Chapter 10 #2
“What’s that like?” I grumble, yanking the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands before dragging them down my overheated cheeks.
I’ve only ever been jealous—truly envious—one time in my life, when I found my sister and Waylon together, so I’m not sure if that’s what I’m feeling.
Although I don’t know why I’d be jealous of Nico.
Possibly because of his life, of all of his experiences.
To be so confident he knows he can snap his fingers at any person willing to be his partner.
He doesn’t even have to try because they gladly follow him to his bed.
He sits on his butt across from me. “Did you ask me what that’s like?”
“No.”
He frowns. “You did. Did you mean sex? What’s sex like?”
“No.” I huff, shifting to scoot back, but he extends his long legs out on either side of me, trapping me once again. This time, Gus gets in on the action, and he slinks over to nestle against me.
“Josephine, are you…?” Nico stares at me, his eyes darting back and forth between mine, obviously reading between the lines. “Are you a virgin?”
I slant my gaze toward the window, away from his visceral curiosity. “That’s a personal question.”
“We’re engaged. We can’t get any more personal than that.”
“We’re not really engaged. You need to stop using that against me.”
He tugs on my arm, pulling my left hand to him so he can draw up the sleeve of my sweatshirt, revealing his ring—my ring. “I’m not using anything against you. I’m trying to get to know you.” He toys with the thin gold band. “You don’t need to be embarrassed if you are. It’s no big deal.”
I snort. “Says the biggest player on the planet.”
“So you are?”
My silence is answer enough, and he crowds in even closer, folding his legs so our knees touch, his shorts practically underwear with how high they ride up his muscular thighs, displaying nearly everything between them.
“What’s the story there?” he asks, finally releasing my hand, and I shove it into the pocket of my hoodie.
“There isn’t a story,” I lie. “Just never happened.”
“Remind me how old you are.”
“Twenty-five.”
He lifts a shoulder. “That’s cool. You waiting for the right person?”
I was an outcast at home. I had no opportunities to even flirt with a boy, and when I moved here, I found it difficult to block out all the voices in the back of my head. I’ve been on dates with guys. I’ve kissed them, but that’s about as far as it’s gone.
“Not necessarily,” I finally reply, and Nico leans in, studying me closely, like he usually does in that way that makes me think I am special. But I can safely assume this is how he makes every woman feel. Like they’re special. Like they’re the only one.
“I hope you don’t feel ashamed,” he says gently, pityingly.
And I hate it.
“It’s not as if I have a disease. I’m a virgin. Like you said, it’s not that big a deal.” I ungracefully flail until I’m on my feet once again. “You don’t need to be a dick about it.”
He shoots up to standing. “Ooh, I like sassy Josephine.”
“Well, I don’t like cocky Nico.”
He crosses his arms, his arrogance on full display. “You’re awfully touchy about the subject, for something you supposedly don’t care about.”
That sets my dormant temper loose. “Yes! Okay, fine. You win, Nico. I do care. I am touchy about it. I’ve never had sex and I want to, but no one seems to want to have it with me.
Are you happy? You got the bridge troll to admit it, that no one will even give her a second look, so why would anyone want to take her pants off? ”
“Hey, whoa.” He catches my hand. “Don’t be upset.
I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Jo. Let’s talk about it.
” He bodily turns me to face him with his hands on my shoulders.
“And don’t call yourself a bridge troll.
That’s fucking absurd, all right? If guys can’t see how beautiful you are, that’s their problem, not yours. ”
I snort a laugh because I don’t need this beauty is in the eye of the beholder pep talk from one of the most beautiful men ever to exist in real life.
He’s half Italian supermodel and half silver-fox millionaire, which equals one hundred percent gorgeous.
Even without the hockey body and ability to literally charm the underwear off women.
He smooths one hand over the back of my head, asking, “What bothers you? That you’re a virgin or that I know?”
I sink into his hold, honesty tripping off my tongue. “Both.”
“Would it make you feel better if I forgot?”
“I know you’re excellent at pretending, but I’m not. I won’t be able to forget you know.”
He exhales long and noisily, pursing his lips as he considers me. “Okay, so… What if I help with the other bit?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you want to, we could have sex.”
I choke on my breath, and he slaps my back with a laugh.
“Well, okay then. You don’t have to die on me to get out of it. You could simply say no.”
I cough and clear my throat a few times. “It’s not that. It’s… Why? Why would you want to have sex with me?”
He’s careful with his words as he replies slowly, his eyes unblinking. “Because I like sex. I told you already.”
Except his words don’t sound right. For the first time, he sounds forced in this game of pretend. As if he’s lying.
“While we’re doing this, we might as well have some fun, right? I could teach you some things, and you could keep me company on long, lonely nights so the front office will think I’m on my best behavior.”
By the time he finishes his explanation, he’s back to his usual chipper self, but the doubt in his earlier words has already implanted in my brain.
“I don’t believe you.”
“No?”
“No. I think you’re just trying to make me feel better.”
He takes a step toward me, so I take one back. And another and another until I’m up against yet another wall.
“So what if I am? If being a virgin bothers you so much, I’m volunteering my services.”
“What a saint.”
He places his palms on either side of my head. “Mm-hmm. You want me to bless you?”
“I can’t stand you,” I mutter, dropping my chin so I don’t have to stare into his laughing eyes.
“Then you should’ve picked a different man to pretend to be your fiancé, but seeing as you have me, you might as well use me.” He drags the tip of his nose over my cheekbone and ghosts his lips over the shell of my ear. “I promise, you’ll enjoy it.”
Goose bumps skate over my skin, and my voice comes out in a breathy plea. “Nico.”
“Yeah, mama?”
“Stop trying to seduce me.”
That earns a chuckle and one single step away from me, and finally, I can breathe again.
At least until he curves his hands around either side of my head, forcing my gaze up. “At least let me kiss you so you can make an informed decision.”
The voices in the back of my head scream at me, call me names, make me feel like I’m nothing, like I’m not worthy of anyone, least of all Nico Tremblay.
Then I think of the Post-it on my mirror—the one that tells me I can’t change what people say about me, but I can choose not to listen to them.
For once, I don’t.
I silence those voices with one single word. “Okay.”
Nico wastes no time, sweetly brushing his mouth along mine once, twice, a third time.
Then his tongue is there, sliding over my lower lip before he tugs at it with his own, prodding at me to meet him where he is, in this dance that I don’t know.
I never learned the steps, but he keeps time, slipping one hand down to my waist, pulling me close, and I can’t do anything except lean into him.
He bends me slightly, my back arching over his forearm, while he combs his other hand into my hair, angling my head the way he wants it.
I follow his lead, hesitantly licking into his mouth, searching for his tongue, and when I find it, he hums appreciatively. As if I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to.
This is as far as I’ve ever gone, kissing four men, and none of the experiences knocked my socks off.
I never knew what to do. I never knew where to put my hands, and I was so worried about doing it right that I couldn’t enjoy it, but here with Nico, I don’t think about anything outside of the press of his fingertips on my scalp and at my back.
Of the slide of his tongue along mine and the gentle scrape of his teeth over my lip when he changes the angle once more.
I am so enthralled, I can only cling to him, fist his shirt in my hands, and press up on my toes, needing closer and more and all of it.
I need whatever he is willing to offer me.
I need to know what it all feels like.
I need to keep those voices silent.
And when Nico finally pulls away from me with a soft, close-lipped kiss to my mouth and then cheek, his hands around my jaw, I blurt out a dazed, “Wow.”
He hums, sounding dazed himself. “Yeah. Wow.” Then he drags the pad of his thumb over my lip. “I love your mouth.”
I huff a laugh, but when he remains serious, I shake my head. “You do?”
It’s his turn to huff. “Yeah, Jo. I’m kind of obsessed with it.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Obsessed enough to want to…”
“Kiss it? Fuck it? Dream about it?”
He dreams about it?
As if he can hear my thoughts, he sweeps his thumb over my bottom lip again. “Can you blame me?”
“No one’s ever been obsessed with any part of me before.”
“Good. That means I can have you all to myself.”
I close my eyes, warning myself not to get carried away. This isn’t real, and I’m not special. He may be offering up his services, but I would be merely another notch on his belt.
I’m not opposed to it, yet I know his practiced words are simply that—words.
None of this is real.
Which is maybe what makes it so easy to agree. If it’s not real, I have nothing to lose. Except for my virginity.
“So what do you say, Jo? We doing this?”
Instead of verbally answering, I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him.