2. Naz
TWO
NAZ
I take a deep breath the moment the door clicks shut behind me. It’s not his fault that lines got crossed this morning. Scott is nothing but careful and diligent about boundaries. It’s one of the reasons I trust him.
If I’m honest, I didn’t hate waking up the way we did. I don’t remember the last time I slept so well. Or comfortably. Who knew Scott Riley would make such a good mattress?
Even so, I’m not sure I can handle a week of this.
If this is what happened after just the first night, I can’t imagine how much further the lines would continue to blur after an entire week.
Scott is too nice a guy for things to not devolve outside the perimeters we outlined when we started this arrangement.
I follow the smell of coffee down the hallway and find Emmy in the kitchen.
He has his back to me, so I have just enough time to situate myself with my arms crossed and put on a disapproving scowl.
It’s harder than I will ever admit to hold my glare while he shimmies and shakes his little ass to whatever music is playing in his earbuds.
Eventually, he turns around, letting out a piercing shriek and flinging a jar at me.
What I’m pretty sure are tea leaves shoot into the air like confetti and cover every surface of the kitchen, my body, and my hair.
“Earl Grey?”
Emmy nods sheepishly. “It’s Mr. Holland’s favorite breakfast blend.”
“Smells lovely,” I deadpan, but don’t stop glaring as Emmy scuttles around the kitchen to find a broom. “I hope he didn’t want any in his cup.” I upend the now empty jar of tea leaves that I thankfully caught with my hands and not my head. It’s a pretty heavy decorative jar.
Emmy makes a little “meep” sound and grabs the jar from me, examining it for damage with a worried expression.
“No worries little man, I caught it.”
“Don’t call me that. But thanks.”
“You are a little man.”
“I’m not that little. You’re all just freakishly tall. Except for Ari, he’s normal sized.”
“Still taller than you.”
“By an inch.”
“Every inch counts.” I waggle my eyebrows, and it’s not until Emmy chokes on a laugh and turns beet red that I remember that I’m mad at him. “You wanna tell me what I did to piss you off?”
“Huh? I’m not pissed at you. I didn’t mean to throw the canister. You just surprised me by standing over there all broody and glowering at me. Wait, why were you glowering?”
“You gave us all room assignments.”
“Um… Well, not really. Everyone’s just naturally coupled up. Except me, of course. And Blake. Which is why he got his own room, and I slept on the couch.”
“Uh-huh.” I cut my eyes to the clearly unused pillow and neatly folded blankets at the far end of the couch. A couch I would have gladly slept on if Emmy hadn’t claimed it for himself, even though we all know where he was sleeping last night.
Emmy narrows his eyes. “Did Will say something? Because whatever he told you, it’s probably bullshit. He thinks he’s funny.”
“Why do you think Will said something?”
“Because Ari knows how to keep his mouth shut.”
“Oooh. Must be something good, then. Please do tell.”
Emmy clamps his lips shut. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You are literally the worst liar. Please get over yourself and just sleep in Blake's bed the way we all know you are.”
“I’m not—”
“And then I can actually sleep on the couch.”
Emmy freezes. “Wait. What? Why would you sleep on the couch?”
“Because you have me sharing a bed with Scott.”
“Yes… And?”
“Scott and I do not sleep together.”
“Since when? Everyone knows you two are—”
“Not sleeping,” I finish for him. “It’s not romantic or anything like that. It’s just a… physical arrangement.”
“A physical arrangement,” Emmy repeats slowly, sounding unimpressed.
“Yes. And I really don’t like sharing a bed.
So if you’re not going to actually sleep on the couch, maybe we can work something out?
We can set a time for you to sneak into Blake’s room like we both know you’re going to anyway, and I can make sure it looks like someone actually slept on the couch.
We can switch back in the morning or something. ”
“You’re really not together?”
“We’re really not.”
Emmy, for whatever reason, looks like I just told him I’m personally responsible for the existence of puppy mills.
“I’m so sorry, Naz. I shouldn’t have assumed. To be fair, everyone kind of assumes…”
“Isn’t there a phrase for that? Something about keeping your ass out of other people’s business?”
Emmy’s shoulders drop, and he nods. “I really am sorry. And you can totally have the couch. I’m not staying anyway, I need to head up to the New York office to talk to legal and PR about the Stay Loud aftermath and the extended tour dates.”
Rolling my eyes, because it’s impossible to stay mad at someone so little and cute and overall awesome, I pull Emmy into a hug. “I’m not mad at you, Em. It’s just an awkward situation. It wasn’t your fault.”
He shakes his head fervently. “No, it was my mistake. And I hate—hate—making mistakes. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.”
“No need, little man,” I say before stealing his freshly brewed cup of coffee. I take a long sip and then spit some tea leaves back into the cup. “Never mind. I’m going to go pick up some coffee and donuts or something. You want anything?”
Emmy gets to work straining the cup of tea I’m assuming he was making for Blake. “No, I’m good, thanks. I’m going to have to head out and find Mr. Holland some more tea leaves.”
“You know you’re the only one that calls him that, right?”
“What?”
“Mr. Holland. You’re the only one that doesn’t call him by his first name.”
“It’s a little different. He technically works for all of you, but I work directly under him so maintaining professionalism is important.”
“Yeah, I bet you do,” I mutter under my breath.
Emmy slaps me with a tea towel. “Stop it.”
“No, you stop it.”
“Behave, children.” Blake’s deep voice startles us both, and Emmy almost throws his coffee mug. I manage to hold his hand down and mitigate the worst of the mess, but both of us are splashed with the coffee that I’m pretty certain is mostly coconut-flavored creamer.
“Christ. What the hell happened in here?”
“Your boy toy is a little jumpy this morning. You might need to do something to get him to relax, boss.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Hmm? I didn’t say anything. Gonna head on a breakfast run. Text me if you need anything, ‘kay byee.”
“Look, hockey romance has me in just as much of a chokehold as everyone else right now, I’m just saying there are other sports that are far more appealing when it comes to aesthetics.”
“Like what?”
Shawna and I look at each other, then back at Scott. “Rugby.”
Scott holds up his beer. “Touche.”
I’m not sure that Scott was much of a romance enthusiast before he started having to follow me around.
He started asking for recommendations one day when he noticed I usually pack a handful of paperbacks and always have my e-reader on standby.
He’d ask so many questions about what I was reading that I just fell into sharing with him, or he’d interrupt my audiobooks so often that I started just handing him one of my earbuds so he could listen along.
For whatever reason, it’s not as annoying as it should be.
I was never much for buddy reading, but he keeps up and always keeps the conversation interesting.
And then there’s the stuff that happens when what I’m reading is on the spicier side and he gets all boned up.
That’s pretty fun. I may or may not have picked up a series called Leather and Lattes so we could act out some of the scenes, but it got a little too real when one of the main conflicts hit a little too close to home.
Now Scott likes to joke that I’m going to fall in love with him against my better judgement, and I can’t quite tell if he’s trying to tease me or assure me.
“Anyone want another beer?” Scott asks, standing and picking up the empty bottles from the table.
He counts all the raised hands and walks back into the house, depositing the bottles in the recycling on the way.
The entire time, he avoids eye contact, going the long way around the fire pit so as to not get too close.
I can’t decide if he’s upset that I slept on the couch last night, or if he realizes we crossed a line yesterday morning and is trying to give me space. I suppose it could be a little of both.
“So how’s that going?” Shawna asks, watching me watch Scott disappear into the house.
“How’s what going?”
“You are so full of shit.”
I like Shawna. She’s Luc’s best friend, but since we met her, I’ve kind of claimed her for myself.
We have a mutual love of all things smut and sarcasm.
But while I like Shawna a lot, I also kind of hate her because she’s easily the most direct and invasive human being on the planet.
The girl pulls zero punches and does not bullshit.
“How’s AJ?” I asked pointedly, trying to change the subject.
“Why would I know? Ask Luc.”
“You know that man has it bad for you, right?”
“Please, I would break that boy in half.”
“He’s twice your size.”
“—Snap his spine like it was nothin’…”
“Uh-huh. What about Dez Carter? Or was it Alonso? Are they related, or is it just coincidence that they’re both gorgeous and share the same last name and have both been witnessed sniffing around you like they’ve scented their fated mate?”
“Are you slut shaming me to get out of talking about you and Scott?”
“What is with everyone this week?” I throw up my hands. “There is no me and Scott.”
Shawna lifts an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.
Tilting my head back, I groan at the darkening sky. “Okay, obviously there’s something going on there, but it’s just a physical thing. A simple exchange. Nothing more.”
She mouths the word exchange like it’s foreign, then lurches forward in her seat. “Wait wait wait wait wait… This wouldn’t have anything to do with your sudden interest in BDSM books, would it?”
“What? No. Mind your business.”
“Oh my God, you’re blushing!”
“I am not.”
“Nazli Marianna Lester, you’d better fuckin’ spill or I’m going to cause a scene.”
“The fuck? That’s not my name.”
“Stop deflecting.”
Exactly two point four seconds go by before Shawna starts overdramatically shoving her feet into what I’m pretty sure are a pair of Luc’s slides, and heaving herself out of the excessively reclined Adirondack chair.
“Oh, sit the fuck down, woman. Jesus you’re nosey.”
“Come on, Naz. You know you wanna tell me.”
“I really don’t. It’s none of your business or anyone else’s.”
“Tell me and I’ll tell you who has a bigger dick.”
“I knew you fucked both of them! Ouch! Why’d you kick me?”
“I’m not on trial here, sir. Spill.”
“Fine. We’re casually having casual sex.”
“Casually.”
“Yes. Very casually.”
“What kind of sex?”
“What kind of question is that? You need to know all the details?”
“Duh. So do you top exclusively, or do y’all switch?”
“What?”
She shrugs. “Scott gives off bottom vibes.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Oh, shut up. He’s a total puppy for you. I bet he rolls right over and shows you his belly.”
I almost laugh. If she only knew. Although, to be fair, I could see Scott being like that if he were in a normal, real relationship. I’m pretty sure he only does this for me.
She stares at me like she’s waiting for me to say more, but there isn’t anything else to say. She doesn’t need to know the sordid details of my arrangement with Scott.
“You know, bodyguard romances are hot. I could recommend a few.”
“I’ve probably read them,” I say with a shrug before smirking. “Okay, it’s your turn. You owe me some deets. Who is bigger? I haven’t gotten close enough to Dez to really tell, but my money’s on Alonso. I’ve heard some things.”
“Nope,” Shawna says, popping the p and holding my gaze for a long, dramatic pause. “It’s me.”
She winks and cackles.
It takes my brain a second to catch up, and then I burst out laughing. I’m laughing so hard I’m almost in tears when Scott comes back with our beers.
“What’d I miss?”
Shawna moves her fingers apart until she’s holding them out in front of her nearly a foot apart. I hope for Dez or Alonso’s sake that’s an exaggeration.
“Bright green and glows in the dark, too.”