Chapter 7 #2
She looked flushed and disheveled in a way that he couldn’t totally credit to his one-man wet T-shirt contest. Actually, his first thought was that she looked kind of postcoital, an idea that made him both queasy and horny at the same time.
But that was impossible. Her bedroom was on the ground floor—there was no way she’d just fucked someone with all of them two rooms away.
And if she had, who was it, and what was so great about them?
She smiled at him, hazy and amused, as she opened the fridge and grabbed a can of seltzer. “Need help?”
He looked down at his shirt, which was plastered to his chest, beet carnage spilling down the front like he’d been shot. “Please. I’m just making it worse.”
She placed the can on the counter and opened one of the drawers, pulling out a clean dish towel. “I think you’re supposed to go from the other side.”
She approached him, then hesitated, seeming to realize at the same time he did that she would have to reach her hand inside his shirt. His stomach muscles contracted involuntarily, as if he could already feel the cool brush of her knuckles against them.
“Do you want to do it?” she asked, offering him the towel. He moved to grab it, then paused.
Maybe this was the opportunity he’d been hoping for.
“Should I take it off?”
If he hadn’t been paying close attention, he would’ve missed the split-second widening of her eyes before she quickly regained her composure, that private-joke half smile returning to her lips.
“Sure. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Niko stripped off his shirt in one quick motion and handed it to her, flexing as subtly as he could.
When she barely glanced at him, though, he started to question himself. Maybe she didn’t like chest hair. His exes had preferred him to wax, even though it left a constellation of angry red ingrown hairs across his torso.
Or maybe Simon was totally wrong, and he was making an ass of himself standing half-naked in the kitchen in a house full of people who could walk in at any moment.
Merritt bent her head and stretched the shirt over the counter. He leaned against the sink, watching her. “So what have you been up to tonight?”
He thought he saw her cheeks redden a little more. “Nothing. I was just on the phone with an old friend.”
Boyfriend? Girlfriend? He chickened out before he could ask. “In LA?”
“Mm-hmm. What is this, beet?”
“Yeah. I think there’s some other stuff in it, too.”
She smiled to herself as she pressed the cloth against the stain.
“When Olivia and I were kids, we would put on plays for our parents all the time. One time we were supposed to be soldiers dying on the battlefield, and I covered our clothes with beet juice to look like blood. Our mom fucking lost it. It got everywhere.”
Niko grinned, both at the image and at the fact that this was the most he’d heard Merritt volunteer about herself, ever. “Did she get it out?”
“Not really. But we all learned a lot about the dos and don’ts of beet removal in the process.”
“Like?”
“Don’t get beet on your clothes.”
He huffed out a laugh. She was quiet again, focused on her task, and in return, he tried not to focus too hard on her.
He allowed himself to linger on one detail at a time before glancing away: The loose curl that had escaped her messy bun, brushing her collarbone.
The oversized freckle at the crest of her cheekbone.
Her slight pout of concentration. The way her sweatshirt slouched over her bare shoulder and clung to the curve of her waist.
He wanted to touch her, obviously, but just as much, he wanted to grab a pencil and capture her exactly how she looked in that moment.
“So,” he said, his thoughts so loud he was worried she could hear them, “have you gotten all your donations yet?”
They had all been assigned to secure at least five donations apiece for the silent auction before the next board meeting.
She scrunched her nose. “Not even close.”
“How many do you have?”
“Well, Dev said he’d let someone name a character in his next book.
I’ll donate something, too, but I’m not sure what yet.
And I didn’t want to stress Olivia out by making her come up with an idea.
So…two.” She glanced up at him, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“I’m sure I don’t even have to ask if you have all of yours. ”
Niko shrugged, self-conscious. “Do you know who else you’re going to ask?”
“This is where it would’ve helped to have made literally any friends over the last two years besides my sister and brother-in-law.”
“You have me, too,” he said, before he could think too hard about it.
When she paused mid-motion, he was worried he’d fucked up somehow. But instead, when she met his eyes again, hers were softer than he’d ever seen them. His heart tripped and thudded in his chest.
She glanced away. “This might be a lost cause.”
He frowned. Was she talking about them? “What?”
“Your shirt.” She gathered the damp fabric in her hands. “You should treat the stain before washing, at least. Let me get something on it.” She looked back up at him, careful to keep her gaze above his collarbone. “Do you want something else to wear for now?”
“You have something that would fit me?”
She tilted her head, finally letting her eyes sweep over his torso, but in a manner that was more assessing than leering.
“I have a couple of old sleep shirts that might work. You could ask Dev, but I think your shoulders are wider than his.” She disappeared before he had time to process that she’d been mentally measuring his shoulders.
She returned a minute later, tossing a folded piece of fabric at him before turning her attention back to the stain. Niko unfolded it, extending his arms so he could see the whole thing.
It was an oversized souvenir T-shirt that read Don’t Bother Me, I’m Crabby, over a picture of a sulking cartoon crab, with Ocean City, MD printed in smaller letters beneath it. The fabric was soft and faded, like it had been washed and worn dozens of times.
He studied it, then glanced back at Merritt.
“You sleep in this?”
She shrugged, her expression blank. “Sometimes.”
He pulled it over his head. It was a little tight around his arms and chest, but not too bad.
Seeing Merritt finally unleash the grin she’d been holding back as she gave him a once-over made him want to ask her if he could keep it for good.
“They’re gonna love this out there,” he muttered under his breath.
“Well, luckily, no one’s allowed to bother you while you’re wearing it. It’s legally enforceable.” She handed him the damp lump of his other shirt before opening the fridge to switch out the abandoned seltzer can warming on the counter with a cold one.
She turned back to face him and hesitated. A breath passed, then another, her eyes locked on his.
He was seized by the crushing awareness of how close they were, how alone, and it felt like the room contracted around them at the revelation.
Goosebumps prickled on the back of his neck as she studied him with those big dark eyes, her lips slightly parted, a flush still lingering on her cheekbones.
He suddenly wondered what she would do if he kissed her.
Part of him was shocked that the idea had entered his head in the first place.
He’d never been the stick-his-tongue-down-her-throat-first-ask-questions-later type of guy.
He suspected she’d laugh in his face if he asked for permission, but he still liked to have slightly more in the way of consent than proximity and a hunch.
Even so, something about the way she was looking at him—head cocked, eyes hooded—was scrambling his brain. It was all he could think about. He could have her hoisted onto the counter, her legs wrapped around his hips and her hands probing under his novelty crab shirt, in the blink of an eye.
He took a step closer to her. She didn’t move, but her eyes flicked down to his lips, just for a heartbeat.
Fuck. If neither of them said anything in five seconds, he was going to kiss her.
He looked down, desperate for a distraction.
“Isn’t your hand cold?”
She followed his gaze to where she was clutching her seltzer can.
“Oh. Yeah.” She passed the can to her other hand, then looked back up at him. Neither of them moved.
He’d never exchanged so many meaningful glances with someone while simultaneously having no fucking idea what any of them meant.
“How’s it—Oh.” Dev walked into the kitchen, stopping short.
Merritt and Niko both took a giant, guilty step away from each other, which was probably the worst thing they could’ve done.
Dev’s eyes flicked between the two of them, then down at Niko’s shirt, obviously unhappy with whatever he was seeing.
“I’ll let you get back to your game,” Merritt said, turning on her heel and striding out of the kitchen.
Dev and Niko both watched her go in silence. Once they heard her bedroom door shut, Dev turned back to Niko, his brow creased.
“What are you doing, man?” he asked under his breath. Niko cleared his throat.
“Nothing. I mean, she was just helping me out.”
“Okay.”
It was the least convincing “okay” Niko had ever heard. Dev opened his mouth again like he wanted to say something else, but he thought better of it, shaking his head before opening the fridge to grab another beer.
“What?” For all of Dev’s disapproval, Niko still had no idea why, specifically, he was so worried.
Dev drew his thumb and forefinger across his lips like he was zipping them shut. “Mm nmt gttng mnvolved.”
Niko wasn’t amused. “No, seriously, what am I missing here? Because you keep acting like if I get close to her, she’s going to ruin my life.”
Dev took a deep, weary breath. “I told you, I’m not comfortable gossiping about her behind her back.
All I can say is…I really, sincerely hope she doesn’t.
” He clapped Niko on the shoulder, then went back into the living room, leaving Niko somehow even more confused than he had been when the night began.