Mr. Swoony (The Nest #3)

Chapter 39

Thirty-Nine

Conor

“How did you talk me into this?” Eloise asks, lying flat on her back as I use my chopsticks to pluck a piece of sushi off her nipple.

“A new idea you don’t have to put on your bucket list.” I slide the California roll into my mouth.

“Maybe that’s what I should do with my life. I can be a sushi model.”

I lean over to make sure she sees my expression that conveys my thoughts on anyone else seeing her like this.

“They don’t lie there naked,” she says. “They wear bikinis and stuff.”

My expression doesn’t change. “I would really like it if you didn’t go into that field of work.”

A salmon roll slips off her stomach from her laughter. “That was a sweet way of asking.”

I pick up the piece of sushi. “I’m sweet like that. World’s best boyfriend.” I point at myself before raising the chopsticks to my mouth.

“Boyfriend?”

After I swallow, I bend down and kiss her lips. “Boyfriend. Is that okay?”

The label slipped out, but I want it. I want to be her boyfriend and for her to be my girlfriend. I want us to be a couple. My ego will be bruised if she says no, but I’ll just keep at it until she agrees.

“That’s a little presumptuous.” She shrugs, and another piece of sushi slips off her, but I catch it before it lands.

I hold up the piece of sushi in my chopsticks. “Well, if you don’t want a boyfriend with ninja-like reflexes, then I suppose I’ll have to find someone who wants me.” I’m pretty sure she’s joking, but there are times she has a killer poker face, and I can’t read her.

“I was just clarifying.”

“So, you’re my girlfriend?” I raise my eyebrows.

“As long as you take that last piece of sushi off me so I can sit up.”

“Deal.” I bend over and suck the piece of a tuna roll into my mouth before chewing and swallowing. “Now do you want to eat off me?” I move to shrug off my shorts.

“No, that’s okay. I’m full.” She ate before I asked her if I could eat the remaining pieces off of her. “I feel like I should shower again.”

“Be thankful I didn’t pour soy sauce in your belly button.” I shove all the empty containers in the takeout bag and walk into the kitchen to throw them away.

“That’s never happening,” she calls after me.

I grab the pile of mail off the counter and walk back into the room, tossing it on the bed.

“Speaking of me not being a sushi model, your sister’s been referring me out.”

“Excuse me?” My forehead wrinkles as I climb into bed with her.

She’s put my Falcons T-shirt back on, and seeing my name and number covering her body makes me want to pound my fists to my chest.

“To be a stylist for someone.”

She’s sitting up, sorting through the mail, and I place my hand under my shirt, running my fingertips in a circle. “You have great style. I got schooled about that after you picked your own dress for Jagger’s event.”

“You’ve brought that up a lot. Does it bother you?” She lies down and cuddles into my arms.

“Not in the slightest. But explain to me what a stylist does.”

I run my hand down her arm, and she rests her chin on my chest. “Helps someone with their wardrobe and style choices. I guess essentially, I’m helping them dress for their body type and helping them present themselves to the world the way they want to be seen. Kyleigh has a client who is going on a European honeymoon, and she wants me to pick out the clothes she’ll bring. She’s supposed to message me sometime soon.”

“Do you think you’ll enjoy it?”

We haven’t gotten to the point where I have any idea how much money Eloise has from her trust fund, and I only want to know if she wants to tell me. It’s her business, and even though I want us to be long term, that money is hers and hers alone. If she wants to live off it and never earn a penny doing anything else, that’s her choice. It has no bearing on why I’m with her.

“I think so. I love dressing myself and putting looks together, going out and having the thrill of finding the perfect complement to whatever outfit I have in my head. But I want to do some research to make sure I’m picking looks for a client and not just items I gravitate toward personally. Everyone has their own style, items they’re comfortable in. I can’t think of anything worse than someone wearing something they hate because I told them to. I’ve done it enough over the years.”

I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “Just that thinking tells me you’re going to do awesome at it.”

She presses her lips to my chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I love having her in my arms, all warm and soft. Why did I ever think I didn’t want this?

“For encouraging me. Telling me you think I’d be good at it. Boosting my ego, I suppose.”

“Hey.” I put my finger under her chin and tip my head to look her in the eyes, so she knows how serious I am. “I believe it, I’m not just saying it. I know you’ll be good at anything you decide to do. I’m not boosting your ego. I’m just by your side.”

She scoots up and presses her lips to mine. “You make me wish I met you five years ago.”

“Five years ago, I might have fucked this up, but I understand what you’re saying.” Five years ago, I wasn’t in any frame of mind to make a relationship work. Sure, maybe this feeling I’ve had since the first night I met Eloise would’ve been there, or maybe it would have been different, I don’t know. But I do know I would hate being in Tweetie’s position where he found her and fucked it up, then pretended for years not to care.

“Too cool for monogamy back then?” She rolls out of my arms, but I grab her back, spooning her from behind.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Ice cream. You want some?” She grinds her ass into my dick.

“I have a cone for you to lick if you want.”

She frees herself from my grip and scurries off to the kitchen. With her leaving, I sit up to go through the mail, which turns out is mostly just junk. I flip and flip, until I see a hard cardboard envelope with printed handwriting addressed to me.

“No on the ice cream?” Eloise calls, and I hear the freezer open, the cabinet open, a bowl leave the cupboard, and a spoon leave the silverware drawer.

“If I can lick it off you.” I place the envelope to the side of me, continuing to sort through the junk and bills, separating the two.

“You’ve done enough eating off my body tonight.”

“Not even close. Bring the chocolate sauce and whipped cream. You’ll be my dessert.” God, how many flyers can people send?

“That’s very cliché of you, Conor Nilsen.”

I toss the junk in my wastebasket and set the mail I need to go through later on my dresser, but that cardboard envelope slips out and falls to the floor.

“Hey, you still need to show me your list,” I hear her say.

I open the envelope, curious to see what this is. “Sure, but I have to add to eat a sundae off my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Ha. Ha. You’ve seen both of mine. It’s time I see yours.”

I pull out the contents of the envelope, and the first thing I see is a note in girly script with curls on every letter.

Here’s your chance to score. Miss me?

My heart races as I remove the Post-it Note to see a picture of a topless woman with my number painted above her tits. What the fuck?

“Okay, I’ll smear it, and you can lick it off.” Eloise’s voice is closer now.

I scramble to open my underwear drawer and tuck the envelope and picture under my boxer briefs. Then I slam the drawer shut and pretend to look through the stack of mail, working to calm the anxiety racing through my body.

“Hello?” Eloise says.

I turn around and smack on a fake-ass smile for the first time ever with her.

“You look pale. Are you feeling okay?” She can tell something is off, I see it in her face.

“Yeah, I think maybe I just had too much sushi. I’ll be right back.” I walk over to her and kiss her cheek, then continue to my bathroom.

Once the door is shut, I sit on the toilet and put my head in my hands.

How the hell did she find me again?