be real, that’s what I’ve been daydreaming about for the better part of the year.
He takes in a sharp breath and I try to unbutton his pants to get better access. “This is why street clothes are a bad idea,” I pant. “This is far too much clothing.”
Nick moves his mouth to my neck and I groan; the groan only deepens when he slides his hand up my shirt—his shirt—and cups my breast, then rolls one nipple between his fingers.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I ask hoarsely, attempting to get his pants off. “Because if you don’t take these off now I am going to expire, Nick.”
He shifts on top of me, still kissing my neck. His persistent stubble tickles my ear as he says, “We don’t have to rush, Chloe. We’ve got all night.”
And suddenly, all thoughts of everything else—my family, the movie, my fight with Annie, my aimless life—float out of my brain, because there’s only room for one name in there on repeat like a stuck record. Nick Velez Nick Velez Nick Velez.
I use all the strength I have to flip him over and get on top of him, because one night doesn’t seem like so much time anymore, doesn’t seem like it’s enough time to do everything I want to do to him.
But Nick stops, puts his hands on my shoulders to stop me, too. “Hey,” he says. “Are you sure? Do you want this? Because we can stop right now if you don’t.”
This might be a bad idea. It might be the worst idea in the history of the entire universe, but right now I don’t care about a single thing except that Nick Velez is underneath me and I plan on staying in this bed all night.
“I want this,” I say, and before the words are even out of my mouth, Nick rips off my shirt so hard that buttons ricochet across the room.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I open my eyes to darkness. Nick stirs, pulling me closer, and I let him, allowing myself a moment to feel comfortable and safe and held.
“Good morning,” he mumbles, his breath warm in my ear and his voice gravelly. I am instantly turned on. Everything about Nick is a turn-on, like someone took all the individual things I find attractive and distilled them into one lethal person.
“Wow,” I say, kissing his hand. “I can’t believe we’ve been arguing and avoiding making out for so long when we could’ve been . . . you know, doing this.”
Nick pulls me even closer, kissing my neck. “We can do this for the rest of our lives, Chloe. You just say the word.”
My breath stops as my heart speeds up. The. Rest. Of. My. Life.
I try, as hard as I can, to imagine myself here for the rest of my life. At the coffee shop. In Columbus. In Nick’s apartment. And no matter what I do, no matter how hard I squeeze my eyes shut, I can’t see that vision. Eventually, my dad won’t be here anymore, and even though I can’t think that far ahead, I don’t see myself staying here. I see myself somewhere else, somewhere far away starting a new life all by myself. Not caring for anyone else, or about anyone else. Being in charge of my feelings and my life only.
I lift Nick’s arm and roll out of bed, pulling his flannel shirt over me quickly. He’s so tall that it covers all the necessary parts; yes, he saw me naked in great detail last night, but it feels different now.
“Where are you going?” he asks, reaching for me. “I don’t have to get up for . . .” He looks at his bedside clock with one eye closed. “Five entire minutes. We could do a lot in five minutes.”
“That we could,” I say. “But I’m going to hop in the shower. I stink, and people don’t like to buy coffee from baristas who smell bad.”
“I like your stink,” Nick mutters into his pillow, but I head to the bathroom. I take the world’s quickest shower, careful not to use all of his hot water. He has a fully stocked bathroom; he’s not one of those men who uses a combination body wash/shampoo/conditioner on every part of his body. I shake my head, letting the water run over my face. Whatever. So he has body wash. As Nick often says, I have extremely low standards. So what if he has an array of hygiene products, a spotless-yet-comfortable apartment,