Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Nico, despite my protests, walked me back to my apartment. Really, it was a short walk: down his hall, an elevator ride to my floor, and down my hall—barely enough time for me to gather my wits.
But Nico filled the time with easy and entertaining commentary on his frantic nighttime search for fresh sweet basil. We slowed as we approached my door and he was animatedly wrapping up his story.
“…at that point I thought about just buying a Sharpie and writing the word sweet across the top of the container. I would have, too, if there was any chance she’d fall for it.”
“You were right not to do it. She is far too clever…” and conniving.
Nico stopped me by tugging on my hand. “Oh, hey, how did Angelica do today?”
“Really good, actually. How was she when you two were together?”
“You mean this afternoon? When I was Twilight Sparkle and she was Rainbow Dash and I lost the Pony Town ice-skating championship?”
I patted him on his shoulder. “I’m sure you gave a good effort. Maybe you can try again tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your sympathy. But…” Nico paused and seemed to survey all of me at once, and then he leaned a fraction closer. “I won’t be able to try again tomorrow because I’m flying out early for New York in the morning.”
“Oh…but you just got here.” I wondered if I looked or sounded as disappointed as I felt. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah.” He agreed, watching me closely.
“When will you be back?”
“Next Tuesday.”
“Oh.” I was certain I both looked and sounded as disappointed as I felt.
We stood in melancholy silence for a long moment. I studied him, committed his jade green eyes to memory, etched in mental stone how it felt to be near him and hear the sound of his voice.
“Well,” he abruptly broke the protracted silence, “where can I kiss you?”
What?
“What?”
He lifted his fingers to my face and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ears. “Where can I kiss you goodbye?”
My stomach did a backflip, and I responded stupidly, “In the hall…?”
“No, Elizabeth. That’s not what I meant. Where—on your body—am I allowed to kiss you? Where do your other friends kiss you?”
Thoughts of Nico’s lips all over my body bubbled into my consciousness. I had trouble thinking of places where I didn’t want him to kiss me.
Finally, I managed to croak, “Well—they don’t.”
“That’s not true. How about your cheek?”
I shrugged, completely flabbergasted by our conversation, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been kissed on my cheek by friends before.”
“Good.” He smiled. “We’ll start there.”
Then, he deliberately moved into my personal space.
I wanted to hold my ground but instead my feet—the traitors!
—move me backward as he approached until my back met the wall behind me.
His gaze held mine, a soft smile stealing over his features, and when I could escape no farther, he halted as well.
His body was everywhere yet didn’t touch mine.
He braced an arm just to the right and above my head then bent slowly, slowly until his lips were even with my cheek.
Hot Nico breath fell on my neck. Even the air vacating his lungs carried his confounding magnetic charisma, and I struggled to suppress a shudder. He kissed me, an infuriatingly chaste peck, then straightened but didn’t move away. My hands dug into the unyielding wall at my back.
“Was that a good friend-kiss?” Nico’s eyes searched mine, the earlier smile diminished to a residual insinuation of one.
He must’ve been pleased with what he saw in my answering glare because he started to laugh. It was a low, rumbly sound and—had I not been all wound up—it might have been infectious. His eyes danced with tangible amusement.
I released an unsteady breath and forced myself to nod, my body buzzing with awareness, and I untangled my gaze from his.
I didn’t want to play this game.
Did I want him? Heck yeah.
Did I like him? Heck to the yeah.
Did I even adore him a little bit? Adore how sweet he was with his niece, how thoughtful and kind he was with his mother, with me? Adore how smart and witty and steady he was? Respect him?
Hells yes!
For all those reasons, I didn’t want to play games.
I wiped my hands on my yoga pants and navigated around his imposing form with the swiftness that only comes from being small. I worked on unlocking the door to my apartment.
The sound of his laughter tapered off from behind me, and I could sense the moment when he detected that I was not amused.
I’d just finished unlocking the deadbolt when his hand closed over my shoulder. “Hey, Elizabeth, I was just teasing you.”
I nodded again. “I know.” I worked on the second lock.
“Are you…are you mad?”
“No.” I wasn’t mad. I was sad, disappointed, and frustrated—mostly with myself.
His hand slid to my arm and turned me to face him. “I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.”
My eyes stayed on the door. “You didn’t.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed. I felt his eyes move over me, assessing. Finally, he let me go, but he didn’t move away. “You can tell me anything. Anytime.”
I couldn’t stay my bitter smile. “Unless you’re in New York, you mean?”
Curses! That wasn’t fair. I immediately regretted my words.
He shifted, braced his feet apart. “You have my number. You know you can call me whenever you want.”
I glanced at the keys in my hand. “I’m tired and have to be up in a few hours, so…I’m going to head in and get some sleep.”
Nico stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes searching mine for understanding. Finally, he nodded and stepped away. “Ok. Goodnight then. I’ll see you next week.”
“Ok…goodnight.” I mirrored his head nod and slipped into my apartment. I successfully won the battle with myself to close the door behind me without capturing another mental snapshot of him as he retreated to the elevator.
My head fell against the door, and I briefly considered watching him walk away through the peephole. It didn’t occur to me until 2:00 am as I tossed and turned in my bed that I’d missed my chance to talk to Nico about the mix-tape and tell him how much I loved it, and to say thank you.
Maybe I should call him in New York and tell him.
As I dozed off, I ignored all subconscious whisperings related to the rationalization of questionable behavior, and I succumbed to another Nico-apple-fritter fantasy.
This time he was licking me.
I was in a mood.
That is what my dad called it when I behaved in a morose manner.
I’d snapped at Meg at least ten times during the first two hours of my workday and literally flung myself into a broom closet to avoid Dr. Ken Miles.
It was only Tuesday, and I was already missing Nico terribly.
I’d only seen him twice on Sunday, and both times were short interactions.
I felt Nico’s absence like a pulled tooth. I mourned it.
Every time I slept, my dreams were filled with Nico.
I began listening to the CD almost obsessively—even track six—and could sing along word-for-word with each of the songs.
However, I hadn’t yet called him. I stared at his contact information on my telephone screen a few times, but I hadn’t yet grown the nerve to dial his number.
Matters weren’t helped by increased attention from the media. They now swarmed the entrance to the hospital and apartment building. I was thankful for the underground garage to my apartment more than ever. On Monday, a few photographers posed as patients and tried to get admitted to the ER.
The ease with which the media seemed to infiltrate the hospital was disturbing to me for another reason.
Nico’s stalker had been able to navigate to the Clinical Research Unit seemingly with ease, take pictures of Nico and me by the nurse’s station.
If the paparazzi could deftly sneak in giant cameras, then how easy would it be for FancyBoots to come and go as she pleased?
I was just thankful that no new pictures of Nico and me had been leaked to the press.
Presently, I sat in my apartment on my big sofa —stewing in my mood—knitting.
I was finishing Angelica’s sweater, and it was Tuesday knit night.
We’d all agreed, for the time being, that it made the most sense to have knit night at my apartment; at least until paparazzi and stalkers were no longer a factor.
My next planned project was a new scarf—a man scarf. I was going to use a silvery jade green cashmere; the color reminded me of Nico’s eyes.
Sandra discussed her recent first date disaster with the group, a topic that typically amused us all.
She had more first dates than Janie had comic books—and that was a helluva lot.
Tonight I was only half listening. Nico’s mix-tape CD was playing in the background, distracting me with thoughts of him.
“…and so he finally admitted that he wasn’t over his ex-wife. So, bad news—there won’t be a second date. Good news—I think I have a new patient for my friend Thomas.”
The ladies laughed good-naturedly. Sandra had a talent for adorable self-deprecation that I admired.
I cleared my throat to get her attention. “Whatever happened to Micah? From my reunion? You two seemed to get along well. Doesn’t he live in Chicago?”
“Ah! Manly Micah! Yes. He was fun….” Sandra pulled out a length of yarn and adjusted her work in progress.
I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I pressed her further. “Did you get his number?”
“Ha! Actually, no.” Sandra sent me a Mona Lisa smile. “He spent most of the evening talking about you. Did you know he had a crush on you in high school?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you, dummy.”
“I find that hard to believe. I was such a nothing back then.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I was. I was small and scrawny and sarcastic.”
“Well, he said you were shy, pretty, and smart.”
“Did he talk about me the whole time?”
She shook her head. “No. We spent some time working through issues with his father. He is still very angry with the man.”