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CHAPTER18
NOVA
Ever since themoment in the hall and my slip-up of crying in front of Zeke, I have been a complete awkward ass around him. Stumbling over my words, unable to make eye contact, sensing something that’s shifted between us. For a few days, we’ve been dancing around each other, neither of us willing to discuss the depth of what’s between us.
The morning after he went to the bar with his brothers, he came out of his room and immediately wrapped me up in a tight hug that felt different. It was wordless and brief, but it stirred up all kinds of shit inside me that I’m still trying to sort out.
But everything has definitely changed. He’s been more attentive. Physically, mostly. But also doing yoga with me, helping me cook, and asking a ton of questions about growing up with MS and how that affects my life and future. I can feel the effort, but all it does is ignite the guilt I feel around my secrets.
The door slams and I refocus on the steaming pot in front of me. Shit. I fumble with the heat to turn it down. I have no idea how long I was daydreaming about him, but there’s a slight smell of burnt beans.
Zeke appears in the kitchen wearing his grease-stained t-shirt, his hair slick with sweat and poking out in random directions.
“Did you go to the gym after work?” I ask, scanning his body and how his shirt fits across his chest. He ruffles his wet hair with one hand. The blackened tips of his fingers always catch my attention.
“Yup. Whatcha making?” He drops his gym bag on the floor, and I shiver as the cool air that follows him in and swirls around my feet.
“It’s a bean chilli. I’m so frickin’ cold all the time. I need something hearty.” The weather is getting steadily colder. It already feels like the dead of winter in Tennessee, and it’s barely October.
He leans in close to inhale my cooking, and by all accounts, him smelling like a greasy shop and workout sweat should not glitch my brain the way it does. Call it pheromones or hormones, but he smells like pure power, and I want him to dominate me.
Like he can hear my thoughts, his attention shifts abruptly to me, his eyes darkening for a moment before a smirk crosses that sexy-ass mouth of his.
“Smells delicious,” he says, pressing his lips to mine in a stunning but short kiss.
I jerk backward and blink through my confusion. He’s frozen in place with his mouth still slightly puckered, his eyebrows low in a puzzled frown. He licks his lips and tilts his head.
“Wow,” he says slowly as he straightens to his full height. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking domestic.”
I touch my mouth and wrap my other arm around my middle. Not because I’m upset, but because I want to rip his clothes off and fuck him silly right here on the floor. My heart pounds, and my cheeks heat. That is certainly not domestic.
He steps back from me. Everything in me screams to yank him back in, but my insecurity locks me in place.
“It’s okay. It just surprised me.” I press my lips together to seal in the kiss.
“Me too,” he laughs and knocks his knuckles on the counter. “I won’t let it happen again.”
He spins away and disappears into the bathroom before I can tell him that I might want it to happen again. I hear the shower start, and I lean against the counter to brace my shaking limbs. His lips still linger on mine, even ten minutes later as I absently stir the chilli.
The door to the bathroom opens, and steam billows out around him.
“Zeke,” I call, and he pauses in the doorway.
He’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, sitting low on his hips. The hair on his lower stomach pulls my eyes to stare at his junk. It’s unfair that all the angles of his body are like giant traffic arrows, leading straight to his dick.
“Um—” I bite my lip, forgetting what I was going to say.
“I’m up here, Nova.” My eyes snap up to his, and he ruffles water from his rich brown hair. The look on his face is pure amusement. “You still have the pregnancy hornies?”
I swallow hard. Part of me wishes he’d ask me if he could take care of it for me. Because if he offered to whip the towel off right here and fuck me, I would not turn him down.
But he doesn’t.
I open my mouth to ask him. I could ask him to take care of me. Judging by the sexy smirk on his lips, he wouldn’t turn me down, either.
“So, I meant to ask if this brunch we’re doing with your family is kind of a Thanksgiving thing? Isn’t it Thanksgiving in Canada this weekend?” I stutter the words out and chew on my thumbnail.
I avert my gaze from him, but he steps closer. Close enough for me to see the stray beads of water clinging to his hair and running down the slope of his collarbone.
