Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Feel free to tear this up. Put it in the trash. Awkwardly text me that you want to be friends. I’d love to be friends. Being your friend fucking ruled. Though I’d need some time to get over the deep fucking embarrassment of giving you this letter.
Anyway, let me know. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your bookshop this evening or never.
Yours,
Nick
Vi read it again. Then a third time. Her hands shook. Her mouth hurt from grinning.
“Vi!” Triss burst through the door, wings scraping the doorframe. “The toilet is overflowing. And someone wants to know about our special edition Austens. What’s the deal with that supplier again? Six weeks or six months?”
“Vi!” Gabriella squeezed past them both. “Someone wants to buy my sunflower dress! How do the invoices . . .”
She trailed off, eyes darting over Vi’s face. “Oh. Wow. What happened?”
Vi looked over their two beseeching faces. Then she shoved the letter into her pocket.
“I have to go,” she told them.
Triss frowned. “Aw, what? But—”
Gabriella shushed her, throwing her arms around Vi. “Go rock this shit,” she whispered in Vi’s ear.
Vi giggled. She pulled back just long enough to kiss Gabriella’s cheek.
Then she ran.
* * *
Duncan was swinging a leg over his motorcycle when Vi ran over. He looked up from his phone, startled.
“Uh,” he said as Vi sprinted up to him. “Looking for Nick?”
Vi nodded. She was out of breath in a way that had nothing to do with the short run across the street. The letter rustled in her pocket.
“He’s at Heath’s place.” Duncan settled onto his motorcycle cautiously. “Want a lift?”
“No, it’s not far.” Vi craned her head to look down the street.
It was a twenty-minute walk to Heath’s house.
If she ran, she could maybe cut that down to fifteen and arrive sweaty and panting and ready to puke.
She silently cursed Jared for picking her up from her house this morning for coffee, meaning she didn’t have her bike or her car.
She looked back at Duncan, who was watching her silently from his motorcycle.
“Actually,” she said. “About that ride. Could I ask a favor?”
* * *
Claw Haven streamed past her, almost a blur. Almost.
Vi kept ten miles under the speed limit, driving so slow around corners she almost fell over.
She’d promised Duncan she wouldn’t break her neck driving his motorcycle, and she intended to keep that promise.
Still, it was hard not to rev the engine and drive as fast as she could toward Heath’s house.
She could have accepted Duncan’s offer for a ride, but she needed the giddy rush that driving brought her.
Especially with what was waiting for her when she stopped.
She pulled up outside the house she’d only been to once for a party, sweaty hands slippery against the brake. The motorbike shuddered jerkily to a stop. Vi climbed off, the bike veering sideways until she lunged to catch it, shoving the kickstand into place.
“Stay,” she told it. She took an experimental step back. The motorcycle stayed upright. She sighed. “Okay, good.”
A small, hopeful voice spoke up from behind her. “Vi?”
Vi spun.
Nick stood frozen in the middle of opening the front door. His backpack hung limp from one hand. Heath Astarot stood behind him, apron in his scaly hands, looking between them with a bemused expression.
“We can talk more later,” Heath said. “See you, Nick. Secretive bastard.”
Nick made a distracted grunt, still staring at Vi in awed disbelief. He stepped onto the sidewalk, the dragon closing the door behind him. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he kept walking. All the way over to Vi, until it was just the motorcycle between them.
Vi fought the urge to fix her already-straight hair ribbon.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” he replied, a nervous grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Did you . . . Did you steal Duncan’s motorcycle?”
“Yes,” Vi said. Then, when he bent over laughing, she added, “Obviously, it’s a loan! He asked me to text him to confirm I didn’t crash.”
“I’ll do that.” Nick straightened, toying absently with one of the handlebars. “How was the art show?”
“It’s good. They’re handling it.” Vi watched his long fingers twist around the handlebar, his rings shining silver in the evening light.
She wanted to kiss his palm. She wanted those fingers in her hair.
She wanted to tell him she’d never felt so alive with anyone else but him: his ripped clothes and his unruly hair and his too-loud laugh lighting her up inside.
Those sweet fangs pressing against her mouth as they kissed.
“What did you mean,” Vi said, “when you said you didn’t deserve me?”
Nick grimaced. “Ah, come on, Vi. I’m a high school dropout. You’re . . . you. Smart and beautiful and kind—”
“So are you,” Vi said in a rush. “You’re all those things, Nick.”
Nick blushed. It was beautiful. “But not boyfriend material. Right?”
“You are,” Vi said seriously, “one hundred percent pure boyfriend material. You’re the one who said you didn’t date!”
“Yeah, well . . .” Nick scratched his flushed cheek. “I didn’t want you getting suspicious.”
“What, that you liked me?” Vi laughed and touched his warm cheek. “Is that why you didn’t tell me we were mates earlier?”
“You hated me.”
“I haven’t hated you in months. And I might’ve given you a chance earlier if you had said something!”
“No, you wouldn’t! And I wouldn’t blame you.” He hunched into his massive shoulders, averting those big brown eyes. “Look, it really doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”
Vi yanked him down. He tasted like butter and peaches, so sweet she melted into it.
“I want it to,” she whispered, pulling back. “You idiot. I don’t like fated mates because they never give us a reason why they love each other. I have reasons. I don’t just love you—I like you.”
Nick’s breath caught. He stroked careful lines into her cheekbones, looking deep into her eyes. Not looking away. Not making a joke. Just . . . watching her.
“Yeah?” he whispered.
Vi nodded.
Nick’s smile came back, broad and beautiful. Vi didn’t see how she could have ever thought it was annoying.
She pushed her hands through his messy hair, dragging him down again. He kissed her like he was hungry for it, tugging her ribbon undone so her hair spilled around her shoulders. He ran his hands through it, tugging gently at the ends.
“There you are,” he said.
She grinned against his fangs. “Here I am.”