Chapter Six
MARLEY
Walking into Sage’s house with Nitro behind me feels surreal, like I’ve accidentally stumbled into an alternate universe where gorgeous, tattooed men who sleep in their cars to make sure you’re safe are a regular part of my Sunday morning.
His presence fills the tiny entryway, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of how small Sage’s place is. Or maybe it’s just that Nitro is massive, taking up space in a way that’s both intimidating and oddly comforting.
I’m wearing my oversized hoodie and pajama pants. My hair is a disaster that I pulled into a messy ponytail without looking in a mirror, and I’m pretty sure there’s mascara smudged under my glasses from last night’s drunk crying.
But when Nitro looks at me, none of that seems to matter.
He stayed.
He slept in his car outside, like some protective guardian angel who also happened to look like he could bench press a Buick, and then, when I found him this morning with coffee, he just smiled at me as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Derek would never have done that.
Derek wouldn’t have even answered the phone.
I shake off the comparison. I’m done measuring every man against that particular dumpster fire and lead Nitro toward the kitchen.
The scene that greets us is both completely normal and utterly surreal.
Sage is at the stove, still in her pajamas, tiny shorts and an oversized T-shirt that says, ‘I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right,’ wielding a spatula as if it’s a weapon while she flips pancakes.
Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in what can only be described as a nest, and she’s wearing sunglasses indoors because, in her words from earlier this morning, “The sun is personally attacking me.”
She glances over her shoulder as we enter, and despite the sunglasses, I feel her assessing Nitro with the intensity of a Secret Service agent.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say, moving to the coffee pot to refill both our mugs.
“Morning,” Sage mumbles, then turns fully to face Nitro. She points the spatula at him. “You! Uber man. Why did you sleep in your car?”
Nitro doesn’t even blink at her aggressive interrogation. “Wanted to make sure you two were okay.”
“That’s weird.”
“Probably,” he replies as though it doesn’t bother him.
“But… also kind of sweet.”
A slight grin crosses his face.
I bite back a smile as I watch them size each other up. Sage has always been protective of me, especially with Derek, and seeing her in full guard-dog mode, visibly hungover, is both endearing and slightly terrifying.
“If you burn those pancakes,” Nitro says, his voice that low rumble that does things to my insides, “I’m staging an intervention.”
Sage whips back around to the stove. “Bite me, Uber man. I’m a culinary genius.”
“You’re wearing sunglasses, and you just put salt in the orange juice.”
Sage glances down at her orange juice and the salt container sitting next to the sugar. “That was intentional. It’s for electrolytes.”
“That’s not how electrolytes work,” he states.
“How do you know? Are you a doctor?” Her spatula is flying around the air like she’s performing some sort of performance art.
“No, but I’m also not actively trying to poison myself.”
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. The sound erupts from me before I can stop it, and both of them turn to look at me.
Nitro’s expression shifts immediately, his features softening in a way that makes my chest tight. Those luminous green eyes sweep over me, taking in every messy, hungover, disaster-adjacent inch, and somehow, impossibly, he still looks at me as if I’m something worth seeing.
“Have you had some painkillers for that hangover, Small Town?” he asks, and there’s something in his voice that makes the nickname sound like an endearment.
Which is ridiculous because he literally only met me just over a week ago.
“I have… thank you,” I manage, carrying both coffee mugs to Sage’s small kitchen table. “You really didn’t have to stay.”
“Yes, I did.”
Three words. Simple. Direct. Brokering no room for argument.
Derek would have made me feel guilty for even calling, that is if he even answered the phone. He would have sighed and made it clear that picking me up was a massive inconvenience. That he was doing me a favor I’d have to repay somehow.
But Nitro says it like it’s a fact.
Like, of course, he stayed.
Like there was never any other option.
Sage turns from the stove, pointing the spatula at him again.
“See, Marley? This is what decent men do. They don’t leave their drunk friends to get murdered.
They camp outside in their cars like absolute psychopaths…
” she pauses. “Which is weirdly both creepy and romantic. I’m actually quite conflicted.
I don’t know whether to call the cops or write to Hallmark and get him a movie deal. It’s a conundrum for sure.”
“You’re also drunk,” Nitro points out as he lowers himself into one of Sage’s kitchen chairs. The chair creaks ominously under his weight.
“Hungover,” Sage corrects primly. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes. When I’m drunk, I have poor judgment.
When I’m hungover, I have perfect clarity about my poor judgment.
” She turns back to the stove, flipping a pancake with more force than strictly necessary.
“Also, everything is too loud, and I hate the sun. But I would love another drink, hair of the dog, and all that.”
I chuckle, sliding into the chair across from Nitro, and immediately, I’m overwhelmed by his presence. He smells like leather and something woodsy, cedar maybe? And there’s this energy coming off him that makes me want to lean closer and run away at the same time.
His eyes stay focused on me, studying my face, and I feel suddenly self-conscious about the mascara smudges, the disastrous ponytail-bun thing I have going on, and the fact that I probably have tequila breath.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice gentle.
“Like death warmed over,” I admit. “But also weirdly okay. Does that make sense?”
“Perfect sense.”
Sage carries a plate stacked high with pancakes to the table, followed by syrup, butter, and three forks. She drops into the chair beside me with a dramatic groan.
“I’m never drinking again,” she announces.
“You literally just asked for another drink,” I point out.
“I’m not perfect, okay. I’m just not drinking again, but if you have a drink, I wouldn’t say no.”
Nitro grins, reaching for a pancake, and I watch his massive hands handle the fork with surprising delicacy. Something is mesmerizing about the way he moves, controlled, deliberate, like every action is measured.
“So,” Sage says, stabbing a pancake with her fork and drowning it in syrup. “Let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”
I raise my brow. “What elephant?”
Sage turns to look at me, and even with the sunglasses, I feel the intensity of her stare. “The fact that you have to work with Derek, every… single… day.”
My stomach clenches. “Sage—”
“No, we are talking about this.” She takes an aggressive bite of pancake. “You can’t just pretend it’s not happening. You have to see that asshole every day, act professional while he parades around as if he didn’t rip your heart out and continually body-shame you like a complete sociopath.”
Nitro goes completely still before he grumbles under his breath, “He really is a fucking cunt.”
I shoot Sage a look that clearly says, ‘Why would you bring this up?’ but she just shrugs, completely unrepentant. “I like you, Uber man. And you’re right, Derek is the mother of all cunts. On this, we completely agree.”
I swallow hard. “It doesn’t matter—”
“The hell it doesn’t,” Nitro growls, his voice raised, his fists clenched on the table.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m dealing with it.” My words tumble over each other. “I mean, yes, it sucks. Yes, it’s torture. But I need the job, and I’m not going to let him ruin my career just because he’s a—”
“Piece of stale shit on a decaying trout?” Sage states.
“Wow… what a visual. But yes, that.” I take a breath, trying to steady myself.
“There’s this work gala coming up in a few weeks.
A big fancy thing where everyone brings dates and pretends to care about quarterly projections.
Derek will be there with his new thin, beautiful, completely opposite-to-me-in-every-way girlfriend.
It’s been less than a week, and he’s already got the bimbo Instagram model on his arm.
I saw the pictures he posted.” I stare down at my coffee, feeling the familiar sting of inadequacy creeping back in. “She’s gorgeous. Tiny. Perfect.”
“Unlike you, who’s also gorgeous, exactly the right size, and utterly perfect,” Sage says flatly. “Except you’re actually interesting and have a personality, which makes you a bazillion times better.”
I want to believe her.
God, I want to believe her.
But Derek’s words keep echoing in my head. ‘Maybe when you lose a few pounds, reach back out to me.’
“Anyway,” I say, forcing myself to sound lighter than I feel.
“I have to go to this gala. It’s mandatory for all senior staff, even though I’m not technically senior staff, just senior-adjacent, because Derek wanted me there when we were together.
So now I have to watch him show off his new girlfriend while I stand in the corner trying not to look goddamn pathetic. ”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Sage, in her infinite wisdom and her complete lack of a filter, leans forward with a wicked grin. “You should take Nitro as your date. That shit’ll make Derek’s balls shrivel up like raisins.”
I nearly spit out my coffee. “Sage!”