Big Pickle: A Secret Boss Romantic Comedy - JJ Knight Page 0,73
feet.
I lean against the cold steel. She’s so close. When I flatten my hand against the surface, I can almost imagine hers is on the other side. Only two inches of metal separate us. But it’s enough.
“I can’t fix what I did,” I say to the door. “But I can promise you I’m different. I know what we had is damn rare. And even if I screwed this up forever, I’m grateful you got me off the pointless path I was going down.”
I lean my head on the door. “You’re the real deal, Nova Strong. I feel lucky to have known that for a while.”
The other side of the door is completely silent. I wait a minute or two more, then realize there’s no point standing here until someone shows up to witness my pathetic bid to get her back. In a world of grand gestures, flash mobs, skywriting, and full-scale productions to declare your love, my little note is nothing.
I don’t deserve her. Soon, she’ll be on her way to a promising future, past my deli, back at school, and on to bigger and better things. I’ll the chump sitting in my condo watching her TED Talk.
She doesn’t need me.
“I’ve said what I needed to say.” I step away from her door.
I don’t plan on staying at the hotel. Knowing how close Nova is, and not being able to be near her, is too much. Now that my family knows what happened between us, I think they’ll back off. They’re nothing if not a bunch of romantics, and they know how deep hurt can go.
I should have been more like them all along.
I take about five steps toward the elevator when Nova’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Hey, Fancy Pants.”
I bite my cheek so I can control my expression as I turn around.
Then I realize, no. That’s what got me in this problem. Deception. An unwillingness to take a risk.
I move toward Nova with my heart out, all my feelings on my sleeve. I’m willing to take whatever she’s going to dish out. It’s her turn to throw a punch. I deserve it.
She stands in her doorway, bathed in soft light from her room, dressed in gray sweatpants and the pink T-shirt I recognize from Dad’s deli. It reads, “I’m done dillin’ with you.”
“Are you?” I ask. I stop a foot away, close enough to smell the shampoo in her hair.
She looks at me quizzically.
I reach out and trace the letters below her collarbone.
She glances down. “Oh!” Then she sobers up. “I don’t know. I thought I was done.”
“But now?”
“I’m not so sure.”
Our gazes hold. I see in her all I’ve missed these last weeks apart. Her beautiful face, framed by glorious hair, and the intelligence in her expression. She is so much better than me at… well, just about everything.
She lets out a long gust of air. “I stand corrected.”
“On what?”
“Your pants. They’re not fancy.”
“Old Navy, off the rack.”
“Those jeans would not pay the rent.”
I’m happy just to have a conversation with Nova. Any conversation. But there are so many things I want to know.
“So, is there a chance for me?” I watch her face closely, looking for clues.
Her lips press together. “You lied to me. We had an entire affair going on, and you were lying to me the whole time.”
“I was scared,” I say. “I was so fucking scared. What we were doing was so perfect. And I wanted to wait as long as I could before I screwed it up.”
The elevator dings, and Nova’s eyes go wide. We have the whole floor, so it will be someone we know.
“Quickly. In here.”
She grabs my arm and pulls me into her room. When she closes the door, she leans against it. Everything I’m feeling competes for my attention. Relief, that we’re talking. Joy, that I’m so close to her.
And other thoughts, because she’s clearly ready for bed.
And there’s a bed.
In the room.
I back up and bump into it, falling to sit awkwardly on the end.
“You okay?” she asks.
“No.”
She sits next to me. “I don’t bite.”
“You probably should.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “What do we do, Jason?” She hesitates. “Do I have to call you Jace?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Jason feels like who you were with me.”
“I want to be that man. I am that man.”
“But are you still scared?” Her eyes search my face.
“Hell, yeah. I’m scared shitless.”
“Over me?”
“Over losing you. Over not getting to love you. Over never feeling the way