Page 28 of The Very Naughty List

And in all honesty, if any of this were real, I wouldn’t know how to choose between them. I’ve had crushes on all three of these men for as long as I can remember.

As if he can sense that my thoughts have wandered a little, Reid growls softly against my lips. One of his hands slides through my hair, but instead of just running his fingers through the strands, he grips my hair tightly, tugging just hard enough to send a little sting shooting through my scalp.

I suck in a breath as a jolt of sensation rushes through me, the zap of pain turning into pure heat as it races down to my clit. My knees wobble, and I lean into our kiss as if it’s the only thing keeping me upright, my lips moving hungrily against his.

We just ate, but I suddenly feel fuckingravenous.

It’s not food I’m craving right now though.

Reid gives one more tug on my hair, sharply enough to send another bolt of pleasure and pain right to my clit. I swear I can feel wetness soaking the crotch of my panties, and mystomach flutters. God, if he keeps touching me this roughly and possessively, like he fucking owns my body and wants the entire world to know it, I might just come right here on the sidewalk.

When he finally breaks the kiss and pulls away, his fingers sliding out of my hair, I find myself dazed and a little giddy.

“That was… a great date,” I whisper, trying not to sound too breathless. “Thank you, Reid.”

A sinful smirk curves his lips, as if he can read every thought I just had on my face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, trouble. So did I.”

He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip before dropping his hand, and I will my legs to support me as I give a little nod and turn to head toward my car.

I’m debating whether to call Pippa and see what she’s up to or head back to my rented room at Ted’s crappy house, trying to figure out what to do with myself for the rest of the night that doesn’t involve spending every minute fantasizing about that kiss.

But before I make it more than two steps away, Nick reaches out to stop me, tugging me in close to his side. The motion is so swift that it startles me, and I look up at him in surprise.

“It’s not even seven o’clock yet.” His face is as stoic and set as ever, but I swear I almost see his lips twitch into a smile. “It’s my turn now.”

10

HAILEY

I blink up at Nick,my heart thumping.

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting him to really want a “date” with me to begin with. In fact, I was pretty damn surprised when he stepped up at the bar and claimed that we were dating at all. He’s so antisocial and grumpy most of the time that I figured even though he said it in the moment to help me, he wouldn’t actually want to do any of the performative aspects of fake dating.

At most, I figured he would make an occasional appearance and let his brothers handle the rest of the showcasing.

Clearly, I was wrong.

“Um, okay,” I say. “Sure. I wasn’t really ready to go home anyway.”

Reid and Sebastian head out, looking like they’re begrudgingly conceding their time, and Nick is completely silent as he starts to walk down the street with me, his massive hand wrapped around mine. It’s not unusual for Nick to be silent, but I feel a bit awkward because I have no idea what to say to him. It just seems like it is so out of character for him to be doing this.

Is he enjoying it? I mean, why would he even be doing this if he didn’t want to? It’s not like hehasto do the fake date parts. So why go all in?

Once again, my mind starts to wander down a rabbit hole of hopeful thinking, but it’s too much of a stretch to think that Nick would actually be into me. So I try to ease the awkwardness by filling in the silence between us.

The evening is cold, and there’s a gentle snow falling. Most of the little independent storefronts are decorated for the holidays with twinkling Christmas lights or those fake plastic candles that light up in the windows.

“Oh, look!” I grin. “MooMoo’s Ice Cream! I used to love their triple berry flavor. It was so good, I swear I could eat it every day and never get sick of it.”

I point at the window, which has a plastic cow decoration with a Santa hat on for the season. Nick glances, his expression unchanged. “I’ve never tried it.”

“You’ve never had MooMoo’s?” I demand, aghast. “They’ve been a staple of Chestnut Hill our whole lives!”

He shrugs. “I don’t really like ice cream.”

That seems like sacrilege to me, but I don’t say so, and we lapse into silence again as we keep walking.

I almost have to laugh as we meander down the sidewalk for several more minutes. Nearly every shop or restaurant we pass elicits an excited gasp from me as I bask in the happy nostalgia of being home—but Nick is almost the exact opposite, as unimpressed by all of it as I am thrilled.

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