Chapter 21
twenty-one
. . .
Bex
Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
“You already said that.” Ceci’s dry voice filters through the booze fogging up my brain.
“Fuck.”
She giggles so hard she hiccups. “That would solve all your problems.”
My head falls forward onto my arms. They make a very inadequate cushion. “Nooooo.”
“Yesssss.”
I kissed him. I can’t believe I kissed him.
Me, the team’s neuroscientist. Him, the player I hate most.
Although… do I really hate him? I don’t know. I want to, so desperately it makes my teeth ache. No, wait, that’s how much I want him. Not to hate him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Why does he have to be so fucking pretty? Not, like, pretty, but so fucking beautiful he takes my breath away. Even sweaty and smelly from the game, his hair limp and greasy, there was a pulse of attraction that I couldn’t wish away.
I didn’t want to wish it away.
I wanted to pull him closer, to wrap myself in his arms and breathe him in, stink and all. To escape into a world where sunshine and puppies win and love never leaves and—
The world suddenly tilts seventeen degrees to the left, and I wobble on my barstool. “I think I’m drunk.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Ceci snarks back.
Bile rises in the back of my throat, and I take a deep, calming breath. But it’s too late. I’m too far gone.
Clapping a hand over my mouth, I hurry to my feet, knocking over my barstool. The loud crash of the wood hitting the sticky floor echoes in the noisy bar.
I rush to the bathroom, bursting through the first door I see.
There’s only about four seconds to spare before I let it fly, hurling into the open trash can.
I brace one hand on the tiled wall, the other holding my hair from my face.
Tears streak down my cheeks as I expel the contents of my stomach until I’m spent.
“Uh…” A male voice alerts me I’m not alone.
Grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser, I wipe my mouth, then look over my shoulder.
A man stands at a urinal, his pants unzipped and dick out. He’s looking back at me, causing his aim to go… off center.
Our eyes meet.
“This is the men’s room,” he blusters, his face red.
Spinning around to face the other direction, I wait until I hear him zip up, then footsteps as he moves to the single sink. He washes his hands—thank goodness—and then reaches over me for the paper towels.
I squirm out of the way before he can drip on me.
“Well… nice meeting you,” he says awkwardly, before he wrenches the door open.
Once he’s gone, I let out a heavy sigh of relief, then cross to the sink and wash my hands and face.
Luckily, everything made it into the trash can, and not on me.
My red lipstick, however, is smeared all over my chin and cheeks, so I scrub it off until it’s all gone.
The lack of my signature color makes my skin sallow and draws attention to the bags under my eyes.
I look wrecked.
The door swings open again, and I half expect it to be that guy again. But it’s someone else.
He cocks his head at me, then looks back at the men’s room sign on the door.
“Don’t worry, I was just leaving.” I squeeze past him and stumble back to the bar.
Someone—probably Ceci—has set the stool upright. She looks up as I approach, her eyes glassy.
“I called you a ride,” she says. “Figured you’d probably want to call it a night.”
“Yeah, thanks.” As I climb onto my seat, I rifle through my purse, finding hand sanitizer first, then a breath mint, and finally my lipstick and a compact. A few quick swipes of Ruby Woo later, I’m back to normal.
Well, mostly.
“You feeling okay?” Ceci’s hand lands on my lower back, rubbing comfortingly.
“Better now.”
The bartender—the cute hipster with the handlebar mustache—brings me a glass of water, and I chug it the way I chugged my rum and Coke earlier.
Like, four of them. They tasted good going down. Not so great coming back up.
Now, my stomach is still a little tender, my head is pounding, and I’m still fucking drunk. If only puking would instantly sober me up again.
The hair on the back of my neck tingles, and I glance over my shoulder to see a dark form cutting through the bar.
Nick.
What’s he doing here?
The hockey player is wearing slutty gray sweats and a navy puffer coat open over a solid-black waffle-knit Henley. A backward baseball cap rests on his head.
And his eyes are set on me.
My stomach twists, and this time it has nothing to do with the buckets of alcohol I’ve consumed.
He cuts through the tables until he stands in front of me.
“Let’s go,” he snaps.
I stare blankly at him. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”
“You texted me.” A muscle tics in his jaw. “You told me to pick you up.”
Elsy made sure I had his number while wedding planning, but we never communicated directly. If I didn’t need every single contact in my phone to have both a first and last name, I’d have labeled his entry Evil Spawn or My Worst Memory or Hottie McDouchebag.
Why the hell did I tell Ceci his name?
Turning my glare on my irksome friend, I’m not surprised to find her smirking, unrepentant.
“Oops,” she says, bringing her hand to her mouth and widening her eyes. “It was an accident.”
“It definitely wasn’t.” But I can’t help the laugh from bursting through my chest. “You’re lucky I love you, babe.”
“Right back at ya.”
I finish my glass of water, then sling my purse over my shoulder. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
Nick’s gaze pings between us. “What’s going on?”
“You’re driving me home, since my meddling friend is a meddling busybody. You’ve met Ceci, she was at Elsy’s wedding.”
A storm cloud crosses his face. I wonder why.
“Nice to meet you again,” he says, offering his hand. “Do you need a ride, too?”
“I’m good.” She hiccups as she shakes his. “Pablo will take care of me.”
“Sure will,” the hipster cuts in. Then his eyes widen. “Holy fuck, you’re Nick Mitchell.”
“Yep.” The hockey player gives a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go, Bex.”
Sliding off the stool, I stagger to my feet and wobble on my heels. My arms flail, and then a strong grip catches my elbow, steadying me.
“Careful, now,” he murmurs. His voice is low and rumbly, and something clenches deep within me.
When I’m sure I’m stabilized, I shrug into my coat, but my fingers can’t quite get everything right.
Hands land on my upturned collar, flipping the lapel into place, and then Nick trails his fingers featherlight down over the swell of my breasts until he reaches the first button. He slips it into the loop without ceremony, then the second, and finally the third.
My pulse flutters, and my breath catches. His woodsy scent envelops me like a warm hug and I swallow, my throat thick with something I don’t know how to describe. It’s not indifference, and it’s not revulsion.
Is it… attraction? I don’t want it to be, but I think it is.
His hand finds mine, wrapping it around his elbow. Then his thick fingers cover mine as he guides me out of the bar.
A sleek black SUV is double-parked illegally in front of the bar.
“Thanks, man,” Nick says to the bouncer, slipping a folded bill into his hand.
He grins. “Anytime, Mitchell. Go Grizzlies!”
Nick opens the car door for me, and I fold myself inside as he rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s side. I still haven’t gotten my seat belt buckled when he’s done with his. The damn thing won’t click into place.
With a sigh, he reaches across me and pulls the belt free, then slips the buckle into the slot until it clicks.
“What’s your address?” He offers me his phone, and reluctantly, I punch it into the GPS. I don’t really want him knowing where I live. But I also don’t want him to take me back to his place. Gross, gross, gross.
He shifts into gear, the smooth hum of the SUV so gentle I can hardly tell it’s on. Except for the heated seats and warm air flowing from the vents. Those are nice.
We drive in silence. There’s no music, no conversation. I’m torn between being glad he’s not lecturing me and wishing he would just fucking say something.
The alcohol is making everything a little fuzzy around the edges. I watch out the window as lights streak by, and even though I promise myself I’m going to stay awake, I need to stay alert, my eyelids are so fucking heavy I can’t keep them open.
I wake to Nick shaking my shoulder. “We’re here.”
To my surprise, he’s parked in a visitor space in my apartment’s garage, and he exits the car to open my door.
“I can do it.”
He snorts. “Elsy would kill me if I didn’t make sure you get home safe.”
My eyes roll as I stomp through the garage to the elevator, his footsteps hot on my heels. “I’m fine.”
“I hear you. Still doing it.”
I grumble under my breath as I call for the elevator and then step into the car. I grumble all the way down the hall to my apartment, and I grumble as I unlock the door. As much as I want to slam it in his face, I know better than to instigate something right now.
He follows me into the apartment, closing the door and locking it behind him. I shrug off my coat, letting it fall to the floor, and he huffs out a laugh as he ducks to pick it up and hang it on the coatrack. He slips off his sneakers and hangs his baseball hat and puffer coat next to mine.
No. That’s not leaving. That’s staying.
“There. I’m home. You can leave now.”
Nick ignores me as he crosses my tiny apartment in two steps. He opens my cabinets until he finds the drinking cups, filling one with water from the fridge. His eyes linger on the basket of meds on the counter before he starts rifling through it.
“Hey!” I protest. “That’s private!”
Rolling his eyes, he thumbs through the prescription bottles without looking at the labels until he finds the Advil tablets. He fishes out two pills onto his palm, then holds out the glass of water.
“Take this,” he instructs. “Then get ready for bed.”
I glare halfheartedly at him. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Bex, I swear…” He mutters something under his breath, then holds his hand out again. “Take the fucking pills. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Oooh, that authoritative voice does something to me.
Swiping them from his palm, I close my fist around the meds, and as my fingers brush his skin, tingles erupt down my spine. I swallow the pills dry, then snatch the water from his grasp and down that. Then, because I can’t help myself, I open my mouth and show him my empty tongue.
“There. Done.”
He glares at me, his big, strong hands landing on my shoulders. Spinning me around, he frog-marches me to the bathroom. Bright light—too bright—floods the room as he flicks the switch, and he reaches around me to pick up my toothbrush, wet it, and squeeze toothpaste onto the head.
“Brush.”
My eyes promise him a world of hurt, but I do what he says, brushing my teeth until the grossness fades. He leaves me alone, and I hear him rummaging in my bedroom.
Is he going through my sex toys?
Still brushing, I dart into my room, ready to deck him. But no, he’s rifling through my dresser, coming up with a pair of pajamas and tossing them onto the bed.
Then, to my surprise, he turns down the covers and fluffs my pillow.
I return to the bathroom, finishing up, then scrub off my makeup and wash my face. My hair is matted and tangled, and I don’t want to deal with it, but I know it will be worse in the morning if I don’t.
Before I can tame it, though, Nick appears behind me, holding my pajamas. “Get changed.”
I open my mouth to object.
A heavy sigh bursts past his lips. “I don’t want to fight. Just do it.”
Fine. I shut the door in his face, stripping out of my clothes and pulling on the soft flannel pants and matching shirt. It’s amazing how much I feel like I have my shit together simply by wearing matching pajamas.
When I open the door, he’s waiting on the other side, and I storm past him. After stumbling the few feet to my bed, I climb onto my mattress and kind of tip onto my side. It takes all of my coordination to sit up, pulling the covers over my waist.
He follows me, the bed dipping with his weight. He’s holding my hairbrush, a pink silk scrunchie around his wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” he says, but there’s an affectionate undertone to his words. No harshness.
And then, to my surprise, he gathers my hair and works out the tangles. He begins with the ends, moving higher up the length until he’s brushing all of my hair in smooth, steady strokes.
My eyelids flutter closed with pleasure. This feels so nice. Soothing.
He sets the brush aside, and then his fingers weave into my hair. It takes me a second to realize he’s braiding it. Not simply braiding—a French braid, starting at the crown of my head.
Warmth floods my veins, and I’m so fucking cozy, I want to curl up in a ball and bask in it.
Nick ties off the braid with the scrunchie, settling the length over my shoulder. I turn to look at him, his face clear of any annoyance. He’s not put out about rescuing me. He just seems… happy. Content.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs. His thumb trails over my cheek.
I slump down in the bed, and he pulls the covers up to my chin, tucking me in. Soft lips land on my forehead.
The mattress dips, and my arm flies out, catching his hand.
“Don’t go.” My words are half slurred, barely conscious.
I’m half-aware as he settles in the bed, his body warm beside mine. Strong arms wrap around me, and I’m pulled against a hard chest as he curls around mine.
“I’m not leaving you.”
And as I drift off, surrounded in his embrace for the first time, my brain buzzes with happiness. I could get used to this.