him. He wasn’t the man I initially thought he was. There was so much more to him.

I walked into the lobby and up to my room. I was already thinking about how I could explain Nikko to my friends. We had all misjudged him. He was a good guy. I didn’t need to fix him. He was just fine the way he was. Sure, he had a past, but who didn’t? It was what he had made of himself now that mattered, not the shadows that trailed behind him.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me, and I tried to push away the feelings stirring inside. But it wasn’t working.

My mind replayed our evening—the laughter, the vulnerability in his voice, and that kiss. That damn kiss which had ignited something deep within me that I feared I couldn’t douse with reason or resolve.

This was so much harder than I thought it was going to be.

20

NIKKO

The needle buzzed in my hand as I filled in the cross on my client’s arm. Normally, I would talk to my customers. It helped distract them from the discomfort and it made the day pass more quickly. But my mood was about as pleasant as stepping on a hornet’s nest barefoot. Sunday mornings at the shop were usually slow—just the occasional walk-in looking for something impulsive and regrettable. But we were still playing catch up from cancelled appointments the day we had to clean the shop.

“Dude, do you think I should put a rose at the base?”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at the guy I was working on. “What?”

The guy twisted his arm around, trying to get a better look at the ink. “Here, right at the base. Think it would balance the cross out?”

I eyed the fresh black lines, still raw and slightly raised on his pale skin. “Yeah, a rose could work. Traditional, but it adds a good contrast.” I set the tattoo machine down and rubbed my forehead. The incessant buzzing was starting to grate on my nerves, which was unusual.

“Cool, cool,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s do it.”

I nodded absently and picked up the machine again, the needle resuming its relentless dance across his skin. I just wanted to be done. The work felt like a chore and I didn’t want to do a fucking rose or thorns or anything else. My mood was rotten but it had nothing to do with this client. The situation with Hannah was twisting me up inside.

Why had I let her get to me? Why did every damn thing she say echo in my head? Even the most inconsequential words meant something. It reminded me of how much I cared despite my best efforts.