Chapter 49
Michelle’s heart lifted a little. He was still Nick. “I’ll take it in for you. It’s nice of you to go to the trouble.”
“For you it’s no trouble.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Nick.” She sat on the spotless sofa, terrified she’d spill or leave crumbs, and hoisted her bottle, anxious to get those first calming sips down. Jenny hadn’t wanted to go out after work, so Michelle had been rattling around her office cubicle for the past hour, working herself up into nervous misery. “Cheers.”
He frowned. “Did you want a glass? Sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No, this is fine.” She put her hand on his arm, which always surprised her with its strength. “Really. Thank you.”
“So? What’s going on? You seemed distracted all day.” He took a swig of beer and settled in as if she hadn’t interrupted his evening unexpectedly, as if he had nothing to do for the rest of his life but listen to her. Nick was something really special.
“I’m fine, really. Today was stressful, that’s all.” She nodded stupidly, with no idea how to launch into what she wanted to say. He must have had an old-fashioned clock somewhere because she could suddenly hear it ticking.
“You…said you wanted to talk about something?”
“Yes. Yes.” She held the bottle in her lap, not wanting to risk staining his coffee table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.”
“About…”
“About me going for inappropriate men.”
“And?”
“And I think you’re right.” She peeled off a piece of the beer’s gold foil label. “I need to find someone different. For sure. I need to date someone… like…who is different.”
She pushed the neck of the bottle back between her lips and gulped. Dammit, she couldn’t do this. Everything was so weird with Nick sitting right there close to her, not in a cubicle, not in a public restaurant, but on his turf, his and Emma’s turf. He’d relaxed and she was still a complete wreck. She should have trusted her gut instinct that this was all wrong, instead of her intellect. Her id over her super ego. Except that same id was always the culprit when she got into trouble with no-good men. This was horrible.
“I think that’s great, Michelle,” He put his hand on her shoulder, rubbed gently. “I hate seeing you get hurt.”
“Yeah, um, thanks.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes. Worse and worse. She’d barged into his house and all she’d managed to say was, “I want to date different men”? He already knew that. And typical Nick, even if he was thinking “Why the hell did you inflict yourself on my evening to tell me old news,” he gave no sign of it.
She owed him the real story. Nick, you are so special and I think someone like you could make me really happy, and maybe I could make someone like you happy, too.
“The thing is. Uh, I was thinking about what kind of man I’d want.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
She forced herself to stop staring at the bottle in her lap, and looked up into his attentive, sweet, wonderful blue eyes. Your kind. “I was thinking I’d like to date someone like—”
The door burst open. “Hey man, sorry I took so long, they mixed up the order.”
In walked a male body in black, carrying a pizza box. A pair of equally blue eyes, blazing with heat and curiosity and sex turned from Nick to Michelle.
Michelle’s jaw dropped. Oh my God. Her heart was already beating too fast from the awkward scene with Nick, but it gave a valiant stab at speeding up even more. She tore her gaze down from those blue orbs of doom before she fell under their spell.
“Who’s this?” The strong black-stubbled jaw tipped; black hair swung free over his ear. Was he checking her out? She didn’t dare look higher to find out, so she looked lower. Black T-shirt tight over muscular chest. Black jeans tight over fabulous hips and legs. Black spiked belt, black motorcycle helmet clutched in black-gloved hand.
She kept her head down. She could not look at him again. She must not look at him. To look was to lust. After the mistake with Sledge, after all her subsequent soul-searching and self-discovery, she had to, had to have learned her lesson.
“Stoner.” Nick sounded as if he’d aged forty years. “This is Michelle.”
“Yo, Michelle. Whassup?”
“Michelle.” Nick gestured to the sex-apparition and dropped his hand despondently on the sofa arm. “This is my brother, Stoner.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Nice to meet you.”
Nice was an understatement. He was cool water in a parched dessert, he was that first steak after Lent, he was a three-speed rotating vibrator in a girls-only dorm. She was not going to look at him.
A meow sounded from beside the couch; a black cat stalked over and sniffed the newcomer’s shiny black boots. Stoner crouched to pet her. “Hey there, sweet little Emma.”
Michelle gasped and jerked to Nick as if someone had slapped her. “You named your cat Emma?”
“Uh…” Nick tried again to speak, then shook his head, looking as if someone had caught him across the windpipe.
From the corner of her eye, Michelle saw black gloves pick the cat up and stroke the length of its body. Don’t look. Don’t look. Those hands…
“What’s wrong with Nick naming his cat Emma, Mic-he-lle?” His deep voice lilted seductively through the syllables of her name.
Michelle examined the hem of her shorts minutely. “Well. His. Um. Girlfriend is also named…”
Oh, no. She turned back to Nick. Emma had lots of black hair. Emma had simple needs. Emma wasn’t much of a reader. Emma didn’t cook but Emma liked to eat. Emma’s taste was similar to Michelle’s, which meant that necklace—
“His girlfriend?” Stoner swaggered toward Michelle, deposited the cat in her lap and made sure his thighs touched her knees, that his fingers brushed across her bare legs during the transfer. Tingles of electricity shimmied up her…everything. “Dude, Nick, I didn’t know you were seeing someone. All right.”
He leaned over to high-five his brother. Michelle’s heart broke. Nick looked as if he wanted a wrecking ball to come through the wall so he could climb on and be swung away.