Page 11 of If This Was a Movie

IS HE HOT?

Harper

Are you safe?

I smile at their responses but look at Nate. “14 Oak?” He nods. “I’ll follow you,” I say, then look up at him smiling down at me. It wouldn’t take much at all for him to dip his head, press his lips to mine, especially not with the way his eyes keep flickering to my lips. His hand moves up to cup my jaw, brushing a thumb along my cheek, and I think he’s going to do it, he’s going to kiss me, when he steps back.

“Follow me,” he says, his voice lower now, almost gravelly.

Then he opens my car door like a true gentleman, watches me slide in and start the car before slamming my door shut andjogging around to his truck. As he starts his car, I send a text to my friends, telling them I’m safe, that I met a hot guy at the bar, and I’m going home with him, promising to report back first thing in the morning.

A slew of squeal texts follow, including anI love you, be safetext from each of them before Nate’s truck backs up and I’m driving to the other side of town.

It’s barely a five-minute drive before I’m pulling into Nate’s driveway next to his car. The house is cute and well maintained, something I wouldn’t expect from a bachelor, unless he was both a contractor and had three sisters who are apparently as meddling as his mother.

He’s already out of his truck and walking to my door, opening it and helping me out before helping me to the front door of his house.

“Talk to your friends?” he asks, digging in his pocket for a set of keys.

I nod. “They’re a bit worried since I don’t…do this,” I say, waving at him and then at me. “But they know where I am.”

“This?” he asks, letting go of my hand to pick the right key. He steps in front of me to open the storm door before working on the lock.

“You know, go home with a random guy from a bar—” I start to explain, but then, as seems to be my way, I make a fool of myself, tripping on the sidewalk and falling. I catch myself on my hands, my palms burning but mostly my own ego bruised.

“Fuck, Jules!” Nate says, stepping down the two steps, the storm door slamming behind him as he comes to me, kneeling before me.

“I’m fine, really. You’d think for a dancer I’d be a bit more graceful, but,” I say as he grabs my hands, gently turning them over to inspect. Each has a small scratch, blood pebbling there,and he curses under his breath. “It’s really no big deal at all, Nate. Seriously. I’m fine.”

He looks at me then, genuine concern in his eyes.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” I say, lower and quieter this time, but then I squeal as he grabs me, lifting me and carrying me up the two stairs and into his house. “Nate!” I say with a laugh. “Put me down! I’m fine!”

“You’re a damsel in distress. Let me play Prince Charming.” Then he sets my ass on the kitchen counter, turning my hands once more to inspect them. He brushes a few bits of dirt and a small piece of gravel that stuck to my palm before glaring at me. “Stay here,” he says, then steps away, disappearing down the hall.

I take the opportunity to look around his place. It's clean, cute, and clearly decorated by a man with the minimal decorations, photos, and art. But it’s cozy and comfortable.

There’s two hallways, one he disappeared down and another to the left. The kitchen I’m in has an island I’m sitting on with stools as well as a dining table. Two giant glass doors face the backyard that butts up to the doors, and there’s a small cottage or house on the property.

I’m tempted to hop down and inspect the rest of his home, but a door clicks and his footsteps become closer, his frame filling the hall in a few moments. In his hand is a white first aid kit.

“Glad to see you can follow directions,” he says with a smile, setting the kit on the counter next to me, then rifling through it before setting two antiseptic wipes and two Band-Aids aside.

Next, he grabs me by the wrist, gently turning it over to inspect the damage. I watch with bated breath as he holds my wrist gently with one hand and tears the package open with his teeth before wiping the alcohol over the small cut. I hiss at theburn before he wipes on antibiotic ointments and puts a Band-Aid on.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I say with a small laugh as he moves to the next hand. “It’s just a scratch. I’ve gotten worse.”

“Not on my watch,” he says distantly, attention diverted.

“What?”

“Not on my watch. When you’re with me, if you get hurt, I take care of you,” he says, eyes to my hand as he gently and almost reverently puts the last bandage on before staring at his handiwork.

Finally, he looks at me, a small smile on his lips as he stands between my spread legs. Like this, we're just about face-to-face. Suddenly, I feel brave, probably from the adrenaline of falling and the excitement of what I think is to come.

“You know, if this was a movie, this is where you’d kiss it better,” I say with a smile.

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