Chapter 17
Andi
The two days in Squamish go about as well as they could, considering the circumstances (the circumstances: when I mounted him without notice on the floor of our hotel room).
To be fair, we were practicing self-defense.
He was meant to be on the ground. But I wasn’t meant to straddle him like a horse.
I don’t know what the hell came over me.
Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t had sex in three years and am basically a born-again virgin.
Maybe I’m ovulating. Maybe I felt like I had something to prove after he admitted my boobs weren’t memorable.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s offensively attractive, shirtless, and sleeping mere feet away from me. I’m only human.
I also hadn’t expected to love the feeling of his body underneath me, the friction, the way I could feel every beat of his heart like the softest vibration.
If he hadn’t ordered me off him (in the nicest way possible), I probably would have kissed him or worse.
If history is any indication, it would have gone south, because that’s just my life.
A series of failed social interactions. And I need him for the summer, possibly until Gretchen’s gala.
Fake dating aside, we mutually agreed on our friendship status. It would be nice to have a friend I can talk to about (mostly) anything. I can’t let my overactive hormones screw it up.
So I spend the next day solidifying my permanent residency in the friend zone. I barely spare him a passing glance when he’s shirtless after a shower, water droplets clinging to each ridge and groove of his hard-earned abs (okay, maybe I snuck a peek or two, or twelve).
Thankfully, work is busy for both of us.
Eric has a meeting with the premier of BC (the head of the provincial government), followed by a press conference and a couple community appearances.
Gretchen has a visit to the local soup kitchen, as well as an elementary school.
When I’m not following at her heels and doing gala prep on the side, I’m on the hunt for fresh flowers for her hotel room and a very specific face serum she once found at a farmer’s market six years ago but can’t remember the vendor’s name (really narrows it down).
If that weren’t enough, her publisher has also requested her proposal for her next book, a vegan cookbook.
Naturally, she’s asked me to write the whole thing based on exactly two handwritten bullet points.
By the time Nolan returns to the room around nine, I’m almost too exhausted to talk.
But one can’t be too careful. As an added precaution, I’ve tucked myself into a cocoon of blankets in my ugly pajamas and turned the lights off.
No talking of any variety, including small talk.
He seems fine with that, settling into his makeshift bed on the floor without a fuss.
The morning we’re set to leave is our first test. At the strong suggestion of Bethany from PR, I help Gretchen and Eric snap some “casual yet romantic” photos on the hotel balcony for social media.
I’ll hand it to them, they really do look like they’re in love.
You’d never know there’s turmoil by the way Eric wraps his hand possessively around her waist, or by the way Gretchen beams back at him.
Once Bethany is satisfied with the photos, Gretchen turns her attention to me. “You two should get a shot,” she suggests, wagging her finger in my direction. I glance over my shoulder at Nolan standing a couple feet behind me, his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
“Us?” I clarify, still not used to being referred to as “you two.”
“Who else?” she says with an eye roll, gesturing for him to come closer. He inches forward reluctantly, so reluctantly, she has to urge him to pose closer to me.
Realistically, it is an opportunity to get a good picture for social media.
Nolan shoots me a funny smile before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I lean in, resting my head on his chest, allowing myself one liberal sniff. He smells like a mixture of minty toothpaste and fresh laundry, just like he did the night we met.
“Okay, act like you really like each other. Give us a quick kiss,” Gretchen prods, unimpressed by our lack of PDA.
“She wants us to kiss,” I whisper to Nolan.
I expect him to scrunch his face at the prospect and give me horror movie eyes that scream, You really want to try this again? Instead, he just watches me for a moment, a look of curiosity fleeting across his features. “Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispers.
I study his face for a moment, really study it. I take in the perfect slope of his nose. The fullness of his lips. The tinge of pink in the crests of his cheeks. Damn right, I want him to kiss me. But I settle for, “It would be weirder if we refused.”
This is the part where he could run away entirely, or laugh in my face—either would be an appropriate reaction. But shockingly, he nods and leans in.
A millisecond after he dips his lips toward mine, I spring forward on my toes like a jack-in-the-box, entirely misjudging the distance.
Your Honor, it’s a disaster. Let the record show, I’m an abysmal kisser.
Gretchen clicks away as his perfect nose clumsily grazes the side of mine.
Thankfully, this time it’s our cheekbones that collide first, not our lips.
The pain makes me lose my footing, and I stumble into his chest, stomping on his polished shoe in the process.
He pulls back abruptly and his brows lift. You nearly took me out, they say.
Before I can curl into a ball and roll down the mountainside, he closes the distance between us again, steadying his hands on the small of my waist. I surrender, letting him take full control of this one.
And he really does. He comes in slow, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a sweet, adoring way I’ve only written about in my books, never experienced.
His lips follow, brushing against mine in the softest whisper.
It’s so light, I have to open my eyes for a fraction of a second to confirm contact.
A confetti cannon goes off in my chest, exploding all the way to my toes. I shiver from the sensation, exhaling disappointment when he pulls back.
He inhales, his eyes fluttering to a close before his mouth catches mine. Fast. And this time, I’m ready. And when he slips his tongue against my lips, I part them immediately, my knees nearly buckling at its searing warmth.
He tastes pure, like water and nothing in particular except maybe a hint of mint.
His tongue slides against mine and I can’t help but whimper into his mouth.
At the sound, he tightens his grip on my waist, letting his hand creep up my spine, vertebra by vertebra.
I press myself forward, my breath shallow, frantic to have him closer.
He gives me a quick squeeze, giving my bottom lip one last suck, which nearly unravels me entirely.
I don’t know how much time passes. It could be an hour, or two seconds.
But when he finally pulls away, my lips are swollen and my chest is heaving.
Holy shit.
That wasn’t like the first time. Not at all. I am officially short-circuiting, unlike Nolan, who looks cool as ever, smirking at me like he’s expecting me to say something.
“I got some cute ones. I’ll text them to you,” Gretchen says. “Oh, when we get in the car, I need you to go through my phone and delete everything I don’t need. My phone is running out of storage.”
I nod, so utterly dizzy and flustered by what just happened, I barely compute a word.
“Was it as bad as last time?” Nolan whispers as we follow Gretchen and Eric to the cars.
I swallow and my throat is like sandpaper. It’s an unfair question, really. If I say yes, it could hurt his feelings. If I say no, I’m opening things up into dangerous territory. So I settle on, “It was similar.”
“Similar? As in bad?”
I level him with a look. “I mean, do you think it was good? I hit your face with mine.”
He scratches the side of his head, like he needs to really think about it. “It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible,” he assures. “But if you’re worried about it, we have all summer to work on it.”
Great. Just great.