Page 52 of Nathan

“Now, eat your pancakes before they go cold.”

Chapter 21

Nate

I pay the check and open the door for Dex. By the time we step onto the street, my heartbeat is still thundering along at a million miles an hour.

I have a girlfriend. Me. Nate O’Reilly: Playboy, man-whore, skirt-chaser extraordinaire.

I’m off the market, and fuck, if that thought doesn’t make me the happiest I’ve ever been. When the hell did this happen? This thing with Dex started out as a bit of fun with someone who perked up my dick without even trying. Perked it up more than any other woman had ever managed. The last thing I expected was to end up in a relationship and be ecstatic about it.

Dex links her arm through mine. “Okay, boyfriend, lead the way.”

I grin. “First stop, Empire State.”

Her eyes gleam with excitement. “I knew it.”

A short subway ride later, we emerge onto the street. A few spots of rain are in the air, but nothing can dampen my spirits. The little dynamo bouncing on her toes beside me has chased the clouds away, at least for now. Experience tells me the dark thoughts won’t stay away forever, but if being with Dex can push them to the far recesses of my mind and heart, only to emerge when I’m alone, well, I can live with that.

We join the end of the line, but thankfully, we don’t have to wait too long for tickets. During the elevator ride to the top, Dex doesn’t stop babbling. Whereas constant chatter from a female companion would have once irritated the fuck out of me—and I’d have made some inane comment about sticking my dick in their mouth to shut them up—with Dex, I don’t mind one bit. Her enthusiasm is contagious. So much so I find myself looking forward to getting to the top, despite the view being one I’ve seen several times.

The viewing platform on the eighty-sixth floor is crowded but not overly so. Give it another hour, and it will be impossible to move for tourists.

“Wow, look at the view!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” I sling my arm around her shoulders and pull her close, pointing out the landmarks we can see from here. “There’s Madison Square Garden. I used to go there fairly regularly with Declan to watch the Knicks. Not so much these days.”

She gives me a look. “I didn’t know you liked basketball. I used to go watch the Bucks with my dad before he passed away.”

I lean in close, my mouth next to her ear. “Oh, Titch. A basketball fan? You’re definitely getting several orgasms later.”

Her dainty pink tongue shoots out to dampen her lips.

Fuck. My cock jerks at the memory of what she did to me with that tongue last night. I push the image from my mind. I have several things I want to share with her today, and while my cock is most certainly one of them, it’ll have to wait until later.

We walk around the entire observation deck. Dex takes so many photos she’ll need to buy extra storage to house them all in the cloud. I make sure she’s seen enough, then the two of us head back down onto the street.

“Where to now?” she asks.

I glance at her footwear. Sneakers. Good.

“Let’s walk over Brooklyn Bridge. There’s a great pizza place on the other side I love. We can grab lunch. And the view back to Manhattan from the waterside is really cool.”

She laughs. “I’m still full from the pancakes.”

“A walk to Brooklyn will soon burn those off.”

By the time we cross the bridge, check out the waterfront, eat lunch at my favorite pizzeria, and arrive back in Manhattan, it’s already four in the afternoon. Sightseeing in New York always takes longer than expected. Declan has arranged dinner at a local restaurant for us all at eight, but that still leaves plenty of time for one final stop. The place I most want to show her.

Our third subway ride of the day culminates about a half mile west of Declan’s Manhattan hotel branch, in a tree-lined street with rows of attractive-looking brownstones lined up like soldiers. My chest hurts the closer we get to the final destination. I clutch Dex’s hand, her soft skin and warm touch soothing me from the pain blooming inside.

Five minutes later, I turn a corner and stop.

She glances up at me, a confused frown drawing her eyebrows together, but she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she squeezes my fingers.

“This was the place I grew up,” I finally say, the words sticking in my throat, my voice hoarse and rough. “The house we lived in before my parents were killed.” Pain scores my heart, and I suppress a wince.

“It’s a lovely home,” she says gently.

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