Page 71 of Hold Me Today

“Out with it,” he orders, and though I can hear a trace of his trademark surliness, I know better now. The man keeps his emotions on lockdown, yes, but he’s got such a way of making me feel like I can open up and be myself with him.

So, I open up and tell him exactly what’s on my mind: “I want you.”

His hand tightens on my leg, fingers pressing in, all the while keeping his gaze locked on the road as he navigates the dark streets. “How bad?”

I smile, and then throw down the verbal gauntlet. “I’m wet.” A small, deliberate pause on my part. “Does that answer your question?”

“Fuck.”

English profanity. God, I love it when his control slips. I can’t be the only one riding the hot-mess express. A girl’s got to have company, after all, and Nick . . . he’s A-grade company.

“I know,” I say, patting the hand he’s still resting on my thigh, “an unfortunate predicament but one I’m sure you’d be happy to remedy.”

“After.” His voice sounds like he’s swallowed a dozen nails, choked and ragged.

“Afterwhat?”

“Patience, Ermione. Find it.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later,we pull up to a strip of stores with neon signs and a narrow parking lot separating the storefronts from the street. One in particular catches my attention immediately.

My head juts forward, hand clapped on top of my beanie, as I crane my neck to look up at the glowing sign. “Downtown Tattoo?” I whip around to stare at the man in the driver’s seat. “Are you serious?”

As if uncomfortable, Nick rubs the back of his head. “You said this is what you do. Your outlet or whatever.” His hand falls to clamp down on his thigh, and he gives me a look that I can’t even begin to read. “I’ll do it with you.”

My mouth falls open.

He’s back to rubbing his head, but not before swiftly averting his gaze. “Don’t look so shocked, Mina.”

Impossible.

This ishimwe’re talking about. Rule-following Nick.I-like-things-orderlyNick.

I fling my arm toward the tattoo parlor. “Those are real tats.” It’s honorable he wants to get inked with me, but . . . “As in, the non-sticker variety. They don’t wash off.”

He barks out a sharp laugh. “You mean, they’re not peal-and-press?” He slaps his leg with mocking gusto. “Well, damn, there goes that idea.”

I scrunch my nose at him. “You’re making fun of me.”

“You’re askin’ for it,koukla.” He dangles a wrist from the steering wheel, then makes a point to look me straight in the eye when he speaks. “Let me ruin whatever clean-cut image of me you’re so determined to keep on that imaginary pedestal of yours.” In the dark of the car, his gray eyes look positively black as he stares me down. I feel a shiver of want slip down my spine, heating me up—or maybe that’s the butt warmers he turned on during the drive. “I can be shy,” he growls, “and I can’t stand small talk. I know how I come across, Mina. I’m not clueless as to how people look at me.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“A guy can be nice without being weak,” he tells me, and I hear the deep conviction in his voice. “I help people because at one time, no one could helpme. Not the kids in school who made fun of me and Effie for our ratty hand-me-downs from Goodwill. Not your parents, who took us to Greece while my own parents worked themselves tirelessly to give us more than they had themselves. Although please know that I appreciate what yours did for me and my sister—trust me, I know I’m indebted to them for opening their doors to us foryears.

“But it doesn’t negate the fact that I still struggled. There wasn’t anyone to help when I was working more jobs than I could handle, all because I was determined to open up Stamos Restoration on my own terms without investors having a say in my business.” His molars crack together when he scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling roughly. “I’m not a walking rulebook, Ermione, ready to take you to task—unless it’s to spank that gorgeous ass of yours. I love hard, but I promise you, I fuck even harder.”

Oh. My. God.

I . . . I have no words.

For the first time in my life, I’m completely speechless. There are so many things I want to unpack about what he’s just said—and, because there’s nothing I love more than a philosophical debate about life and self-identity, I’m dying to know if anything he admitted correlates to his belief in dreams being just temporary longings.

I want to give voice to it all, but the parking lot of a tattoo shop isn’t the right place. So, I crack a big smile, all teeth, and tease, “I love hard and fuck even harder. That’s tattoo material right there.”

I don’t mention that I can’t wait to find out the truth behind those words.

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