Chapter 18 #2
“No problem,” Ramona says. Once she’s gone and they drop their happy-couple act, she must notice the way Nick’s expression changes, because her voice fills with concern. “Hey. Are you okay? Something seems a little off with you.”
Guess he hasn’t been doing a good job hiding it. “Well…” he starts, and Ramona’s face falls.
“You saw the photos,” she says, and he nods.
“Fuck. I really thought we were under the radar there. When I first started class, there were some posts about me on campus, but I guess I was naive to think the fans were starting to move on. I’m so sorry.
” Her jaw is tight, and what strikes him is how sincerely apologetic she seems—for him.
“I didn’t even think.” Nick jams his hands in his pockets, feeling profoundly stupid. Why did he assume that just because he’s no one, there wouldn’t be someone out there who’d be able to identify him in a photo? “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault.”
Even that day at the taco truck, she was trying to go incognito, with her sunglasses and hat. He should have been on top of this from the very beginning, and yet he’s so out of his depth here that he doesn’t know the rules of her world.
“Maybe not directly, but…Do you have any social media?”
“Just Instagram, but I’m never on it. Can’t remember the last time I posted.” As though to confirm this, he pulls up the app, even gets prompted to re-login.
And…holy shit.
There are dozens of unread DMs. New comments on his photos from years ago, mostly landscapes and food and only a handful with his face.
this is who she abandoned her fans for?? RAMONA COME BACK
who tf is this guy? not good enough for our prom queen
if this is real then I’m happy for them!
FREE RAMONA
still rooting for her and eli tbh
And those are just the ones that make a marginal amount of sense.
“Uh…” He passes the phone to Ramona, as though the thing is on fire and she’s the only one who can put it out.
“It seems pretty contained so far, thank god,” she says as she scrolls. That’s contained? “But you should probably go on private.”
“Right. Good idea. Do you mind—?”
A couple taps. “Done.”
He exhales, slowly coming back to himself. Okay. It’s okay. Those are just strangers on the internet. This is nothing compared to what she had to deal with on a daily basis.
“For what it’s worth, you’re much more to me than an unidentified male friend,” she says, her fingertips brushing his as she hands back the phone. The gentlest touch, and yet it makes him fight back a hundred different emotions.
Even like this, even after the shock of the article and those comments, he still softens so easily for her.
Being Ramona Wilder’s friend, it turns out, is even harder than the advanced statistical methods course he took the first year of his PhD. And soon he may not be anything to her at all. Except her teacher. But then again, that’s what got him into this mess, isn’t it?
“The dean wants to talk to me tomorrow,” he says, and he watches the reality cross her face, a slight wrinkle appearing between her brows.
“But we didn’t even—I mean, it just looks like two friends at a basketball game. Completely platonic.” Yeah, somehow he’s not sure the dean is going to see it that way, especially if none of those anonymous commenters did. “So…we’re going to have to stop spending time together.”
“I’m not sure if there’s any other outcome.”
Her eyes are hard on his. Slowly, she takes a step forward. It’s intentional, this time, the way she grazes his hand with a fingertip. Inevitable, the way he opens his palm for her.
“We haven’t even found you a girlfriend yet,” she says in a whisper. He almost wants to laugh, but she sounds so sweetly sad about it that it breaks his heart a little.
Everything about this conversation suddenly feels so final that he can’t resist pulling her closer. Their fingers tangle, his thumb dragging along her knuckles. Up her wrist. God, he’s missed touching her, and the way she reacts to him might be lethal. A flicker of her lashes. A sharp inhale.
Every time they’re together, he’s trapped between logic and impulse, and he’s usually so good at listening to logic. But now he’s desperate to ignore his brain and feel.
So he brings his other hand to her face, thumbing the trio of freckles next to her mouth.
“I don’t think we were trying that hard,” he whispers back.
Then he crushes his lips to hers.
If their first kiss was like being stuck in an electrical socket, this one is like being hurled directly into the sun.
Like their last meal on death row, both of them knowing the fate that awaits them.
She grips his collar as she kisses him back, whimpers as he bites at her lower lip.
Those perfect needy sounds—his memory hasn’t been able to properly re-create them.
And fuck, it’s incredible, being this close again, all of his senses tuned only to her. Peaches—now he’s certain that’s what her shampoo smells like, sweetness and warmth and Ramona. Ramona. Her name lit up in neon inside his brain.
“She—she might be back soon,” Nick says against her mouth. His hands are already lost in her hair.
“She said twenty minutes.” Another kiss. “Probably ten, now.”
It’s not nearly long enough for everything he wants to do with her, but if this is all he gets, he’s going to take it. Even if Ramona’s not the kind of girl he wants to rush with. He wants a proper bed. Ten-thousand-thread-count sheets. The ability to stop time.
That invisible countdown turns them frantic.
In mere seconds, they’ve lost all pretense of “just friends”—but then again, he never had much faith in it.
With one hand on the nape of her neck and the other at her hip, he backs them up against the wall of the bedroom with nothing in it.
Pins her there for a moment, the two of them breathing in sync.
Then she lifts up and kisses his neck, and he has to fight to keep his eyes open—he doesn’t want to miss any of this—because that’s always been his favorite place to be kissed.
“God, I needed you,” she says on a breathy exhale as he digs his hands into the back pockets of her jeans, palming her ass. “How is this even better than I remember?”
Nick’s not sure. One of life’s great mysteries.
Then he slips his leg between hers. Uses his hands in her pockets to roll her forward along his thigh.
The jagged gasp she lets out is a potent mix of thrilling and unexpected. The best surprise he’s ever received. He does it again, rocking her hips forward on his jeans, the denim creating a perfect friction. I needed you.
She swears under her breath, clutches at his collar.
“You think you can—like this?” he asks, in awed disbelief.
“I—I don’t know. Maybe.” Her head rolls back against the wall as she swallows hard, a shudder racking her body. “But—” She reaches toward his belt, but he gives a firm shake of his head. Like hell is he going to waste another chance to get her needy and breathless.
This could be their last time, and then he’ll accept whatever punishment is waiting for him.
Some depraved part of him wants to make sure he’s really earned it.
He flicks open the button of her jeans and drags down the zipper to give him easier access, her breath catching in her throat as she watches him.
Every gorgeous moan makes him harder, like he could get off on her sounds alone.
Then he hitches her higher, slides his hands beneath her panties to cup her ass.
Her skin is so smooth and he’s desperate for more of it, dying to feel how wet she is—but there’s not enough time.
If he touched her right now, he’d be completely done for. He’s halfway there already.
“You know,” he says in a low voice. “I think you lied when you said you weren’t easy.”
“Maybe I’m just easy for you.”
He rocks her harder. Faster. She starts to turn her head away, and he can tell she’s close—
“Nick,” she bites out. “I’m going to—fuck—”
“Let me see your face, honey,” he demands. One last memory of her like this. “Let me watch you.”
Honey. It just slips out, but it sends her over the edge with her eyes squeezed shut, mouth slightly parted.
A perfect shade of pink splashed across her cheeks and down her neck.
Without any furniture in the room, her pleasure echoes, like he’s hearing her come in surround sound.
God, she’s beautiful like this, and the fact that she let him watch her…
the analytical part of his brain aches to process what that means.
Her breaths are shaky as he helps ease her back down, straightening her shirt. He kisses the side of her face. The top of her head. He’s not ready for this to be over—to never be this close to her again.
Maybe in January, he tries to reason with himself. If she hasn’t moved on. If she still finds him interesting. If this was ever real.
If, if, if.
Tomorrow holds his heart in a vise grip.
Then Ramona does something unexpected. With her tousled hair and eyes full of some emotion he can’t name, she steps closer.
And she hugs him.
At first he’s not quite sure what’s going on, even as his arms come around her. She dips her head, inhaling right at the center of his chest. This is different from when they were up against the wall, or dancing, or against his desk. Softer.
His hand comes up to cup the back of her head. Gently, he strokes her hair, letting himself relax for the briefest moment, listening to the steady sound of her breaths.
“Knock knock,” comes Angie’s cheerful voice, and they spring apart like two teenagers caught making out in the back seat of a car. Despite the fact that they all but assured this woman they have an entire sex room and that two minutes ago, Ramona was swearing his name. “You two all right?”
“Super,” Ramona replies, gaining control of her senses faster than he does.
“So, what do we think?”
Nick swallows hard. “I like it,” he says. He glances back at Ramona, who looks expectant. Somehow he can’t picture her here, though logically he knows that shouldn’t matter. “But I’m just not sure if it’s the one yet.”