Chapter 21
21
NICKY
“W hat is Ronan Brighton doing in my hotel room…?” I softly bang my head against the wall, again and again and again.
I should have said no when he insisted that I have to keep him company tonight.
I should have marched him right back to the elevator when he followed me out on my floor.
I should have set a boundary. I’m all about boundaries after all.
But I didn’t. And now I’m in this small, sterile-smelling bathroom, trying to talk myself out of what might be a panic attack.
Here’s the thing—as frustrating as Ronan is, I know that he wouldn’t be sitting on my hotel bed right now if I’d seriously told him to get lost. He would have tucked tail and gone back to his own room. But the fact is, I didn’t make any real effort to send him away.
And now, I’m wondering what that decision means about me .
“Everything okay in there?” I hear his voice through the wall.
I quickly smooth my fingers down the fabric of my skirt and exit the bathroom. “Yeah. I’m great.” Lingering in the entryway, I force a smile.
Meanwhile Ronan is sitting on my bed, casual as can be. Forearm propped behind his head, pillow wedged behind his back, room service menu on his lap. He’s wearing a Saints T-shirt that clings to his shoulders and a pair of sweatpants. The essence of his cologne saturates the air of this tiny room.
“You sure? I heard you mumbling to yourself in there.” He tosses the room service menu onto the bedside table.
“I…I was making a phone call,” I lie.
His eyes shift to where my phone is charging on the bedside table. Then back to me. He raises an eyebrow, his gaze twinkling with amusement.
Caught in my lie, I fold my arms under my boobs. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.” He chuckles.
Ronan shifts around on the mattress. His hoodie is discarded on the chair in the corner. In the dimly-lit room, the TV casts colorful lights across his features.
“Come sit down.” He pats the duvet beside him in invitation.
I hesitate, my eyes bouncing from his smirk to the bed to his muscular arms to the crotch of his pants. Everywhere.
Everything about this spells trouble.
He chuckles lightly, grabbing his blue Gatorade from the table. “Look at that. Nicky Westbrook is nervous.”
“I’m not nervous, okay?” I grouse.
“There’s no need to be. I’m a man with great self-control. I won’t bite. Not even if you beg me to.” His grin is uncontrollable.
“Ronan, I will not beg you to bite me.”
“You’d better not,” he warns. “Or else things’ll get really awkward when I turn you down.”
Determined to prove that I’m not affected by him, I march across the room and climb onto the corner of the mattress. “You are the most annoying human being ever.”
He picks up the remote, clicking around. “Ooh! Do I get a trophy for that? I’m still waiting for my trophy in the mail.”
“Shush! What are we watching?”
“New episode of A Chance with Vance .” He adjusts the pillow behind his back. “Get over here. You’re missing the good part.”
Curious, I inch a tiny bit closer to him, twisting my neck to see what’s playing on the TV screen. “Oh, cool. That’s the reality show we were watching at your brother’s bar. Right?”
He nods. “Yeah. I have this week’s episode to catch up on.”
When he shifts again, his arm brushes against mine. On instinct, I leap away from him, putting space between us.
Perfectly composed and relaxed, Ronan looks at me sideways. “Would you get comfortable? Please? We can hang out without it getting weird between us. You know that, right?”
“Right.” By now, I’m starting to realize that I’m probably more concerned about my self-control than I am about Ronan’s. Truth be told, I’m the one who might jump his bones at any given moment.
He’s a professional athlete. Those guys are good at that discipline stuff. Me, on the other hand? I have a tendency to get woozy off this man’s pheromones. I don’t know if I trust myself here.
Ronan pauses for a moment. And he searches my face. Really searches it. “Hey. I thought that we were joking around with each other when you acted like you didn’t want me here. But if I’m making you uncomfortable for real, I can leave.” He’s already twisting the cap back onto his drink and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m sorry that I overstepped your—”
“No.” The urgency in the way I say it makes us both freeze. I pause. “Stay. P-please stay.”
“You sure?” he asks me, looking serious for once in his life.
“I’m sure.”
He examines my face again. Then one corner of his mouth quirks into a brief smile. “Okay. But if you’re uncomforta—”
“I’m not uncomfortable.” I scoot a tiny bit toward the center of the mattress, trying to act normal while also being sure to leave adequate space between Ronan and me. I snatch the drink from his hand, uncap it and take a quick sip. Maybe that will hide how much I’m freaking out on the inside. I turn my attention to the TV, trying to ease the tension. “I’d bet people in Starlight Falls are really into this show.”
He settles back in and cautiously takes another sip of his drink, his eyes still assessing me. “Some people are holding weekly viewing parties,” he informs me, also carefully keeping his distance on his side of the bed. “My mom and grandmother are tuning in from Europe. Nolan is going crazy because his staff at the bar keep playing the old episodes on repeat.”
“Oh my gosh. Poor guy,” I laugh.
As I get cozy, my skirt rides up and Ronan’s eyes instantly travel to my legs. But he looks away just as quickly, focusing fully on the screen. I discreetly adjust my skirt, trying to maintain a sense of modesty about me. Not the easiest task since this fabric isn’t exactly stretchy.
In the scene that’s currently playing on the TV, Vance is on a date with Inez. She really is gorgeous. Geez. Her face is almost painful to watch.
Anyway, Vance cups her cheek and slowly leans in, like he’s going in for the kiss.
“Oh, he wants her,” I say, eyes riveted to the show.
“But she’s so not gonna let him.” Ronan predicts confidently, offering me some of the treats he’s snatched from the minibar.
I accept the box and pour myself a handful of chocolate-covered almonds. “You think?”
“I’m sure.” Ronan grabs the package back from me and tosses some chocolate almonds into his mouth.
And just as he predicted, Inez drops her forehead to her bachelor’s, subtly keeping him at bay instead of letting him take it ‘there’. She mumbles something about not wanting to take things to a physical level. Yet.
Ronan chuckles. “See?”
“How did you know that would happen?” I question him as I lean over and grab my paperback from my bag on the floor.
“Look at her body language.” He points at the screen. “She’s got her arms crossed over her boobs like she’s afraid he’ll attack them. And the closer he gets, the more she leans away from him.”
“You’re right,” I say, reanalyzing the scene with fresh eyes.
“To be fair, I know Inez in real life. I’ve seen her body language with Nolan. It’s not the same. That’s how I know that this guy is so not getting any. Not from Inez, at least.”
“I don’t blame her.” I narrow my eyes. “I know he’s a popular actor and all, but he’s giving pervy vibes. And I don’t blame the girl. Nolan’s way cuter.”
“Nolan’s cuter?” Ronan’s eyebrow goes up.
Ha! Ronan-The-Jealous-Bear is back. Time to poke at him. “Yah, Nolan is really cute. Like, cute for real.”
Ronan’s fingers clench around the remote. And did he just growl?
“Nicky and Nolan…Such a nice ring to it. Don’t you think?” I smile dreamily. “Is he single?”
Ronan tosses a pillow at me. “Over my dead body is that happening…” he declares.
I laugh and I laugh. “What’s your beef with your twin brother?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I just…”
Thanks to the darkness in the room, I can’t tell for sure, but it definitely seems like he’s blushing again.
His mouth pulls into a flat line. “Growing up as a twin is awesome and awful at the same time. I love Nolan. We’re in sync in a way that makes our other brothers jealous. But then again, we’ve just always had to share everything. Our bedroom. Clothes. Our birthday. Heck, at home, we were practically one person. It was always just Nolan-and-Ronan. So, sometimes, I just want my own identity. Sometimes, I just like having something that’s ‘mine’. Something I don’t have to share.”
My neck jerks back in offense. What kind of proprietary bullshit is this?! “Newsflash, sir. I am not ‘yours’.”
“That came out wrong. Sorry.” He drags a hand through his hair and winces. “I didn’t mean it in a weird caveman possessive way.”
“I understand what you’re trying to say.” For once, I give him a break instead of busting his balls. I replay what he just said about having a twin. “Sheesh. I never thought of it that way.”
“It’s hard to say what it’s really like, because I’ve never had it any different.” He shrugs. “But look—can you imagine what it’s like going through your whole life feeling…interchangeable? It’s fucking annoying.”
“Interchangeable?” I question.
He nods. “We grew up with everyone treating us like we’re the same person. Sometimes, even our parents. Our teachers. Our crushes in high school. No one could tell us apart.”
“I could tell you apart,” I say with a simple shrug.
“You could?” He sounds surprised.
My head bobs. “Even before I realized you had a twin brother, the moment I saw Nolan, I just knew he wasn’t… you .” There’s a breathiness in the way I say that. It’s a little embarrassing. I clear my throat to hide it. But I think Ronan picks up on it.
In any case, he’s now watching me like I just offered him a Philly cheesesteak, a back rub and a blowjob. Like I’m a genie who just popped out of a bottle.
“I hate feeling interchangeable,” he says with a little chuckle. “Like I’m nothing special. Easily replaceable. Sometimes it feels like that in hockey. Like if I don’t play good enough, if I’m not the best every single time, they could just pluck another eager clone off the assembly line and stick him in my skates and no one would even notice the difference.” His voice goes quiet. He looks so young when he speaks again. “I hate that feeling.”
I don’t know what comes over me. I lay my hand on top of his. “I’d notice the difference. You’re…you’re unforgettable, Ronan. You make an impression when you walk into a room. You have star power.”
His eyes twinkle when they flick to mine. He twines his fingers through my fingers and gives a little squeeze. “Fuck. I actually needed to hear someone say that.”
We share a smile.
“And just to clarify,” he says a moment later, “I love my brother to death. I’m so fucking proud of him, and but the truth is, Nolan has more natural talent than I do and I think he’s smarter, too. He’s better than me at so many things. It feels unfair that I get to live this life and he doesn’t.” Ronan sighs. “So every time I hit the ice, I’m reminded that Nolan didn’t get to live out his hockey dreams. So every game I play, I feel like I’m playing it for the both of us. I’m representing the both of us. It’s a lot of pressure. Every time I fuck up, I feel like I’m letting Nolan down, too.”
“I don’t think that Nolan’s holding you to that expectation,” I tell Ronan softly. “And if he is, that’s his problem. Not yours.”
He shakes his head. “I know that. My brother never put any pressure on me. It’s something I do to myself.” He absentmindedly twists the lid of his drink on and off as he speaks.
“Nolan wouldn’t want you putting that kind of weight on your shoulders, would he?”
“He absolutely wouldn’t. He’d say that he loves his life the way it turned out. He’d say that all the sacrifices he made were worth it for Stella. But still I…”
“You still feel a sense of duty.”
“Right.” He nods lightly.
“You’ve got to know how proud they are of you, right? I mean, Stella understands hockey better than half of those announcers on the Sports Broadcast Network . And Nolan was absolutely beaming when he watched you play that home game.”
“I know.” Ronan nods slowly. “I just want to be…special.”
“You are…” I hear myself whisper.
He smiles. “Thank you, Nicky.”
Silence falls over the room and we both bring our eyes back to the reality show. But as for me, I can’t hear a thing they’re saying. My mind is trying to work through all the layers of Captain Ronan Brighton. All I keep thinking about is how this complicated man just opened up to me.
Then out of nowhere, Ronan shifts on the bed, turning on his side to face me. My stomach dips and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
God—if he slipped his hand between my thighs right now, I wouldn’t even stop him.
“I could so see you on one of those shows,” he comments absently as his eyes bounce around my face.
“What? Me?!” I spit out.
“Yes, you,” he insists.
“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” I’m laughing now.
He nods. “Definitely. You’re all feminine and graceful and shit.”
I laugh. “Graceful is not something I get called very often.”
“Of course you’re graceful. Just one look at you and I can tell that you’re a whole lot more girly than you let on to be. It’s almost like you’re trying to hide it under all that fierce badass-ness…But I see it.”
When he looks at me like that, I feel exposed. Like he’s staring directly at the hidden parts of me that he’s not supposed to see.
On the one hand, I want to clam up and hide. Or make a snarky comment to throw him off-track. But the strange thing is, another part of me doesn’t want to push him away. On some level, I know he won’t use my weaknesses against me to hurt me. Like other guys have.
I set my book on my lap and flip through the pages to give my hands something to do. “My father always said that was my secret talent—hiding the real me under my harsh exterior,” I confess. “Dad wasn’t complaining, though. I think he liked that my prickly attitude kept a lot of the boys away.”
Ronan spits out a laugh. “Ha! He wanted to keep the boys away? I’d bet that didn’t work. I’d bet he had to chase the boys away from you with a stick. Pretty Peach.”
I shake my head. “No stick-chasing was required. After sniffing around me for long enough, the boys would get intimidated all on their own. Then they’d run away.” I bite my lip because it hurts to say this. “I haven’t dated as much as people probably think I have.”
Damn. I actually just said all that out loud. To him. Why did I say all that to him?!
This man is breaking down my tough girl persona, brick by brick.
“Okay. That I don’t believe,” Ronan challenges me.
“It’s true,” I insist. “Not many men know what to do with my big mouth and even bigger personality.”
Oh my gosh, Nicky! What happened to not talking to him about my personal life? As we sit here on this bed in this dark room, all my armor is down. The boundaries have been trampled to the ground.
“If they’re intimidated by you, that’s their problem. Not yours.” A crooked grin lifts one corner of his mouth as he repeats my words from just a moment ago. “A real man isn’t afraid of a challenge. If he’s smart enough to realize that the prize at the end is worth the fight, he’ll fight.”
His words hit me square in the chest.
“I want a man who thinks I’m worth it,” I whisper, a heavy weight pressing down on my heart. “I don’t want to have to apologize for who I am.” My shoulders deflate and I bite the tip of my nail. “It can be so exhausting at times, always feeling the need to prove to everyone how tough I am.”
“You don’t have to prove anything, Nicky.” He reaches out and intertwines our fingers again. “And you don’t have to be tough all the time.”
God—I like the way that feels. Comforting. Tender. Safe.
Not safe in an ‘I’m settling for you because I don’t see you as a threat’ way.’
Safe in an ‘I trust you’ way.
This is weird for me.
“You know what the most annoying part is?” I hear myself whisper.
“What?” He’s listening to me. Intently. Like everything else in the world has faded away.
“All I’ve ever had were situationships. Never the real thing. I’ve never had a soul-deep connection with a guy. Every connection has always felt surface-level. They all run away before things get raw. Real.” I sigh. “At this point, I truly don’t believe the kind of depth I want in a relationship even exists.”
A deep frown grooves into his forehead. He looks a bit upset. “That’s a real pessimistic way to think.”
“It’s realistic.” I shrug, staring down at the shirtless man on my book cover. All broad and muscled and alpha. He sort of looks like Ronan, if I’m being honest. “I wish I could just build a man from scratch. The perfect man. Just the way I want him.” I laugh ruefully at the ridiculousness of the thought. My amusement quickly slips away. “But I can’t. I’ve accepted that. And I refuse to settle anymore. That’s why I’m done with relationships.”
Ronan studies my face for a moment, and I’d pay good money to know what he’s thinking. And then he says, “Is that what you want, Peach? A deep connection?”
I inhale a shallow breath and whisper. “Of course. Isn’t that what everybody wants?”
“On some level, I guess. Not everybody’s willing to admit it to themselves.” He squeezes my hand.
“Why are us humans like that, though?” I laugh wryly.
“Because when you admit that you want something more, you open yourself up to the possibility that you won’t get it. And that can be disappointing. Heartbreaking, even. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t like getting my heart broken.” He grins at me, clutching a hand protectively over his heart. “I guess that’s why I’m not doing relationships, either.”
I sigh, sinking into the pillows behind my back. “Well, I can tell you the relationships I’ve been in have been nothing but disappointment. Even when I set the bar really low.” Just saying that out loud makes me sad. “So, if I can’t find a guy who’s on my level, I’d rather be alone. I don’t want to have to roll around in the mud just so I can have someone to play with.”
Ronan laughs for a moment and then he grows serious. “I understand that, Peach.” He’s silent and then he huffs quietly. “Doesn’t it sort of make you wish there was a course you could take? Or a class you could go to three times a week? Some way you could learn how to do relationships right?”
“I think that’s what a life coach is for, no?”
“Hmm. A life coach. That’s something to look into.”
The more we talk, the more open and raw I feel. The more I ache for Ronan to be the man to put my pieces back together.
Ugh. This is why I hate feelings. Because the feelings I’m feeling right now are a perfect contradiction to everything my good sense is telling me.
I can’t let this guy melt me. I have to reestablish the concrete walls that keep me safe. “All I know is, I’m not handing my heart over to the next guy to flash me a pretty smile. From here on out, if a man wants my attention, he’d better be ready to battle for my affection.”
Ronan reaches across, and allows himself to trace the bridge of my nose. “A man who’s intimidated by you doesn’t even deserve a chance with you.”
“There you go, talking about what I deserve again.” I laugh ironically.
He nods. “Nicky Westbrook, you are a force of a woman. And if you’re with a man who can’t stand strong in the presence of the whirlwind you are, you will constantly be making yourself smaller so you don’t intimidate him.” His palm slides along my jaw, cupping it. “You don’t deserve to live like that. You deserve to show the world every bit of the powerhouse that you are. You deserve a partner who will celebrate you. Not some asshole who’s constantly looking for the dimmer switch because he can’t stand how brightly you shine.”
Gosh—when he looks at me with all that genuine conviction on his face, I’d believe anything he says to me.
When Ronan speaks about me like that, when he puts me all the way up on that pedestal, when he paints me in those glittery colors, I become so overwhelmed.
I should probably respond to what he’s saying but I’m afraid to open my mouth. Because if I do, I’ll probably break out into ugly sobs.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this seen. This valued. This appreciated.
So instead of trying to respond, I close my eyes. I lay my head on the pillow and attempt to absorb all the beautiful things this man just said about me.
A few quiet moments later, I feel a blanket settling around my shoulders. Now my mind is a little fuzzy, suspended in the space between sleep and wakefulness.
My eyes flutter open and I see Ronan hovering above the bed. “Hey…” he says tenderly. My heart squeezes at the gentleness in his voice.
“Hey…” My lips curve into an easy smile.
“I’m gonna go…” He reaches for his sweater where it’s balled up on the chair.
Over his back, the TV is still on, the sound completely muted as another episode of the reality show plays.
In my groggy state, I stretch a hand out to him. “Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone right now. I just want you to stay.”
These words don’t feel familiar to me. I can’t believe they’re falling from my lips. Good thing I’m way too exhausted right now to overanalyze them to death.
“You want me to…?” he asks.
I nod against the pillow.
His doubtful eyes drift from my face to the outline of my body hidden beneath the thin sheet.
“Please…” I say softly.
He hesitates. Then his chest rises with a deep inhale. “Okay. Sure.”
Ronan drops his sweater back on the chair. I watch his careful, tentative movements as he slowly climbs into the bed.
The voice in my mind taunts me. Where are all those professional boundaries now, Nicky? Huh? Where are they? Where are they?
That judgy bitch in my head can go suck on some rocks, for all I care. Ronan and I aren’t doing anything wrong. We aren’t kissing. We aren’t touching. We’re each laying on our own respective side of the bed.
Nothing bad going on. Nothing bad at all.
The room falls silent. Eventually, I’m drifting off to the sound of Ronan’s own rhythmic breathing. I like this. It’s companionable. Zero expectations. Zero pressure. It makes me feel safe.
Sometime just after midnight, my eyes flutter open again. My head eases off my pillow and I glance around. The bright colors of the TV dance across the darkened walls. It takes a moment for me to remember where I am.
Oh, shit. I’m in a hotel bed. With Ronan Brighton. This can’t be real.
I turn on my side and smile at the sight of him.
There he is. The man himself. Eyes closed, long lashes fluttering as his wide chest rises and falls evenly. Limbs spread out, one massive hand splayed across his washboard abs where the hem of his T-shirt has ridden up. My god—he’s beautiful.
As for me, I’m a mess. The blanket he draped over me a few hours ago is gone. My legs are exposed where my skirt has slid up my thighs. My blouse is untucked from my waistband. And every article of clothing I’m wearing is wrinkled to hell.
I sit up and get a glimpse of my hair in the dresser mirror across the room. Let’s just say, the fly-aways have flown away. All of them. My head is a frizzy mess.
“For goodness sake, Nicky,” I croak in my throat.
Needing to use the porcelain throne, I ease myself off the mattress, careful not to wake my bed buddy.
I’m taking quiet footsteps toward the bathroom when I hear Ronan say my name in a pained groan. “ Nicky …”
I peek over my shoulder at him. “Shit. Sorry,” I whisper, flinching. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He doesn’t respond to my comment. Instead, he repeats my name. This time in a guttural rasp that sends visceral heat racing down my spine. “Fuck, Nicky. Yes.”
Confusion sweeps into my mind and I squint my eyes at him in the dimly lit room. I watch his hand slide from his stomach, down under the waistband of his shorts.
My eyeballs bulge out of my skull.
I leap a whole foot backward, palms clamped over my mouth to keep from screaming out loud.
Ronan is fast asleep. But now his hand is inside his pants. Working. Up and down. With my name falling from his lips again and again.
Hol-ee shit!
And now the space between my legs is pulsing like crazy. Why is the space between my legs pulsing like crazy?! Someone please explain it.
My groggy brain still hasn’t fully processed exactly what I’m witnessing. All I know is, I need to move. Fast.
I take a step backward away from the bed. “Okay, okay…” I whisper to myself. “I just need to grab a sweater. And go for a walk. That sounds like a good idea. To clear my head. Or better yet, a jog. Or a run. A really, really fast run. Far away from here.”
Instead, I trip over my bag strap.
My feet slip from beneath me. I’m going down like a sleep-drunk sack of potatoes. In the process, I try to grab onto the lampshade. Not a great idea. The whole damn lamp comes down with me.
Ronan and his superhero moves can’t save me now. Because Ronan’s too busy rubbing one out in his sleep and moaning my name.
Oh. My. God.
My ass hits the floor with a crack.
“Ow,” I groan from where I’m now all tangled up in luggage and electrical wires on the floor. I’m lying on my back, arms wrapped around the lamp, legs up in the air.
Graceful as fuck.
The commotion rouses Ronan from his dream. He rolls onto his side, sleepy eyes finding me in the dark. “Nicky? Um, why are you humping the table lamp?”