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Nick chuckles, a dark sound that wraps around my lungs and squeezes. “Won’t be hard.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“We could have been brilliant.”
His use of the past tense stings, but I keep what I hope is a seductive smile plastered on my face.
He’s here. Now. Right in front of me and too tempting to resist. And at this point, I’m not sure it can hurt any more. I might as well take the pleasure as well.
Nick’s presence is a jagged knife stuck in my chest. Painful but also keeping me from bleeding out.
“Are you staying or leaving?” I bite out the question because I can’t keep holding my breath.
Nick exhales, long and irritated. “I need a fucking drink.” He steps away, yanking at his tie like it’s become a noose and tossing it onto the table by the front door. He unbuttons the top of his shirt next, revealing the smooth skin of his throat and the top of his chest.
I trail behind the broad line of his shoulders as he walks away from me and into the kitchen.
I head for the cabinet next to the fridge. “I have…wine?”
When I glance over, Nick nods. “Wine is fine.”
I grab two glasses, set them on the kitchen island, and uncork the bottle. “So…how was Ireland?”
Nick pauses in the middle of rolling up his shirtsleeves. My stomach flips at the sight. There’s something about him that’s just so…virile.
“It went fine,” he answers, his tone slow and measured. Maybe a little confused, like he forgot he ever mentioned it or is surprised I’m asking.
“It’s supposed to be beautiful there.”
“We didn’t do much sightseeing.” He leans his forearms on the counter and studies me more intently than I’d like.
I slide one of the glasses toward him and take a long sip from the other, ignoring his piercing gaze.
Most of our anger seems to have dissipated into thin air, leaving other confusing emotions behind.
Fifteen minutes ago, I was actively working on forgetting Nick with no expectation to see or hear from him in the near future. And now, he’s standing three feet away from me, dissecting me with his eyes.
Finally, he looks away, taking in the white walls and marble countertops and walnut-colored cabinets. There’s no towel on the stove handle or any magnets on the fridge. The few decorations are all staged, like a show home. I shift, wondering if he notices.
Leo was gone for most of the day. I told myself I’d do some unpacking, and all I did before meeting June was submit job applications, clean, and paint my toenails.
“This place is great,” I say. “Thank you again.”
Nick nods, then drains the rest of his glass. “This wine tastes like shit.”
I scoff at the rudeness. “It was on sale.”
“I’m sure it was.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you want more? I’m sure it tastes better, the more you have.”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Awkwardly, I smile, then study the brick wall behind him. This was easier when we were yelling at each other.
“Should I go?”
My eyes dart to Nick’s. His head is tilted to the side, watching me.
