Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
T he sound of a loud ringing woke me with a jolt. I wasn't sure when I'd fallen asleep, but I was exhausted before starting my run this morning, so it had only been a matter of time before I lost the fight, and exhaustion won. The bell chimed again. Looking out the window, I realized I'd slept most of the day; the sun was starting to set, decorating the sky with pinks and purples. The ringing sound rang again. I'd never heard that sound in the house, but I thought it was probably the doorbell.
Hannah, with my dress! I took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over my own feet. The door flew open.
I froze my eyes wide as they raked over a tall, thin blonde who stood completely naked, holding open a tan trench coat.
"You're not Hannah," I muttered, the words barely a whisper in the cooling evening air.
"No," she screeched, clutching her coat closed. "I'm Tiffany. Who are you?"
Before I could answer, the familiar sound of the side door to the garage caught my attention.
"Olivia," Nick called out, his footsteps echoing on the tile floor. "Look who I found."
Time seemed to slow as I turned toward his voice, catching sight of Hannah stepping in behind him. The moment stretched as Nick's expression shifted from casual warmth to confusion, his eyes darting between me and our unexpected visitor.
Nick's gaze fixed on Tiffany, barely acknowledging my presence. "What's going on?"
I shifted my weight, unable to resist filling the awkward silence. "This is Tiffany." I gestured to the woman. "And Tiffany is completely naked under that coat, in case you were wondering."
Hannah doubled over, pressing her hand against the doorframe to keep herself upright as laughter shook her shoulders.
Nick's jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching. "Tiffany, what are you doing here?" His voice cut through Hannah's giggles like ice.
Tiffany twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger, lips curving into what she probably thought was a seductive smile. "I missed you."
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly. "How did you get past security?"
"They wouldn't let me pass." Tiffany straightened her spine, clutching the trench coat tighter as a cool breeze swept past. "And I wanted to surprise you, so I jumped the fence!" She preened, as if expecting applause for her gymnastic feat.
My jaw dropped. "Naked?" The metal links of the security fence loomed in my mind, cold and unforgiving against bare skin. "That probably didn't feel good."
Hannah's snort turned into a coughing fit as she tried to contain her laughter. Nick's shoulders tensed, his glare promising retribution.
Tiffany's manicured nail jabbed the air between us. Her bottom lip jutted out, glossy with expensive lipstick. "Who is she?"
"I'm Olivia." My voice was steadier than I felt. Force of habit made me extend my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Nick gently shoved me back away from the door and gave me a shut-up look.
"It's none of your business," Nick growled. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why is she here?" Tiffany whined.
"She lives here," Hannah replied, still trying to contain her laughter and failing miserably.
"What?" Tiffany spat out.
"I just moved in." I was having a hard time keeping my mouth shut for some reason.
"Olivia, be quiet." Nick shot daggers my way. "Hannah, please go with Olivia upstairs." But we stood right where we were, and his attention turned to Tiffany. "You broke the rules, Tiff," Nick snapped in irritation. "Hook-ups by appointment only."
"Screw your stupid rules!" Tiffany stomped her foot, the motion causing her coat to gap dangerously. "You're so predictable, and it's boring." Her voice rose with each word, echoing off the marble foyer. "Everything's by a schedule and on your schedule at that."
A vein pulsed in Nick's temple. He stepped forward, his voice dropping to that dangerous quiet. "You need to leave. You broke the rules; we can't see each other anymore. Please don't make me call security." The woman released a loud huff, held her chin high, and stomped off.
The heavy thud of the front door closing behind Tiffany echoed through the foyer. Tension hung in the air like static before a storm, Nick's anger still palpable in the set of his shoulders. Hannah's poorly suppressed giggles broke through the silence, diffusing some of the awkwardness.
"Girlfriend troubles," I teased, though I could see he was in no mood.
"Funny." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "She's not a girlfriend, a friend, and now a former friend."
Hannah wiped tears from her eyes, still trembling with suppressed laughter. "Well, this has all been very amusing." She glanced at her watch and straightened, composing herself. "But if we're going to make it to the party on time, I need to get ready."
Nick gestured toward the stairs, his professional mask firmly back in place. As their footsteps faded toward the guest room, I retreated to the kitchen.
The rich scent of chocolate drew me—Arlena must have been baking earlier. The kitchen was my sanctuary in this strange house, and right now, I needed the comfort of something familiar.
The cake sat on the marble counter felt like an offering, dark and decadent. I cut myself a generous slice, the silver knife sliding through layers of velvet-smooth frosting.
Sliding onto the stool, I dragged my plate in front of me before sinking my fork into the moist cake and taking a bite. "Mmmmm," I moaned.
"Good?" His tone was laced with amusement.
"Uh hmmm," I hummed, my mouth still full of the delicious cake. He cut a piece for himself and took the seat next to me.
I took several more bites before feeling Nick's eyes boring into me. "What?" I mumbled, turning to face him.
"Must be good." Nick leaned against the counter, positioning himself just inside the boundary of my personal space—not quite touching, but close enough that the air between us seemed to crackle with potential. The faint scent of his cologne reached me in stages: first cedar, then something citrusy.
His presence transformed the spacious kitchen. Walls seemed to inch inward, ceiling lowering, until all that existed was this bubble containing just the two of us. My awareness narrowed to the insignificant details: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the precise distance between his hand and mine on the counter—three inches, maybe four—and how simple it would be to bridge that gap.
I didn't move. Neither did he. And somehow, that stillness felt more intimate than any touch.
I nodded, my fork suspended halfway to my mouth, acutely aware of his gaze following the movement. The intensity in his dark eyes made me forget about the cake entirely.
"I've never heard such..." he paused, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated through me. "...animalistic sounds coming from someone eating cake before."
His lips curved into that half-smile—the one that always made my stomach flip. My gaze lingered on his mouth a heartbeat too long before I forced myself to look away, but not before catching the knowing glint in his eyes.
My fingertips tingled where they rested against the cool marble countertop, suddenly hypersensitive to every sensation—the distant hum of the refrigerator, the warmth radiating from where he stood too close, the way my blouse clung to my skin in the warm kitchen.
Heat crept up my neck, warming my cheeks. Had I been making noises? The thought alone made me want to crawl under the counter and disappear. I managed a weak smile and studied my plate with sudden fascination, pushing the remaining crumbs around with my fork.
Nick leaned in closer. Too close, but not close enough.
He moved with a slowness, telegraphing his intentions as he leaned toward me. I had plenty of time to pull away. I didn't.
"It sounded," he whispered, his breath warm against the shell of my ear, "like you were making love to that cake."
The contrast between his professional demeanor and these intimate words created a conflict that left me dizzy. Fire blazed in the pit of my stomach, spreading outward until even my fingertips felt feverish. Yet simultaneously, electric chills raced along my spine, raising goosebumps on flesh that felt too hot, too sensitive, too aware.
He pulled back just enough to study my reaction, his self-control maddening when my own felt so fragile. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and when he spoke again, his voice was honey poured over gravel. "Is it better than sex?"
I choked on the last bite of cake in my mouth, the rich chocolate turning to sawdust as I struggled to swallow. The stool wobbled beneath me as I jerked backward, and for one terrifying moment, I was falling.
He caught me, placed me sturdily on the chair, and backed away.
Holy crap ! What the hell was that ?
He stood staring at me; surely, he didn't want an answer to the ridiculous question.
Looking up, I realized he did. The cake was delicious, but I couldn't compare it to sex, and that wasn't a conversation I wanted to have at that moment; I gave the best answer I could without lying!
The question hung between us—inappropriate, tempting, dangerous—yet delivered with such casual confidence that it seemed he already knew the answer and was merely waiting for me to catch up.
"Yes, it is." I gripped my fork tighter, studying the pattern on the marble countertop. After all, how could I compare it to something I'd never had?
Nick's carefully composed expression shifted, something darker and more intense replacing his usual professional demeanor. He leaned forward, closing the small distance between us. My pulse jumped as he leaned forward, his finger brushing against my lower lip. My breath caught.
"Missed." The word came out rough, barely above a whisper.
The pad of his thumb came away with a smear of chocolate. Something shifted in his expression—a decision made. Time seemed to stretch, elastic and dreamlike, as he brought his thumb to his mouth. The gesture should have been innocent. It wasn't.
His eyes held mine, dark and unflinching, pupils dilated enough that I could barely discern where iris ended and darkness began. He slowly—agonizingly slowly—licked the frosting away. The wet sound of his tongue against skin was barely audible, yet it thundered in my ears.
The kitchen felt too warm, too small, the air between us charged like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. I couldn't look away, couldn't remember how to breathe. My lips parted involuntarily, mirroring his movement.
The act was exquisitely, unbearably intimate—a promise of something I wasn't sure I was ready for. Just as I leaned forward, drawn by some magnetic pull I couldn't resist, the distant sound of Hannah's footsteps on the stairs broke the spell, leaving me suspended between relief and disappointment.
I had no idea what to do, if anything at all. He smiled, grabbed both plates, and turned his back to me, heading to the sink. I was getting whiplash! Again, it was as if nothing had happened, but it wasn't nothing to me.
He started rinsing the plates off when his phone sounded off, alerting everyone from Florida to Alaska that he had an incoming call.
Nick held up his soap-covered hands. "Check that, please. Might be Justin."
I stretched across the island, fingers closing around his phone. The screen lit up, and my throat went dry. A very blonde, very naked woman filled the display. My face burned hot enough to fry an egg.
"Who is it?" Water splashed as he rinsed his hands, his tone casual—too casual.
My eyes darted to the name above the photo, then quickly away from the explicit image lighting up the screen. I cleared my throat, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. "Brittany." The word came out as a squeak, my knuckles whitening around the phone as if I could somehow contain what I'd just seen.
Nick's shoulders stiffened. I watched his reflection in the window above the sink—his expression morphing from confusion to realization to horror in the span of a heartbeat.
The plate clattered against metal as he abandoned all pretense of composure. He spun toward me, water droplets flying from his still-soapy hands. Three hurried steps, a skid on the wet floor, and suddenly Nick—always-in-control Nick—was sprawled on the ground, arm outstretched toward the phone I still held.
His fingers closed around it, jabbing desperately at the power button. The ringing stopped. Silence descended, broken only by his ragged breathing and my poorly suppressed snort of laughter.
He remained on the floor for a moment, dignity in tatters, eyes closed as if in pain. When he finally looked up at me, the plea for discretion in his gaze only made it harder not to laugh.
Hannah appeared in the kitchen. She didn't say anything standing silently, staring at Nick sprawled out on the kitchen floor, trying to catch the breath that was knocked out of him.
"Another friend ?" I laughed.
His lips pressed tightly together as he nodded.
"I'm going to change." He stood and straightened his clothing. "I'll see you ladies at the party."
As soon as his footsteps faded down the hallway, Hannah and I exchanged a glance. The laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, and soon we were both doubled over, tears streaming down our faces.
It took us several minutes to compose ourselves, but eventually Hannah checked her watch and sighed. "We need to get you ready now."
An hour later, Hannah's make-up brush hovered over my cheekbone as she studied my face with professional intensity. "What's new?" The brush swept across my skin. "Have you been out anymore since the other night with me?"
"Uh, yeah." I forced myself to stay still, fighting the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. "Nick introduced me to some of his friends the other night."
She paused, brush suspended mid-air, her reflection in the mirror raising an eyebrow.
"How was it?"
"If you're asking if I'm cured and no longer socially awkward, no. It was awful, probably worse than the night with you." Hannah raised her eyebrows in question. "Trust me." She went back to working on my face. "Hannah, I don't know what to do. How do I get over this?"
She paused. "You find that one guy that you're comfortable with and fuck him until he's unconscious." I laughed. "Fuck your social awkwardness to hell."
My fingers twisted in my lap. "How will that help?"
Hannah set down her makeup brush and met my eyes in the mirror. "Your virginity is shining bright and white, hun." Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "Get rid of that." She turned my chair to face her, hands on my shoulders. "I think you'll be more comfortable. You'll see the world in a whole new way."
Heat crept up my neck. "How did you know?"
"As I said, it's shiny." She picked up an eyeshadow palette, testing colors against my skin. "You wear it on your sleeve." The brush swept across my eyelid. "Letting someone fuck you into Sunday will loosen up some of your tension. Other than that, I think you need to get out more. Meet more people."
I studied my reflection, barely recognizing the polished woman staring back at me. "Maybe you're right."