Chapter 2
2
NICKY
Seventeen days earlier - Christmas Eve, to be precise…
I sit forward in my seat, pressing my face to the window as the train enters Honey Hill town limits and starts to slow down.
Fields and fields of white stretch for as far as the eye can see. The barren tree branches are heavy with snow. Kids play hockey on make-shift rinks that stretch too close to the railway tracks. Plastic reindeers decorate the rooftops of small houses lit up by Christmas lights.
Home for the holidays, bitches!
I grin broadly, watching giant crystalized snowflakes land on my window.Everyone wants to wake up to a white Christmas Day. But for me, snow on Christmas Eve is just as important. That’s mainly because Christmas Eve also happens to be my birthday, and my mom’s as well.
Christmas. Birthday. Snow. Family time later on. I’m winning all around today.
The only thing that could possibly make this day better is a roaring orgasm.
Or two.
Or…three. It’s been a while. Don’t judge me.
I pull my phone out of the pocket of my puffy jacket and type out a quick message to my…‘friend’ Simon.
Me: I’m in town. Let’s hang?
I feel a mischievous grin on my lips. Simon and I both know that Let’s hang? is really just code for Let’s screw each other’s brains out until neither of us can see straight.
I still have about three hours before everyone is meeting up at Grammy’s house for dinner, and getting ‘stuffed’ before Christmas dinner might be a nice way to pass the time. I snicker at that thought.
Simon totally gets a kick out of my dirty humor. And, on the days when he isn’t having one of his pity parties, he’s relatively good at stuffing , if I’m being honest.
I hit ‘send’ just as we’re pulling into the train station. I sit there and stare at my phone for a moment, barely resisting the urge to bounce in my seat.
It’s been way too long since he and I last hooked up and I’m really looking forward to this.
But no jumping dots appear on my screen. Not even that little check mark letting me know that Simon has read my message.
My happy smile starts to wobble as I scroll up to the previous message I sent him earlier in the week.
Me: I learned about this cool new tongue trick the other day. If you’re a good boy, I’ll demonstrate next time we hang out ;)
Also unread.
Chewing down on my bottom lip, I remind myself of the current state of affairs. Don’t read anything into it, Nicky. Simon’s not your boyfriend. It’s casual. You both agreed to keep things casual.
An uncomfortable feeling churns in my stomach, but I ignore it. If this were any other guy, I’d be starting to wonder if he’s deliberately avoiding me. But that can’t be the case. I mean, this is Simon. I spent my teenage years watching him and Jasper fixing cars in Grammy’s driveway. He’s fallen asleep on our basement couch countless times after playing video games with my brothers all night. Even to this day, he rarely ever misses a Westbrook family dinner.
He and I are friends. He wouldn’t ghost me like that…Would he?
It’s just that Simon hasn’t really been responding to my texts the way he used to. He hasn’t been as chatty lately. And it’s been harder to make plans to hang out on the occasions where I make it back to Honey Hill.
My eyes flick away from my phone. They connect with the frost blue gaze of the man sitting across the aisle from me. At the eye contact, his lips curl into a little private smile. That smile spells mischief.
I quickly look away. Nuh-uh.
That guy has been stealing glances at me ever since I boarded the train in Chicago. Every time my gaze wanders in his direction, I find him staring. But as hot as he is, I’m not interested. I know his type.
His eyes are a little too hypnotic. His lips are a little too tempting. And the light dusting of scruff on his angular jaw could get me in a whole lot of trouble. He’s a walking red flag and after my last dating app situationship-gone-wrong, I made a decision to keep my bed a fuckboy-free zone.
That man is heartbreak wrapped up in a pretty package and I’m not available to join his roster of playthings. No.
In any case, I don’t have the time to overanalyze that idea. Right now, I’m focused on not missing my stop.
The train has barely screeched to a halt before I turn and smile politely at the middle-aged guy sitting beside me, his attention lost in the pages of a thriller novel.
“Excuse me,” I say, quickly squirming and slithering out of my seat. “Oop. Sorry. Thank you.”
Most of the people on this train aren’t getting off here in Honey Hill. To half of the passengers, this 5000-person small town is probably nothing more than another middle-of-nowhere stop on this remote Iowa train route. Which is just fine by me. If everyone knew how quaint and perfect this town is, Honey Hill would no doubt lose its charm.
I check my text messages again as I make my way over to the section where my suitcases are stored in the overhead bin. Still no response from Simon. I should probably take a hint and let it go, but I refuse to believe that he’s deliberately avoiding me. I decide to entice him by upping the stakes.
Me: Today is my birthday, mister. It’s well within my birthday rights to demand that you bring your A-game in the bedroom.
I’m halfway through typing out my birthday expectations in a fairly long and descriptive one-handed text message, when I rise onto my tiptoes, feeling around the storage bin for my rolling overnight bag. But I’m way too short for this shit.
I manage to get a hold on the handle and pull. But my plans go awry when it comes loose too fast and I lose control of the heavy luggage. My phone slides from my grip, and I’m scrambling in vain to regain my hold on the bag as it starts coming down on the head of the adorable old lady seated in the row ahead of me.
Oh my god!
I emit a high-pitched squeak, mentally preparing myself for the moment I become a murderer. Right here on this train.
But then a pair of long, thick arms shoot forward. And somehow, the bag gets snatched right out of the air like it’s nothing, one second before it smashes down on the grandma’s skull.
My lungs heave with relief. Wow. Talk about some impressive ninja reflexes.
But now I’m crushed against the side of the seat with the warm, hard chest of a stranger pressed flush against my back.
Before my brain can compute the solid bulge that’s jammed against my ass, the elderly lady in the row ahead of me starts screaming bloody murder. “Would you be careful with that? You’re going to hurt somebody with your carelessness.” Shooting me a fiery glance, she delicately fluffs up the wispy curls of her pouffy silver-blue grandma bob.
I instantly start blurting out apologies. “I am so sorry. Oh my god. I really am. I’m so sorry.”
I’m sincerely relieved that I won’t be charged with murder today. There’s always tomorrow, but at least I get to celebrate my birthday as a free woman.
The old lady wants no part of my apologies, though. In fact, she isn’t even listening to me. Her eyes shift past my head and she grins at her savior. “Thank you so much for saving me, dear heart. Such a strong, handsome young man you are.”
The gravelly vibrations of a deep male voice spill into my ears and travel down my spine, exploding between my thighs. “You’re welcome, ma’am. I’m glad to help.”
Something twists inside me and, on instinct, my neck swivels in the direction of the sound. Shit. It’s the guy from across the aisle. He’s hovering above me with my bag still clutched in his hands.
One good look at him and my words halt in my throat. My thighs clench on instinct as the rest of my body freezes over.
W-whoa…
Ninja Train Stranger is massive . And gorgeous . And whoops—did I mention that he’s gorgeous ?!
Messy golden brown hair curls around the edge of his worn knitted hat. He has high, angular cheekbones that look like they were cut from stone. And without a question, those soft-looking lips were genetically engineered for making out all night.
A killer smile spills across his mouth as he takes a small step backward, blatantly checking me out.
His frosty blue eyes sweep around my face, drifting from my mouth to my eyes then back to my mouth. His smile goes even wider when our eyes meet again. “Hey…”
In response, I make a sound. I’m not sure that sound would classify as a word. Definitely not an English word. It’s more of a two-syllable jumble.
I stand awkwardly in the narrow aisle, watching him. Partly because he’s still holding my bag hostage and partly because he’s simply mesmerizing.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be scolding this guy for staring so openly, but—heck—I’m busy staring, too.
The announcer crackles over the intercom, officially announcing my train stop. “Honey Hill,” the staticky voice garbles. “Honey Hill.”
I jolt. The gorgeous stranger does, too.
Offering him a tight smile, I finally force out an incoherent string of words. “I’m, um, thanks. I mean, sorry. Or thanks. I…I’ve never been good at these overhead bins.” I apologize again.
I’m not a girl who easily gets flustered but damn—he’s so pretty it’s burning my eyeballs. And my brain cells, too, apparently.
Never breaking eye contact, the man sets my rolling bag down at my feet. “I’m Ronan.” He stretches a hand out to me. It’s massive. Just like the rest of him.
And don’t get me started on his cologne. The fragrance is subtle but intriguing. Warm and mossy and cinnamon-y. Clinically formulated to draw helpless women in.
Not me, though.
“I’m, uh…” No fuckboys, Nicky. No fuckboys. “I’m getting off at this stop!” I announce loudly. “Gotta go! Okay, bye!”
Leaving his hand hanging in the air, I turn and busy myself, quickly tugging on my mittens and hooking the strap of my briefcase over my forearm.
Even with my back turned, I can feel him lingering behind me as I try to get myself together. “Hey, do you think I could get your phone numb—?”
I spin around to face him. “Oh, sorry. I don’t have a…a telephone.” No way am I giving this sex devil my phone number.
He lifts an arm, holding a slush-covered device out in the space between us, dangling it between his long fingers.
“You mean this isn’t yours?” he asks almost innocently, even as one corner of his mouth is climbing into a half-smile.
It’s my phone. My phone that I somehow dropped in the middle of all the melee. My phone where that string of unanswered ‘sexts’ intended for Simon is glaring at me from the screen.
I snatch it out of his hand, scavenging through my brain for a quick lie. “It is. I just mean, I don’t have service on it. Phone plans are so expensive these days. No service on this thing. None at all.” Flashing him a plastic smile, I give the screen a swipe down the front of my jeans to clean off all the gunk.
The man nods slowly, staring down at the device as I inspect the glass for any cracks. “Ah! No service! That makes sense. It explains why—” he leans closer and squints at my screen “—Simon, was it?—hasn’t been responding to your text messages.”
When he says that, every cell of my body winces in unison. Burn!
Oh my god. “You read my text messages?!” This freaking asshole read my freaking text messages! “Those are private! Who the hell do you think you are?”
His blue eyes absolutely twinkle, dancing with amusement. “Let me take you out to dinner sometime. And I’ll tell you exactly who I am. Or better yet, I’ll show you.”
I think not!
Anger sizzles every inch of my skin and my cheeks boil with embarrassment. I jam the device into the pocket of my jacket. “No…Thank…You…” I grit out, my tight jaw barely letting the words through. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I don’t want to miss my stop.”
With a slight shake of his head, he grabs his duffel bag and an over-the-top Holiday gift basket from his seat, finally giving up. “Well, seasons greetings, I guess.” He zips up the front of his fleece sweater.
“Yeah. Seasons greetings, you jerk noodle!” I fling out. Jerk noodle? What the hell is a jerk noodle?
Chuckling to himself, he turns and saunters off toward the train’s exit.
He’s getting off at this stop, too? Ugh! Why?!
Instead of grabbing my shit and hustling out the door as well, I stand there, staring after him.
As annoyed as I am with this guy, I have to admit that he’s S-E-X-Y. He’s an attention-grabber on every level. And I bet he knows it, too.Everybody on the train is watching him and whispering as he walks away. I even see Mrs. Silver-Blue Bob Lady try to reach out and grab a handful of his ass.
Well, sheesh! That’s not very grandmotherly.
When Train Guy—or Ronan , I guess we can call him by his name now—is halfway down the aisle, he twists around and shoots me one final quick once-over. “And happy birthday.” He winks. Then he’s gone.
My forehead scrunches into a frown as I watch him exit. Damn him, for leaving me here all flushed, embarrassed and discombobulated.
Fun fact about Nicky Westbrook. I speak my mind. I speak a lot. I am rarely ever speechless. But the way this man’s body moves—all full of grace and power—has left me at a complete loss for words.
Giants aren’t supposed to be so nimble. So graceful. So poised.
But whatever. Now that he’s gone, I can finally stop acting like a weirdo.
Right on cue, my phone dings in my hand, distracting me from all the staring I’m doing.
Bingo!
The possibility of birthday sex is back on the table, and just like that, the gorgeous annoying stranger is already holding less appeal.
I look down, expecting a ‘come and get it’ text from Simon.But it’s not Simon.
I grab both of my bags in one hand and march down the aisle, reading a text message from my bestie, Emma.
Emma: We’re here!! Waiting for you in the parking lot :D
My focus instantly shifts. Now my heart is roaring with excitement to see my friend.
Grinning to myself, I exit the train. But while I’m hauling my briefcase and my overnight bag through the mostly vacant railway terminal, my conscience starts to kick in. I wonder if I was too mean to the man from the train.
Now that I think about it, did that poor guy really deserve the full extent of my wrath? I have a tendency to let my feisty mouth get carried away. And sometimes, my temper, too.
Okay, yes, he acted like an arrogant jackass, but he did save me from injuring that elderly passenger with my luggage. Plus, I would have totally lost my phone if he hadn’t retrieved it for me.
But my guilt immediately dissipates when I catch sight of the hot guy again a moment later. Right now, he’s surrounded by a couple of starry-eyed girls who are fawning all over him. He’s busy scribbling something down on a piece of paper for them.
Wow. Looks like he doesn’t waste any time, huh? Y’see? I was right about him. Of course he’s giving his phone number to the first women to catch his eye. Of course he is.
I’m not even surprised. A man who is that striking and muscular and tattooed and tall and—
Yeah . He’s got to be a manwhore. It’s just how these things work. Nah, I’m sticking to the safe guy.
That’s exactly why I started hooking up with Simon.
Simon is a family friend. Simon won’t hurt me. Simon is familiar. Simon is safe.
Simon is still not answering my freaking messages!
Glancing at my empty text inbox, I bite back a scream.
Something at the back of my mind starts whispering that Simon might not be so safe after all.
Shrugging off that insecurity and faking a confident stride, I march straight out to the parking lot.
A familiar yelp of excitement catches my attention. “Yay! There’s the birthday girl!” Emma announces for all the world to hear.
I squeal when I catch sight of my girls waiting outside of the car. “Merry Christmas, dahlings !”
I drop my bags on the ground before Emma, baby Sparkle, and I collide into a three-way hug. We rock back and forth for a good minute. Then I snatch my tiny niece into my arms.
Sparkle starts singing an adorably sweet, special edition rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ to me, making up her very own version of the lyrics.
I cry big, happy tears. “I missed this little girl.” I blubber, watching Emma load her step-daughter into her carseat. “I can’t believe how fast she’s growing.” How is she two years old already?
“Aunt Nicky needs to come to town more often.” My bestie pokes me in the ribs before I round the vehicle and stuff my luggage into the trunk.
Laughing, I wipe my eyes with my knuckles. “You know what? I think I agree with that!”
Being the only one of my siblings who doesn’t live in Honey Hill, I feel like I’ve been missing all the Westbrook family milestones. I wasn’t here in person when Davis was running his mayoral campaign a few months back. I came this close to missing Cash and Meghan’s wedding last spring. Also, when our cousin, Mason, moved in with his fiancée, Karli, I ended up missing the housewarming party.
I’m getting tired of always being left out. And constantly dragging my suitcase back and forth from Chicago to Honey Hill is starting to get old.
Emma and I climb into the front and drive off. As the car cruises through the slushy streets of Honey Hill, my bestie and I fall into our usual rhythm,chattering excitedly and catching up. Just like we do every time I come back to town for a visit.
I was an angsty preteen when my parents got divorced. My mother moved my brothers and me to Honey Hill, leaving our dad behind in Chicago. It was such a shitty time for my family, and as the self-proclaimed daddy’s girl that I am, I didn’t handle the separation well at all.
But making friends with Emma is one of the things that pulled me through it. She and I just clicked from the very first day of school. Our friendship blossomed over the years, and it only grew stronger when she recently married my brother, Jasper, and adopted his adorable baby girl as her own.
As Emma drives, I can’t help checking my messages every few minutes to see if Simon has responded. He still hasn’t.
I try not to feel disappointed. I mean, I don’t need the full three hours for birthday sex. But it’s been a while, and the longer Simon takes to get back to me, the less chance there is for sexy-times.
“So, is Jasper working late today?” I ask my bestie.
I figure that, since Jasper is Emma’s hubby as well as Simon’s boss and his closest friend, Emma is perfectly positioned to give me the details I need.
“On Christmas Eve?” She scoffs. “He’d better not be, or he’ll be in big trouble! And I don’t mean the fun, naked kind of trouble.” She snickers and I make a big show of sticking my fingers into my ears.
That’s the one downside of having your best friend marry your brother. Emma always feels the need to share the traumatic details of their sex life with me.
“Ugh! Sparkle and I don’t wanna hear about your yucky naked trouble. Right, Sparks?” I glance at my niece, all snug in the backseat.
The child grins cluelessly at me. “No trouble, Aunt Nee-Kee. No trouble.”
I laugh. Turning back to Emma, I choose my next words carefully. “Has the mechanic shop been pretty busy lately? Lots of requests to squeeze in before the Holidays?”
Yes, I’m fishing for information about my hookup from my bestie. It’s pitiful, I know.
I may be trying to be sneaky, but my girl is instantly onto me. Emma’s eyes briefly glance my way. “Are you wanting to know your brother’s work schedule? Or Simon’s?”
Shoot. “I—uh, what? I don’t…” My shoulders fall and I sigh. “I do...”
“I knew it.” Flipping on her indicator and making a left turn, she expels a heavy breath. “Nicks, at first, the thing with you and Simon was all hot and forbidden, but at this point, he’s been stringing you along for far too long.”
I’m already shaking my head. “He’s not stringing me along. We both know that this is just for fun. What we’re doing is nothing serious.”
Emma levels a look at me. “Sweetie, I know when you have feelings for someone. And you, Nicky Westbrook, have feelings for Simon.”
I don’t argue. Because suddenly I’m realizing that she’s not exactly wrong. Simon and I did start out as just having fun. Just an easy hookup when I’m back in town every couple months. Sex without all the vulnerability and the scary emotions.
But somewhere along the way, I think I unconsciously started taking this seriously. I haven’t been seeing anyone else. Hell, I even stopped checking my dating apps.
My feelings are starting to get confusing. And if anyone can help me gain clarity, it’s Emma. Sometimes she understands me better than I understand myself.
I glance in the rearview mirror and find Sparkle snoozing cozily in her carseat. Still, I lower my voice. “Crap. I…I think I’m interested in something a little less casual with him.”I’m almost embarrassed to admit it. Even to Emma.
“Well, I know he’s Jasper’s best friend, but you’re mine, and I think you deserve the best. So, you should either tell Simon to step up, or cut your losses and move on with a man who will give you the love you deserve.”
Nerves zip through me.As bold as I am in life—and in the bedroom—the one thing I’ve never been comfortable asking for is…love. There’s just something about relationships that makes me feel weak, vulnerable, open to rejection.
Luckily for me, my family and friends have always been generous with their affection. I’m surrounded by fucking amazing people who care about me.
But when it comes to men, it’s just a whole different story. I wouldn’t hesitate to demand an orgasm. But asking for my feelings to be reciprocated? Just the thought of having that conversation with a man makes me shudder.
Still I have to admit that, that’s what I’m beginning to want. And it’s time that I open my mouth and ask Simon where he stands.
Emma’s right. I need to confront Simon. And let the chips fall where they may.