Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
This thought lingers in my mind as I finish flat-ironing my hair and apply light makeup, a brush of pink here and there, and no more. Satisfied that I no longer resemble a chick from a horror flick, I walk to the closet, stick my feet into black UGG sneakers, and then head toward the bedroom, only to stop dead in my tracks. On the white tiled ledge that frames my equally white tub is Nick’s bag. I just didn’t look for it. Maybe I didn’t want to see it. Maybe I just wanted him to be the asshole I’ve called him because that would be simple. But he’s not simple, and I don’t feel like we’re simple together at all. I like simple. It’s easy to explain and control, and yet, I find myself walking toward the living room, seeking Nick out, with simple feeling overrated for the first time in my life.
I know he will make demands. I know he will want too much. I know everything for me should be too much right now. And I don’t care. I just want to find him again and inhale that scent of his, which is positively drugging in all the ways Nick is right and wrong. God, I love it.
As I exit the bedroom, I’m drawn toward the kitchen by the low rumble of Nick’s confident voice. Rounding the corner, I find him sitting at the island in profile to me, his hair now tied at his nape, his orange-and-black tiger tattoo displayed as he holds the phone to his ear. The art is detailed—exquisite, really, but somehow simplistic and fierce. While the man, too, is fierce, there is nothing simple about Nick Rogers or what he makes me feel.
“Damn it, North,” he growls into the phone, glancing in my direction, his eyes warming as they find me, and when I might expect him to somehow make this moment sexual, he does not. He lifts his cup to offer me his coffee, an intimate gesture that does funny things to my belly. I start in his direction, and he scowls at something North has said. “Think like the enemy,” he scolds the other man. “I would have prepped my client for every question you gave me for this witness.”
I reach the island and pick up Nick’s cup, my eyes meeting his as I place my lips where his lips may well have been moments before, but the instant the hot beverage touches my lips, the harsh taste of plain black coffee has me scowling. Nick laughs, and apparently North is confused, because Nick says, “No. That wasn’t funny, and you will get your ass handed to you by opposing counsel and then by me.”
Yikes. North is in hot water, and I decide to let Nick focus. I set his cup back down, and I walk to the coffee pot and get another cup brewing for me, listening as he goes back and forth with North for the next couple of minutes. My coffee has brewed and I’m just pouring white chocolate creamer in my steaming cup when Nick says, “Just meet me at my place at five. We’re going to be ready in the morning if we’re up all night.” He ends the call.
And I feel the end of the weekend like a punch in the chest.
I stand at the counter, my back to him, not about to turn until I figure out what the heck this reaction is that I’m having. What I’m feeling, which I guess is another curse and gift Nick has given me. I am feeling things again because of him, but he’s about to leave. And of course he is. It’s Sunday. And, rental property or not, he lives and works in another city, and I’d planned on telling him to leave anyway. Hadn’t I? No. I hadn’t. I’m just trying to make myself feel simple and in control. And I am those things. This is a fling. This is a weekend fling. It was supposed to be one night. It’s just a—
Nick steps behind me, his hands at my waist, his touch radiating through me with more impact than any man should ever have over me, especially since this is the last time I might ever touch him. And it feels much worse in practice than I’d imagined.
He leans in and nuzzles my hair, inhaling like he is breathing me in. And God, I really love when he does that. “Come to the city with me,” he says.
Shock rolls through me, and I face him, my hands landing hard on his chest. “What?”
“Come with me, Faith. I have to go back to San Francisco. If you’re with me, then we can deal with the bank together. And you need a break from all of this. We’ll come back here for the weekend.”