Chapter 25 Nico
TWENTY-FIVE
NICO
Unfortunately, waking up to an empty bed doesn’t surprise me.
Sighing, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
I know I made progress with Scarlett. I know she likes me.
The time we spent together, how relaxed she was, how playful, how she didn’t push for sex.
She let me care for her. Hell, even the fact that she didn’t bolt as soon as she felt better is proof that I’m getting through to her about how I feel.
But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting that she left without waking me.
With a groan, I drag myself from my bed. Might as well get my day started.
When I see the note on the counter, it doesn’t register at first what it is. But then I look closer and my heart beats faster.
She left me her number.
She left me her number.
At thirty years old, I should not be this excited to be getting a woman’s number. But with Scarlett, it’s so much more that I don’t even bother to contain the giant grin that spreads across my face.
Lucas picks that moment to walk into my apartment.
I don’t wipe the smile from my face. I can’t. So when he sees it, he freezes.
“Do I want to know?”
I shrug, still smiling as I quickly save the number to my contacts. “Probably not.”
He peeks at the note in my hand, of course. And then he sighs.
“This isn’t being careful, Nico.”
Turning toward him, I clap his cheeks in my hands. “Lucas, I mean this from the bottom of my heart. I don’t give a flying fuck about being careful.”
He’s tense, more tense than I’ve ever seen him. He even hesitates for a moment, which I rarely see him do.
“Are you still paying her?”
His question stops me in my tracks.
I got so excited about the phone number, I didn’t even think about the cash.
My eyes dart over the kitchen and living room, searching. I know I gave her six thousand for this week’s date, but that was when she first arrived, when I was frustrated and trying to prove a point. She wouldn’t have kept it, would she? Not when she left me her number. The number means something.
Right?
I dart down the hall to my bedroom, just in case she left it on a nightstand or in the bathroom. But when I don’t find any cash laying around, dread grows in my stomach.
Lucas reads the answer on my face when I walk into the kitchen. To his credit, he looks sad to be proven right.
“As much as I should make the financial suggestion to stop seeing her, I won’t,” he says carefully. “Clearly, she’s giving you something you need. But Nico, you can’t fall in love with this girl. She’s an escort. There’s a 99% chance she’s playing you. You see that, right?”
But I don’t. All I can see is her phone number, and her smile, and that damn 1%.
She’s not playing me. There’s no way.
“Why are you here?” I bark out, harsher than I intended. Wincing, I drag a hand down my face. “Sorry. What’s going on?”
Lucas sighs. “Alexander called me. Said your girl got the stomach bug and that we needed to keep an eye on you in case you got sick, too.”
Immediately, shame floods me. My brothers have only ever wanted to have my back. I’m a dick for snapping at him.
I collapse onto one of the barstools. “I’m fine, but I appreciate it.” When that only earns me a look of skepticism, I let out a tired exhale.
“Look, on paper, I know you’re right. I know I’m paying her to seem interested in me.
But Lucas…I don’t think she faking. I really don’t.
I think she had a fucked-up childhood or a fucked-up life or a fucked-up something that got her into this career, and I know it sounds insane, but I swear, it feels like she’s her real self with me. ”
Now is when I get pity from Lucas. “And the money?” he asks gently.
I let out a sound of frustration. “I don’t know, okay? At first, she was taking it because it was the only way I could convince her I wasn’t just fishing for a free date. But now…” I sigh. “Now, I don’t know.”
Lucas doesn’t seem to have an answer for me. I don’t have one, either. The high from receiving her phone number has dulled.
“Look, I only came over to check that you’re okay,” Lucas says. “Not to give you a hard time. Alright?” A pause pairs with a worried look. “We good?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course.”
He straightens and claps me on the shoulder. “Good. I’m going to work, then. You have boxing today?”
Another nod. “Terry’s probably going to put me through the ringer for skipping yesterday.”
I should care more. I’m literally risking my life if I don’t prepare for this fight.
And yet…
I wouldn’t trade yesterday with Scarlett for anything.
But Terry does put me through the ringer.
As understanding as coaches are about sickness, they’re also firm believers in making up the work.
Which means sparring the best boxers in the city isn’t my only workout for the day.
I also get put through a grueling strength-training workout and sent on a four-mile run.
I don’t mind the busy schedule, though. It keeps my mind off Scarlett. And off of texting her. It isn’t until I’m getting ready for bed and smelling Scarlett on my pillows that the urge to text her becomes too strong.
Nico: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?
For ten minutes, there’s nothing.
And then…
Bubbles appear. Relief floods my body. I didn’t think she’d give me her number just to ignore me, but the past few days already feel like a fever dream and I can’t bring myself to hope for more.
Scarlett: It’s a cliché answer
I stack my pillows against my headboard to get comfortable.
Nico: The world needs clichés
Scarlett: Greece
Nico: Because of the beaches?
Scarlett: That and the history
Scarlett: I’ve always been fascinated by the Ancient Greeks
Nico: Did I ever tell you I was a philosophy major in college for a brief time?
To my surprise—and delight—my phone buzzes with a call. When I answer, I’m greeted with Scarlett’s tinkling laugh.
I manage to smother my own giddiness enough to ask in mock outrage, “I’m sorry, are you laughing at me?”
“You were a professional MMA fighter sitting in philosophy classes?” she asks, still giggling. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, it’s just a funny picture.”
“I wasn’t pro yet, but…yes.”
“I have so many questions. Why did you pick it as a major? And why was it for only a brief time? And how on earth did people receive you in those classes?”
I’m grinning as I shift to a more comfortable position. “Now don’t get offended by this, but…I needed an easy-ish major. And Liberal Arts needed the smallest number of credits. And believe it or not, I’m actually pretty good at writing thoughtful ten-page papers.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe that?” she asks, all laughter gone. “You are thoughtful.”
I shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I don’t know. Most people think fighters are idiots.”
“Most people are idiots,” she huffs.
Is it normal to be smiling this much from just a phone call?
“Speaking of school, how are your classes going?” I ask after a moment.
There’s a pause this time, and her voice is softer, sweeter, when she answers. “They’re good. I like my classes this semester. I got lucky with good professors.”
I want to know everything about her. “What classes are you taking?”
She lets out a thoughtful hum, and I hear some rustling in the background. I want to ask where she is and what she’s doing, but I don’t want to break the spell.
She starts to list off classes. “For my major, I’m taking social cognition, behavioral neuroscience, psychopathology. Human anatomy and physiology for my science requirement, then ethical theory and creative writing for my electives.”
“You’re taking six classes?”
“Two of them are GenEds,” she says humbly.
Yeah, we’ll have none of that.
“Baby, just accept the fact that you’re smart. It’s sexy as fuck.”
There’s a pause. But I can hear her smile when she says, “If you say so.”
“I do say so. I insist on it, actually.”
She’s quiet again, which lets my mind wander in a different direction. Toward something I haven’t really let myself think about.
“Do you ever think about doing something with your degree?” I ask carefully.
But what I want to ask is: do you ever think about doing something other than working as an escort?
I wish I could ask her that. So badly. Not because I want her to quit and be with me—which I do, but we’re not yet at that level of trust where we could have that conversation—but because I wish I could make her understand that she could do other work.
She’s smart and hard-working and could probably do anything she set her mind to, but I don’t think she sees that.
She’s still so tied down by her self-worth issues that she won’t let herself see it.
“I don’t know,” she says in a casual tone I can’t read. “If you weren’t fighting, do you know what you’d be doing?”
I smother my sigh at her deflection. I could push her a little, but I’m not sure it would get me a better answer. I’ll settle for putting the idea in her head.
“I have no idea,” I answer honestly. “Ask me in a week.”
“I can’t believe you have a fight in a week,” she says, back to her normal warm tone. “And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about it. Are you excited? Or nervous?”
“Honestly? None of the above. I don’t feel much of anything.”
It’s the truth, too. Minus the day after Scarlett got sick, I’ve been putting in the same amount of work as any other fight I’ve prepared for. When I’m in the gym, I’m focused. I’m on weight. I have my plan for the week of the fight. I’m doing everything I need to do.
And yet…one day with Scarlett, even half-unconscious, made me feel more than any of this fight prep did.
“My next week is going to be a little chaotic, though,” I say, bringing myself back to reality. “Fight week gets pretty busy. I meant to tell you that our date was going to be my last rest day.”
Scarlett makes an oh sound. “So I won’t hear from you. Got it.”
“No, no, that’s not—” I swallow roughly. “Actually, I was going to say the opposite. That I won’t be able to make it up to New York to see you, but that if you don’t mind the conversation, I’d like to be able to call you sometimes.”
She hesitates, but I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “I’d like that.”
Hopefully, she can’t hear my relieved exhale. Lucas doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Feeling emboldened, I add, “And maybe after the fight, I could take you out on a real date.”
This time, there’s no hesitation.
“I’d like that, too.”
It’s a sign of the grueling workouts I was put through today that a yawn sneaks out of me after she says that. Thankfully, Scarlett only lets out a soft laugh.
“Go to bed. I can hear how exhausted you are.”
I can’t even argue with her. “Okay. Goodnight, Scarlett.”
“Goodnight, Nico,” she says sweetly.