Page 43 of Boyfriend of the Hour
At first, it was a little like kissing a mannequin. A very warm mannequin with soft yet firm lips that gradually came alive under mine as I nibbled at the bottom one. Automatically, my tongue slipped out to meet his, and before I knew it, I was pulling him on top of me, threading my fingers into his curls, moaning into his mouth, and enjoying the way a deep groan emerged from the bottom of his chest as he gave in at last.
His lips met mine again in a way that was concentrated yet relaxed, full of the same intention that had filled every unmasked look, every direct question he’d given me. Nathan kissed me with purpose that was wholly within his control but also feral. Kind and still bordering on the edge of wicked.
Every muscle in his body seemed to tense, quivering like a bow waiting to be released.
I wondered what would happen if he did.
The thought made me shiver from head to toe.
Then he stopped. I tried to keep him with me, kissed along that impossibly sharp jawline, attempted again to suck his bottom lip between my teeth.
“Joni.” Nathan’s breath was warm against my cheek, slightly heavy, his voice a little hoarse as he managed to detangle my fingers from his shirt collar. Gradually, he unwound my arms from his neck and set my hands back in my own lap so he could sit up again on the edge of the sofa.
Realization flooded me. My stupid, rash decision making. My idiot brain.
“Oh,shit,” I said. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. You were just—you rescued me—and then you were here—and you listened—and you were actually nice, and?—”
“And you’re overwhelmed,” Nathan completed kindly as he adjusted his glasses. “Maybe in a little shock, too. It’s all right. It happens.”
Through his lenses, I was surprised to find, once again, no sign of judgment. A little surprise, maybe. And an admittedly swollen mouth. Just kind understanding and a clear head while he looked me over with the same clinical expression he’d worn when he examined my knee.
Doctor Hunt. Nothing more.
I slapped my hands over my face. I wanted to shrink into a ball and roll away. I wanted to hide under my covers and never come out. Even if they were the ones in the breakroom.
“God, I’m such a mess,” I moaned. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. See, this is why the question isif. Because this is what I do in a crisis. I kiss the nice doctor instead of thanking him like a normal human. I make rash decisions instead of acting logically.”
“I don’t, though.” When I peeked through my fingers, Nathan tipped his head to one side. “As it happens, I’ve been told I can be too logical at times. But maybe that would be helpful right now.”
“Oh, yeah?” I mumbled. “How?”
I watched as he rubbed his chin, then pushed his glasses up his nose again before saying the verylastthing I’d ever thought I’d hear.
“You need a place to live. And as it happens, I need a new roommate. Therefore, you should move in with me.”
NINE
REASONS I AVOID THE UPPER WEST SIDE
#1 Cant think of any but I def dont beLong hear
“This is the service elevator. The co-op requires that all major deliveries go in and out of there, which would include your furniture if you take the room.”
Approximately ninety minutes after I’d nearly face-planted off the platform at Opal, I limped after Nathan as he continued his tour around the lobby of 60 Riverside Drive, calmly pointing out things like mailboxes and doormen while I kept looking around, waiting for my one-night stand to pop out of one of the corners like a Jack-in-the-Box.
I had changed out of the silver hot pants back into my regular jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. My knee was throbbing but had improved after I’d swallowed a bunch of ibuprofen.
“All right?” Nathan asked when he realized I was lagging behind him on his way to the main elevator.
I nodded and slung the duffel bag full of Rochelle’s clothes over my shoulder. “Just a little slow. I need to ice again, I think.”
Nathan frowned at my knee, then took the bag without asking. “Let’s go upstairs. I have some cold packs in the freezer you can use while we discuss the rental agreement.”
I barely paid attention to the quiet luxuries of the building as we walked back through the lobby to the main residents’ elevator. And why would I? I’d been here only a week before.
Even so, I hadn’t really paid attention then either. Had there always been two doormen to protect residents, plus two other men to operate the elevators? Were the prewar penny tiles in the lobby always as shiny as new coins? Or maybe it was only without a roaring hangover that I could appreciate the smear-free mirrors that circled the lobby or the refurbished art deco chandeliers hanging every ten feet or so. Everything screamed quiet, well-maintained opulence.
It was a far cry from my shabby old house in Belmont.
