Page 13 of Hold Me Today

My red lipstick stains the white-plastic lid.

Evidence of my freak-out. Just wonderful.

“Carl!” bellows a husky voice. “Any day now!”

CT—Carl—flashes me a conspiratorial wink, followed by a quick pull of the Dunkin’s blend. “He’s a new man these days. Probably all that sand and sun and sex—”

The door to my right flies open, and this time the body that greets me is all too familiar. Though I’ll admit that I’ve never quite seen Nick so . . . dresseddownbefore. Jeans and T-shirts have been his go-to outfit of choice for years now.

Today, he’s decked out in clothes that look like they’ve been worn to the brink of extinction. A threadbare, black T-shirt clings to the flat planes of his big chest. The logo for Stamos Restoration and Co. is emblazoned in faded white over his left pectoral muscle, and maybe it’s my imagination, but I swearI can see the hard ridges of his abs through the thin fabric.Wishful thinking, maybe.The front of the T is stuffed haphazardly into a pair of paint-splattered cargo shorts. They hang low on his hips, suspended in place by an old leather belt that matches the same dark brown of his scuffed work boots.

The latter look heavy enough, andbigenough, to send ants everywhere scurrying to the hills or risk being stomped into oblivion.

My stomach seesaws at the thought, and, by reflex alone, I draw another sip from the coffee as I meet Nick’s gaze. The stained portion of the lid faces him like an illuminated beacon of my mistakes, and I slowly lower the Dunkin’s.

I shift my weight from foot to foot. Lift my arm and carefully wiggle the Styrofoam cup. “Black, right?”

It’s a miracle I sound so calm and collected.

Married.Nick.

I should have grabbed the Tito’s before leaving my apartment.

My fingers dig into the sides of the coffee cup, and it releases that awful squeaking sound only Styrofoam can produce.

Nick’s gray eyes flit from the coffee to me to Carl and then back again. In a voice as smooth as velvet, he rumbles, “I can never say no to Dunkin’s.” Then, without another word, he takes the cup from my hand, lifts it to his mouth, and promptly drinks from the same, lipstick-stained spot that I boldly marked like a dog peeing on a hydrant.

With a defiant tilt to his chin, Nick’s attention remains fixed on my face.

It’s entirely unfair that a man so good-looking can be both the reason I want to learn how to pack a punchandthe reason I once slipped my fingers under my panties at night.

As though he’s aware of the R-rated direction of my thoughts, a masculine groan reverberates in his chest.

The sound echoes in my ears, delicious and unforgettable. My gaze latches onto his Adam’s apple as it bobs down the length of his throat with each swallow.

When he pulls the cup away, he does so with purpose—and cuts the distance between us. He touches the coffee to the center of my chest, his fingers careful not to get all touchy-feely with my breasts, and then leans down. Full, pillow-soft lips to the shell of my ear. Pure gravel in his voice when he murmurs, “For future record, I take two spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee. A guy likes a little sugar when it’s being offered.”

Jerk.

Unwanted laughter at his unexpected arrogance threatens to escape, before I shove it back down into non-existence.

“Ah, you need me, boss?” Carl asks, reminding me that Nick and I aren’t alone. Over the years, we’ve rarely been alone. Except for my prom night and his wedding night, both of which ended not at all as my favorite romance books would have led me to believe.

Nick Stamos is a good guy. Thebestsort of guy, if you’re to believe all the Greek mamas here in Boston, but to me, Nick will always be an enigma I want nothing more to crack and dishevel.

He speaks to me like I’ll never understand even a fifth of what he says.

Watches me like he has a secret I’ll never know.

Judges me with his mercurial, pewter eyes and his perfectly perfect self.

Now, he steps back and gives me breathing room again. “You’re all good, Carl. Thanks for letting in Ermione.”

Ermione.

Not Ermionehh.

A shiver curls down my spine.

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