Page 21 of Fumbled Into Love

Nathalie swings the door open and all thoughts of the rancid smell fade away. I gulp at the black dress, nearly second skin, accentuating every curve and slope of her body. It’s long enough to be considered modest, but revealing enough for my heart to race.

Woah.

Her long, brown hair cascades over her shoulders and my fingers itch to run through the loose waves. Her hair is pretty in the braids, but down…it’s beautiful. Finally, my eyes reach hers, and I rear back.

“What happened to your glasses?” My body has many reactions to her appearance, but my brain can't comprehend the lack of glasses. I’m flustered, by the situation, and her soft, warm beauty.

Nathalie yanks me into the apartment where I’m blasted with the aroma of apples and spices, a much-welcomed scent compared to the hallway.

“I put in my contacts,” Nathalie answers, shutting the door behind me.

Duh, Deon. What an idiotic question.

“Why does your hallway smell like…that?”

“Creepy Terry probably decided to cook.” She walks down the small hallway. “Let me grab my heels and bag and we can go.”

I don’t hesitate to follow her. “Creepy who?”

Nathalie doesn’t stop walking as she waves a hand over her head in dismissal. “It’s the nickname Declan and I came up with. He’s harmless.”

“His name is Creepy Terry. Doesn’t sound harmless to me,” I say in disbelief. How is she so…blasé? I’m hot on her heels until I’m in the center of a disaster, surrounded by clothing and stacks of books.

Envy spears my chest. I rub away the unwelcome sensation. Nathalie and Declan’s relationship is not important to me, so I shock myself when I ask, “Do you like Declan?”

Nathalie spins, loose curls flying. She barks out a laugh. “God, no.” Her smile morphs into a cocky smirk as her hands land on her hips. “Sounds like someone’s jealous…”

“What—no,” I choke out. I shift my gaze. Clothes and bags and…a lacy bra pepper the floor. Fuck. I spin around, the image of black lacy underwear beneath a tight black dress seared into my mind. I force air into my lungs. “I—I’ll wait in the living room.”

I ignore how my voice cracks.

Her laugh echoes down the hallway as I scurry away. Dropping onto the couch, I work through the plan tonight. Dinner, photos, then home. Nothing in my plan accounts for lacy underthings and tight dresses and Creepy Terry, whoever he is.

I peek into Nathalie’s life as I wait. This apartment is far messier than earlier this week, and that version wasn’t tidy. The corner of her living room is nothing but towers of novels, and a dozen shoes litter the floors, most without the other in the pair.

A loud, thudding sound batters the walls and I wince.

“Uh…What’s that sound?” I yell, surveying the room for any structural issues.

“Oh, it’s just the pipes. They make that noise sometimes. Other times it’s this creaking sound. It’s fine, the building is old.” Nathalie dismisses my concerns as she pops out of her room and struts to the door.

This building isn’t old, it’s decrepit, and no one should be allowed to live here.

She’s digging through a massive bag when I reach her. She spins and I catch her as she stumbles. Nathalie gives me a soft smile that I store in the caverns of my mind for safekeeping and reminiscing.

“So, where are we going?”

The chatter of patrons enjoying their meal fills the uncomfortable silence between Nathalie and me. I’ve already pounded back three glasses of water to help cool the inferno beneath my skin.

I’m sweating through my shirt.

Nathalie silently reads the menu and I run my fingers along the seam of the fancy cloth menu, focusing on the stitching. She attempted conversation in the car, but that quickly ended when I could only respond with grunts and hums.

How was the game?Grunt.

Have you been to this restaurant before?Hum.

Are you okay?Another grunt.

---