Page 51 of Hold Me Today

“Haven’t seen it.”

“You’re un-American, Mark. You don’t like the Fourth of July,” Vince says, holding up one hand, his index finger extended. “You don’t likeShakespeare in Love.” His middle finger shoots up next. “You’re squirrelly as fuck about cannoli, and I’m saying this for all to hear—if you don’t like cannoli, you can’t be trusted. It’s in the Italian bible, right afteryou-shall-always-listen-to-your-mother-or-risk-death-by-slipper.”

Holding back a snort, I raise my hand. “I don’t like cannoli.” I don’t touch the slipper comment—my mom never whipped out thepandoflaherself, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t heard the horror stories from my peers. It’s a Greek thing, too.

Vince slaps a hand over his heart and claws at his chest. Gasping, he pretends to collapse in a heap. “Blasphemer!”

“It’s the texture that gets to me,” I say with a lighthearted shrug.

That doesn’t seem to make a difference. Vince side-eyes me with playful distrust. “Correction, Mina, cannoli is the texture of the gods.”

Bill, the last one in the group, claps Vince on the back with a heartythwack. “You say the same thing about your cum—”

Vince erupts into a coughing fit. The words “shut up” and “asshole” are meshed in, and I’m about to respond when I hear Nick’s familiar voice behind me: “Keep that thing in your pants, man. No one needs to be scarred for life. And I speak from experience.”

I turn, only to find Nick balancing a cardboard tray stuffed full of coffee cups from Dunkin’s and a bag with what I assume are donuts. At least, I hope they’re donuts. I lift a brow. “Really?” I tease him. “From experience?”

Long-legged strides bring him to the receptionist’s desk that we pushed into the corner of the room last week. He sets the coffees and donuts down before dragging off his damp coat and dropping it on the floor. “Gave me nightmares,” he says, snagging one of the coffees from the tray. “You think you know a guy until you see his dick for the first time.”

I grin. “Strangely, I can relate.”

I watch as he moves toward me, and not for the first time, I can’t help but admire his prowl. He walks with his hips, all loose, masculine fluidity that can turn a girl’s brain to mush without a single bit of effort.

When he stops before me, I lift my chin and let my gaze climb up his sweatshirt-covered chest to the strong lines of his face. “Trust me,” he murmurs, “Vince’s a shocker down under.”

“A shocker?”

He holds up his free hand, thumb and index finger barely separated by air. “Small, if you catch my drift. Vincent Miceli’s been disappointing women around the world since circa 1986.”

Nick’s GM cuts loose a hearty laugh. “Bastard. The only shock happening is when your jaw hit the floor the first time you caught a gander of The Great One.”

I lean toward Nick and drop my voice to a whisper. “Why do I get the feeling he’s speaking about his penisandcapitalizing the great one?”

Nick bends, bringing himself down to my level. The tip of his nose brushes the shell of my earand my poor, needy body reacts alloooh-that-feels-nice. Goosebumps flare to life on my skin. “That’s because his mama never taught him that lying to yourself might be good for morale but sets you up for a lifetime of anticlimactic moments. Poor guy’s figuring it out the hard way, one small dick joke at a time.”

Anticlimactic moments.Oh, puns, how I love you so.

Poor Vince.

My shoulders shake with barely leashed mirth. I don’t want Vince to think I’m laughing at his expense—even though I’m sure Nick’s only busting his balls as guys do—but, still, I’mtotallylaughing at his expense.

A firm hand connects with the small of my back, and the unexpected touch is enough to stem my laughter and clam me right up. I jerk my gaze up, only to find Nick already watching me with his full lips tugged up in a big grin. “Yia sena,” he husks out.For you.

I glance down.

A little thrill zips through me when I see the coffee he’s offering. Above the Dunkin’s logo is my full name scrawled in black marker. Our fingers brush when I take it from him. “Thank you.” I make a point to blow the steam away from the plastic lid and take a small sip in gratitude. “You didn’t have to grab me anything.”

His smile deepens, carving shallow dimples into each of his cheeks. “Couldn’t leave you hanging this early in the morning.” Briefly, so briefly I wonder if I imagine it, he applies pressure to my back before stepping away. “Coffee’s up for grabs, guys. Same with the donuts.”

Bill and Mark exchange a glance.

“He’s trying to butter us up before dropping bad news,” Bill grumbles with a middle finger rubbing along his hairline. Wicked subtle move, right there.

Nick only laughs. “The bad news is that one of you gets thewickedexclusive opportunity to come with me to check out the museum today.”

“What?”

“Holy shit, dude. We got it?”

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