Chapter 10
JO
But as usual, his silly excitement was contagious, and soon, I found myself researching editing tips. Because if Nico Tremblay wanted a family portrait to hang over his mantel, I would take a good family portrait.
When he opens his door to me, I’m momentarily stunned.
He’s still tugging on a shirt, his hair wet from a shower, and his shorts short enough to show off a thigh tattoo—a butterfly with a dagger as the body, inked in all black.
It’s darkly beautiful and something I didn’t know he had.
Not that I’d have a reason to know, but I can’t stop staring all the same.
Until Nico purposefully clears his throat.
I flick my gaze up to his grinning face, and he steps toward me with his arm extended for a hug. I go to him, if nothing else than because I’m a bit stunned, and he rubs his hand up and down my back. “How’s my fiancée today?’
“I’m not your fiancée.”
“I know, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I don’t answer because Gus hops off the couch to come say hello, and I bend to the gray cat. “Hi, handsome.”
He purrs quietly, but I almost don’t hear it over Nico’s huffing and puffing about how the cat is getting more attention from me than he—my future husband—is, and I bite back a smile while petting Gus.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” Nico asks once I’m upright again.
“No, thank you.”
“Sure?” He waves for me to follow him to the kitchen.
The apartment building is quaint, an old historic Quaker meeting site—according to the plaque out front—that was renovated.
Nico’s apartment is on the third floor and much more modern than I expected, with gleaming hardwood floors, brass finishes, and mid-century furniture.
I drag my fingers along the back of the high stools at the eat-in counter and admire the art on the walls.
“Did you decorate yourself?”
He laughs around a sip of water. “If it were up to me, it’d be a bunch of hockey sticks on the wall or maybe a poster or two.”
“Something with naked girls?” I ask, and his eyes briefly trip over the length of me before he shakes his head.
“Not my style.”
“No,” I agree. “Just framed photos of you and your cat.”
He winks at me. “Exactly.” Then he picks up Gus, holding him like a baby. “So, what do you need from me?”
“A chair in front of a blank part of your wall.”
He nods and immediately gets to work, moving the furniture around, all while holding his cat. It’s cute. He’s cute. This whole thing is cute.
Especially how seriously he takes it, listening to all of my directions precisely.
To face this way or that, tip his chin up or down, lift Gus higher or make the cat sit on his own and keep his attention aimed at me.
When Nico stood behind me, dancing, presumably to make Gus look our way, I’d never seen a cat appear more bored.
Or, really, bored at all. But Gus prefers to sleep, and as soon as we’re done, he snuggles in Nico’s lap and closes his eyes.
“For a while, I thought it was narcolepsy,” Nico explains, as I pack away my Canon and pull out my Nikon 35mm. “But the vet said he’s just a sleepy boy. Aren’t you?”
Gus doesn’t respond. Only flicks his left ear at his father’s cooing.
God, it’s adorable.
I can’t stand it, and I walk to the opposite side of the room. “I brought this camera to practice. Would you mind?”
Nico shakes his head but joins me, standing close to my side as I adjust the lens and snap a photo of his well-worn cap on a table in front of the window.
“What are you practicing?”
“I mostly work in digital, but I’ve been experimenting with film over the last year. For fun.”
He hums a sound of curiosity and asks me a few questions about the camera and the difference between the two I brought with me today.
I’m no longer surprised by his almost childlike delight in life, but it’s still amazing he’s interested in what I am.
With his head next to mine, he has me show him how the camera works, where the film goes, how to adjust the lens, and then he begs with a “pretty please” to let him take a photo.
He snaps one of me, mid-eye-roll. I assume it’ll be blurry.
But, as I tell him, that’s also why I love using film—because of the mistakes. “When you use digital, you can take as many photos as you want. You can look at each one and redo it, but with film, you never know how it’ll turn out. Sometimes the mistakes are the most wonderful part.”
At that, his smile turns practically beatific. With the light streaming in through the window, his hair with that wave, his blue eyes shining, I lift my camera and take his picture.
“A mistake?” he teases, and I lift my shoulder.
“We’ll see.” Then I help myself to looking around the two-bedroom apartment.
He doesn’t stop me when I peek into his room. In fact, he leans around me, motioning to his bed. “You want to see where the magic happens?”
“I can’t believe there are people who say that in real life.”
He grins as if it’s a compliment and gently nudges me to step into his bedroom.
It’s tidy and mostly bare, save for the hockey memorabilia.
I guess if he couldn’t put it out in the living room, he saved it all for here, with an old Anaheim Ducks jersey and a signed hockey puck, though it looks like scribble to me.
But it’s the mass-market paperback on the bedside table that makes me pause.
Nico follows my line of sight, and he hops onto the bed, showing it to me without a shadow of embarrassment. “I told you I love the fated mate trope.”
“You read romance?”
He nods. “Yeah. Love it.”
“Really?”
He presses his hand to his chest in faux outrage. “Yes. I can read.”
“But romance?”
“Yes. I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe.”
“I don’t know either,” I mumble, reaching out for the book, and he hands it right over. Nothing this man does is expected, and yet I can’t help but adore each new tidbit I learn about him.
This particular book has a nice set of abs on the cover and appears to be at least two decades old, a paranormal about an alpha wolf shifter who had previously lost his mate but has met a woman with whom he seems to have a strange connection.
Nico’s about halfway through, a bookmark holding his place.
“Sheffy’s mom loves to read romance, and one afternoon while I was living up there with them, I borrowed one of her Harlequins.
Been hooked ever since. Now we send each other ones we love, like our own little international book club.
I like to search for Little Libraries around town.
That’s where the real old, horny ones tend to live. ”
“Old, horny ones?”
He nods seriously. “Anything prior to, like, 2010 is what I like for paranormal. If I’m reading historical, the best ones are from the ’80s or ’90s. Sports romance is really hot right now, but that’s a little too close to home, you know? I like to stick with something in a different world.”
“Wow. So you really love them.”
“Yeah.” He stands to take the book back from me, and when I tip my chin up, his eyes narrow pointedly, his voice dropping low, seductive. “A guy can learn a lot from reading.”
My skin heats like I’ve been dunked into a warm bath, pleasantly seduced. But as much as it feels nice to bask in Nico Tremblay’s shine, I have to remember, I’m not special or different from the probably hundreds of women he’s been with.
Which is what makes me take a step back, away from his heat and out of his orbit.
He doesn’t let me get far though, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it?”
“I just…”
He tugs my lip out from under my teeth. “Tell me, Jo.”
“How much pretending are you doing when you’re not with me?”
He tilts his head to the side, a lock of hair drooping over his forehead, and I hate how much I like that puppy-dog look. “I don’t understand. What are you asking?”
Seeing as how I have nowhere to run with my back up against the wall, which I didn’t realize until this exact moment, I attempt to sidestep him, but he places his hand next to my head.
I’m above average height for a woman, but he towers over me.
And none more than when I’m trapped by all six feet, two inches of his body.
He smells like soap and cotton, his gray T-shirt so worn, my fingers itch to fist it, find out how soft it is.
Instead of giving in to that terrible idea, I squeeze my eyes shut and force the question out. “How much sex are you still having?”
He doesn’t answer for a long time, and when I slowly blink my eyes open to him, I find him smirking. Of course. “Why do you want to know? Interested in being on the roster?”
“No. Absolutely not.” I push away from him and stalk back to the living room, but he’s hot on my heels as I stuff my camera back into my bag.
“Then why are you so mad all of a sudden?”
“I’m not mad, but what if someone catches you?”
He sinks down to his haunches next to me, placing his hand over mine, pausing my movements mid-zippering of my bag. “Jo, please look at me.”
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to see his apology. Or worse, pity. So, I don’t. I shoo his fingers aside and finish putting everything away. Only once I’m done does he admit, “I haven’t touched a woman in weeks.”
That knocks me back. Literally. I fall to my butt. “What?”
“Not since you were in the hospital.” He frowns, vacantly staring at the wall for a moment, as if doing mental calculations. “Longer than that, not since that fiasco with the woman coming to practice.”
“That was over two months ago.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I’m never brave, and I’m also not one to spit out snide comments, so I don’t know where it comes from when I ask, “That hard for you?”
Nico’s brow rises, though his features quickly clear of their reaction. It wasn’t hurt, but it certainly wasn’t humor either, yet he keeps his voice carefully neutral when he answers. “Despite what some people might say, I’m not some kind of addict. I just really enjoy sex.”