Page 8 of Hooked on Trouble

Her passive-aggressive reply: “It’s okay. I’ve forgiven you for skiing into me. We might not have met otherwise.”

Sawyer jumps in then, all four of my friends joking about how crappy their lives would be if they hadn’t met. The odd woman out, I keep my mouth shut. I’d erase that night if I could. I wish we hadn’t spotted the boys in their condo, or Nico, to be precise. The second I saw his massive frame, tight T-shirt emphasizing each inked muscle, I pushed the girls to be wild and crazy, to invite ourselves inside. The casual hookup I’d imagined was anything but.

“Shay said you saw Nico at the station today.” When I don’t answer Lily, she nudges my elbow. “How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

“Fine good or fine bad?”

“Fine, meaning: I’d rather stick my face in a termite mound than spend time with him.” I also wanted to crawl over his desk and stick my face somewhere else, but I keep that nugget to myself.

I pick up my menu, determined to let this day go. The wallet incident and being around Nico—all that’s in the past. Tonight is about hanging with my friends and celebrating our new business, in name, at least. Tomorrow I’ll hunt for a paying job, and there’s a chance I’ll find my sister soon. My future is bright.

Until a shadow falls across me. “This seat taken?”

At the sound of Nico’s voice, my heart flips, involuntarily. It shouldn’t flip. It should stay exactly where he left it, incinerated on his condo floor in Aspen. Instead of replying, I aim a missile glare at Shay. She shrugs as if she didn’t know he was coming. All eyes are on me—expectant, waiting—leaving me little choice.

“The seat is not taken.” I lift my menu higher and study the main courses. Chicken something. Shrimp something. The words blur, like I’ve left my camera’s shutter speed open too long.

The chair across from me scrapes along the wood floor.

Flip goes my traitorous heart.

My table wobbles as he sits, and I clench my jaw. He’s probably leaning on his inked elbows, probably staring at me, forcing himself into my space. My world. My body temperature spikes, along with my anger. Not wanting him to ruin this night, I put down my menu and focus on Shay and Kolton. “How’s Jackson?”

They share a look and burst out laughing. When Kolton recovers, he says, “Good, but thanks to Sawyer, his latest quirk has us questioning our sanity.”

Sawyer pulls back from whispering to Lily. “Every kid should have a drum set.”

Shay makes a show of rubbing her ear. “Tell that to my hearing.”

“He’s actually not half bad,” Kolton says. “But he won’t put down the drumsticks and insists on smacking everything in whacking distance. Including Shay’s ass.”

Sawyer beams. “The kid learns fast. We should put on a talent show. Jackson could write a song, my nieces could choreograph a routine, and Nico could roll his hips. We’d rake in the cash.” Sawyer picks up his phone and shakes it, taunting Nico with the video he took a while back.

Eager to embarrass his friend, Sawyer showed it to me one night in Toronto. So accustomed to associating Nico with anger, I surprised myself by laughing. Cackling, really. Nico dancing with five-year-olds is a sight to behold. Seeing how cute he was with Sawyer’s nieces, how willing he was to humiliate himself for a smile, melted a layer of my animosity.

Then I remembered Aspen.

That night I’d glimpsed what it would be like to feel open and vulnerable and cared for, how I’d imagined having family would feel—unconditional acceptance, an unbreakable bond you can’t explain. I had that with Rose, before she left. I had that with Nico, for a minute. And for some messed-up reason I can’t let it go. Can’t move on like usual.

“That video goes live, and I impound your car.”

They all laugh at Nico’s joke, but he slides his gaze toward me, and my breath hitches. His eyes, blue as the ocean, lock on mine. My neck tingles. My fingertips twitch. My ability to sit across from him and hide my hurt and anger evaporates. I also can’t hide my attraction. Still, sixteen months later, one look from him and my stomach drops and my blood boils and I itch to lick every inch of his body.

His large hand presses against my knee under the table. “Can we talk?”

Jesus, his touch. It’s the first time I’ve felt the weight of his palm on me since Aspen. It’s heavy. Huge. Callused. Instinctually I shift forward, my body no longer mine to command. He doesn’t move his hand. Just his thumb. It presses harder, dragging downward. I grip my armrests to keep from sliding to the floor. He stares at me, waiting for my answer.

Yes. No. Maybe. I choose silence.

The way our lives are entrenched with our friends, I’ll have to spend time with him, and I can’t keep pretending I can block him out. Moving here was about starting fresh, which means letting go of this grudge. But talking about Aspen could stir up more feelings, the same way the experience spurred my need to find Rose. If we talk about our time in the hot tub, it could unhinge me further.

Our waiter arrives to take our order, and Nico’s thumb moves again, a tiny brush, his skin against mine, sending a pulse between my thighs. My sanity plummets. I shout, “Chicken,” like a lunatic as I push away from the table.

Nico’s hand slides from my knee, but his eyes don’t waver. I feel his gaze on my back as I hurry to the bathroom. The second I get inside, I close the door and lean against it, thankful it’s not a public room with several stalls. I take a few deep breaths.

How can that bit of contact turn me inside out? The smallest touch?