Chapter 18 #2
He laughs softly. “I’ll do my best.” Then I hear his breathing become slow and a little unsteady as he gently gathers my hair off of my neck and places it over my shoulder, his fingers grazing the bare skin exposed by the top of the dress.
His movements are so careful, so tender, it takes my own breath away.
Then he fumbles at my back, and I hear another quick intake of breath as the zipper loosens and slowly draws open halfway down my back.
Then—it’s stuck again, lower down, and he kneels, leans in, and carefully works the zipper free, his hands confident, much steadier than his breathing, as he slowly slides the zipper the rest of the way down, tooth by tooth, until the dress is open all the way to the base of my spine, where the top of my thong is probably showing.
A shiver of goose bumps runs down my back, and I can feel his breath against my bare skin.
I’m still clutching the front of the dress to me, as if for dear life.
I feel like I might melt into a puddle if I let go.
“Got it. You’re free,” he says.
I let out a relieved, shuddery little laugh, and he grins into the mirror.
“Nice save,” I manage to say, trying to sound jokey, but it comes out more like a ragged whisper.
“Happy to help you out of a dress.” He grins wider as he stands up, though the movement looks a tinge painful. “Or pants,” he adds. “Or a skirt. Now a scuba suit—that would be tricky…”
I turn around to face him, still holding the fabric to cover the front of my body. “Nate.”
“What?”
“That doesn’t sound like the offer of someone who is just a friend.”
He bites the inside of his lower lip, staring down at me, like he wants to ask me something. “Sometimes even friends get…” He searches for the word. “Curious.”
“Curious, huh?” I repeat, searching his eyes. I reach up and pull his baseball cap off his head, let it fall to the floor.
He swallows and nods. “Mm-hmm.” It’s more of a soft moan than a yes. His voice is thick. I can feel the heat radiating off of him in this small, cramped space. The magnetic pull between us, same as it was that first night on the dock.
We stay like that, looking at each other, and I can’t help but stare at his lips, notice the slight tremble in his chest, as if he’s trying to control himself. Then I notice his eyes catching a glimpse of me from behind, in the mirror.
I feel his hand wrap around to my bare back, his fingers stroking my skin. “You should get changed. You could get cold.”
I shake my head. “You’re keeping me warm,” I whisper. I take one hand off the front of my dress and reach up to his face, feeling the faint stubble along his jaw.
At this gesture, he presses me closer to him and, with his other hand, cups mine, pulling it to the back of his neck as he leans down toward me, and our lips crash into each other.
I run my fingers through his hair. His tongue tastes my upper lip, parts my mouth, and then we’re pressing into each other and I find myself wrapping my other arm around him, holding onto him entirely instead of the dress.
His hands move along my naked back and then to the thin straps that are the last defense holding the dress to me.
One at a time, he takes each of my arms down his chest and gently lets the straps slide off my shoulders and down my arms.
I gasp as the dress releases from me and slips to my ankles, and Nate takes in the whole of me.
“Nikki,” he whispers. His breath shudders against mine, his hands exploring as we melt into each other, our kisses deepening, and I feel myself opening to him, wanting to wrap myself around him entirely, wanting to go way further than we should. Than we can. Than—
Oh god. It takes a lifetime of cultivated willpower to finally pull away.
We stare at each other, both a little shaken, almost in shock from the electricity between us.
“I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t know what just happened, I—” he stutters, running a hand through his hair.
“Shh, no, no, don’t be,” I say. “Don’t be. I just.… We shouldn’t… Right?”
Internally, I’m praying he’ll contradict me. Tell me that maybe we can let ourselves give into this thing between us.
But he doesn’t.
“Right, we can’t. I can’t…” His brow creases, and I can’t tell if it’s in disappointment or pity. “Nikki, I—”
“No, it’s okay, you don’t need to explain again,” I say hurriedly.
Because I don’t want to hear it again, especially not right now, when I feel so raw, so vulnerable.
How we’re too different, too wrong for each other.
How he’s too burned by the past to risk getting involved with anyone, let alone an LA girl who’s about to fly back to her real life.
How our situation is impossible because of our families joining, and the media, and…
“Where’s my—” Now I’m fumbling frantically around the dressing room, avoiding eye contact, trying not to trip on the spilled fabric as I locate my sundress and hurriedly start to button up the front.
“Here, let me at least…” he says quietly. “May I?” Then he reaches for the remaining buttons running up the entire length of my very short sundress, and one by one, he carefully finishes closing them—staring at the buttons, not at me. As if his life depends on getting the buttons right.
I swallow back a wild mix of lust and confused emotions. “I—thank you. That’s—that’s good.” I gather up the wedding dress, and he helps me get it back onto its hanger. “Come on, let’s go find everyone.”
I step out of the dressing room but turn to see Nate still standing there, staring at the dress on the hanger. Then he looks back at me.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “No, nothing.”
“No, not nothing. What?” My heart hammers in my chest.
He looks at me, and for a moment, I feel more exposed than I did standing half naked under those glaring dressing room bulbs. “It’s a really nice dress, Nikki.”
I blush to the roots of my hair. “I told you, I was just being silly trying it on. It means nothing.”
He swallows, nods. “Well, you didn’t look silly in it.”
“No?”
He shakes his head, like he’s thinking, searching for the words. “Nope. Not at all. You looked…” But he can’t seem to finish his sentence.
“Beautiful? Elegant? Sexy? Any of those would do,” I tease.
He shakes his head, again, but this time with an air of sadness. “Like someone who deserves a Happily Ever After.”
I smile, but his words send another stab of confusion right into my chest.
Because I’m still grieving that Nikki—the girl who went on LovedBy thinking she’d get that perfect love story.
The girl who still believed in fairy-tale endings.