Chapter Eight #2
She pulled her lips back in a terrible grin. Mimicking him, he realized with a writhing stomach. Oh god, was that how he came across? That was even worse than he thought. No wonder she didn’t want to be his mate.
“Okay,” he said, and had to clear his throat so the rest of it didn’t come out so shrilly. “I don’t remember that. I haven’t— Maybe I’ve been laying it on thick. Sometimes. But I wasn’t trying to mess with you. I was trying—”
He stopped, sweat sliding down his back. He couldn’t tell her the truth. But he could tell a white lie.
“Shit. I’m trying to make you laugh, okay? That’s it. You’re always stressed—”
“I am not,” she said, sounding faintly offended. But the kind of offended where the person knew they were lying.
“I don’t know. I thought you could use a laugh. That’s why I called you Violet. It’s funnier to full-name people.” He rubbed a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing down another grimace when he noticed how gross it was.
“I want you to have a good time,” he admitted. “You deserve—”
He clamped his jaw shut before he could incriminate himself any further.
Vi stared at him, realization dawning over her face. “Oh my god. You’re . . . You’re serious?”
Nick threw up his hands. “That’s what I’ve been saying the whole time!”
Vi stared at him some more. For a moment, Nick thought she was going to yell at him again, and he braced for Triss to come running in, to witness his humiliation.
Then the impossible happened:
Vi giggled. Quiet at first, then louder, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. It was the wildest laugh he’d ever heard out of her.
“That is . . .” Vi shook her head, grinning.
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!
You want to make me laugh? Tell me a joke!
Don’t pull my pigtails. What is this, grade school?
That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous! I thought you thought I was this .
. . stupid, sensitive human who needed to get over herself. ”
“I don’t! Like I said, I think you’re smart and kind and . . .” Nick stammered to a stop. “You know.”
“You know?”
He winced. “You’re kind of gorgeous?”
He expected her to roll her eyes. Maybe frown at him. At the very least pull up that distant smile again, realizing she let too much of herself shine through to the last person she wanted to see her.
But Vi just cocked her head. “Only kind of?”
Nick burst out laughing, so relieved he was gasping. What was happening? Were they actually having an enjoyable conversation?
“No, I just—” Vi ducked her head, reaching up to tighten her hair ribbon. “I assumed you’d be more over the top. I’ve seen you flirt, Nick Wicker. You dived into a pool table for that minotaur tourist last year.”
Nick snapped his fingers. “That’s where those bruises came from!”
He was joking. Of course he remembered it; he’d never gotten drunk enough to forget what happened. But the joke was automatic, and apparently worth it:
Vi giggled again. It was the sweetest noise he’d ever heard. Nick had to fight the urge to step closer. He was reeling. Five minutes ago, he thought he’d lost her forever, before he even got to know her. Now they were laughing together. Was this the chance he’d been hoping for?
“Look,” he said, heart in his throat. “Can we start again? No more . . . pulling your pigtails, or whatever.”
He held out a hand.
Vi eyed it, lips twisting.
“No joy buzzer,” he promised, forcing his voice not to quiver. “Come on. Friends?”
She snorted. “Okay.”
She took his hand. Her hand was soft and smooth—no calluses from working rough—and surprisingly cool. Nick always burned hot. He hoped he wasn’t sweating on her.
The nausea was fading, he noticed with surprise. Maybe that had been rejection sickness.
“You need to get better at handshakes,” Vi muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She smiled, and there was a shocking lack of resentment hidden behind it. It was just a smile, with all the usual brightness that came with it.
“Friends,” she said.
“Friends,” he echoed. They were standing very close, he suddenly noticed. When had that happened?
They were still shaking hands. Nick knew he should do something about that, but he was staring. Vi was distracting on the best of days, but up close, she was breathtaking. He felt like he was under a spell, her hand so soft and cool in his, her face tipping up . . .
Nick blinked.
She was kissing him. Violet Harper was kissing him.
Was this a dream? Her mouth was cool, just like her hand.
Then it opened, and any thoughts of coolness were replaced by hot, wet heat as Vi’s tongue slid against his.
It was heaven. It was more than heaven: It was completeness.
All this talk about mates, and he finally understood.
If seeing her for the first time had been like getting sucker punched, kissing her was like coming home.
The relief of collapsing through the front door.
Taking your shoes off and falling headfirst onto the couch.
Resting, truly resting, for the first time in your life.
Nick made a lost noise into her mouth. If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.
Vi jerked back, her eyes wide. “Oh my god.”
Not a dream, Nick decided.
“I’m so sorry,” Vi said, backing up until she hit the shelves behind her. “Ow. I don’t know what— That was so unprofessional.”
“It’s okay,” Nick said, dazed. “Hey, no, it’s fine . . .”
But she was rubbing her temples, talking over him. “I’m so sorry. You should— You should go.”
“Okay,” Nick said, still working on autopilot. He stumbled back, still half convinced he’d imagined it. “I’ll just . . . Okay. See you around.”
She had to feel it, right? She had to feel some echo of it: She was his mate.
There was no other reason she’d kiss him.
Not here, not now. She had to feel something, a distant whisper letting her know he belonged to her, if she would have him.
It was obviously freaking her out, but she felt it, deep down.
He took one last look at her: cheeks flushed, mouth still red where he’d kissed it. Perfect and rumpled and his.
Then he ran.