Page 30 of The Hookup Situation
Julie
Forgot to ask … are you a hand-holder or arm-around-the-shoulder type of boyfriend?
I grin, typing back.
Nick
Depends. Are you a snuggle-into-my-side or maintain-your-independence type of girlfriend? I’m following your lead.
Julie
Hmm. Guess we’ll both find out tomorrow.
6
JULIE
I’ve reorganized the coffee bean display three times this morning. The Ethiopian blend doesn’t need to be alphabetically arranged by roast date, but here I am, labels facing forward.
“Jules, you’re spiraling,” Blaire announces, not looking up from the espresso machine she’s cleaning. “And before you deny it, you’ve been humming for the past twenty minutes.”
“I’m not—” I stop myself. I am spiraling.
“Is this about yesterday? That kiss with Nick?” She sets down her cleaning rag, full attention on me now. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either, and I was just watching.”
“It felt …” I trail off, unable to find the right word.
She doesn’t say anything, allowing me to get my thoughts together.
“Incredible,” I confirm. “Electricity shot through every nerve.”
Blaire moves closer, lowering her voice. “Jules, he looks like a Greek god. Of course you felt something. Any woman with a pulse would feel something, kissing Nick Banks.”
“You’re right. It’s probably just physical attraction.”
“Really, really intense physical attraction,” she confirms. “That man could make a nun reconsider.”
I burst into laughter. “You’re damn right about that.”
“Just a human response. And a horny one. When’s the last time you had really good sex?”
“Blaire!”
“What? It’s a valid question. Craig was about as exciting as plain oatmeal in bed. Your body is probably just screaming,Finally, a man who knows what he’s doing!”
The bell chimes, and my stomach drops. Nick walks in, carrying a leather messenger bag, hair slightly messed up from the morning wind. He looks uncertain, almost nervous, which is weird because Nick is usually Mr. Confidence.
“Speak of the devil,” Blaire whispers. “The hot-as-hell devil.”
“Shut up,” I hiss.
“Morning,” he says, his voice carrying that rough edge that means he didn’t sleep well either.
“Hi.”
We stare at each other. The entire coffee shop seems to pause, waiting. I can feel the ghost of yesterday’s kiss on my lips.
Mrs. Henderson actually leans forward in her chair.
