Page 53 of The Hookup Situation
We finish our food, and he pays, completely ignoring my offer to split the check. I’m slightly tipsy, and Nick holds me close as we stroll down the sidewalk.
Outside, the September air is cool against my skin, causing me to shiver. Nick drapes his jacket over my shoulders without me even asking. We walk back to my condo, our hands linked together. I’m not ready for the night to be over, but I know we’re rounding the end.
The streets are full of tourists, and music streams from a karaoke bar that opened up on the corner. Laughter and the sound of plates clattering echo from the diner. Cozy Creek is full of life, and the season hasn’t fully started yet.
“Your brother seems like he enjoys giving you shit,” I say.
“It’s his favorite pastime. He and Dyson both.” Nick squeezes my hand. “They think my thirty-day thing is hilarious.”
“Is it really that consistent?”
“Unfortunately.” He glances at me. “You’ll be a personal record.”
“Breaking records makes a person unforgettable,” I tell him,recalling what he said about his hockey records. The way he glances at me makes my pulse quicken.
We round the corner to my building, and my stomach drops when Mrs. Mires, Craig’s aunt, steps outside with her ancient poodle, Mr. Whiskers. She hasn’t seen us yet, but she will in about two seconds. Her phone is already in her hand; she’s probably texting Craig right now about her nightly surveillance, telling him I’m not home yet.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Without thinking, I turn to Nick, grab his sweater, and pull him down to me. Our lips crash together, and for a second, he’s surprised. Then his hands come up to frame my face, and he’s kissing me back with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
This is nothing like our coffee shop kiss. This is pure instinct, pure want. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him, a small sound escaping that I’ll be embarrassed about later.
One of his hands slides into my hair while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel his heart racing, matching mine. The world narrows to just this, us, his mouth on mine, the solid warmth of his body, the way every nerve ending seems to spark to life at once.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. I’m vaguely aware that Craig’s aunt has hurried inside, Mr. Whiskers yapping from being rushed.
“Jules,” Nick breathes, his forehead resting against mine.
“She was going to see us,” I whisper, but it sounds like a weak excuse, even to me.
“Right.” His thumb traces my cheekbone.
Neither of us moves. We’re standing so close that I can feel his breath on my lips, and it would be so easy to lean back in. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.
“Kissing you feels too good,” he mutters.
“It’s just chemistry,” I say, trying to sound practical. “Physical attraction.”
But his hand is in my hair, and his thumb is still stroking my skin.
“Is that what this is?” he asks. The question lingers for an eternity.
We finally step apart, and the loss of his warmth makes me shiver despite his jacket around my shoulders.
“I should go inside,” I say.
“Yeah.”
But we’re both standing there, staring at each other like we’re trying to figure out what just happened because that kiss has made me forget anything else exists.
“Nick—”
“Six weeks,” he says, like he’s reminding himself as much as me. “We have six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” I repeat.
One wrong move could ignite a fire that will burn us both down.
