Page 70 of The Hookup Situation
“I want to make you feel good too,” I tell him.
“It’s not about me,” he says, placing his fingers in his mouth. “It satisfies me to satisfy you. Plus, you’re exhausted.”
“Yes, but—” I whisper.
“You have a hard time accepting things. I’m a giver, Jules.”
“I am too. I’m not used to people putting me first. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”
“I’ll help you work through it,” he says as he steps out of the shower and grabs us both towels. I turn off the water, and he helps dry me off. “I plan to spoil you.”
“We’ve already talked about this.” All I can do is shake my head, but I’m smiling.
“Yes, and you said nothing expensive. My range of expensive is at a much higher tier than yours, so I agreed.”
My hands run up his chest, and he wraps his arm around me. His body is still warm from the hot shower.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, questioning how right this feels.
“Tell me.”
“You want relationship advice, but so far, I have none. I get why women are so devastated when you leave them. You’re easy to fall for.”
“Are you falling for me?” Nick asks, bending down to kiss me.
“So far, it’s just a hookup situation.”
He nibbles on my bottom lip.
“You always test-drive the car before you buy it,” I tell him, moving to my bedroom.
Nick follows behind me, checking his phone while I drop the towel to put on clean clothes.
“Wow,” he says, his eyes sliding up and down my body. “I want to worship you.”
I grin back at him, sliding on a pair of panties and a tank top. I open the window, allowing the cool autumn breeze to flow in. Every once in a while, I can smell the funnel cakes being made at the food truck on the corner.
“Oh, is this your balcony?” he says, opening the doors and moving outside. He notices the brick wall that secludes us from the waist down. “This is why it’s on your list. Got to tell you though, during a parade is ballsy.”
“The Halloween one is coming up,” I tell him. “It starts at dark.”
His eyes stay focused on me. “It’s a date.”
Nick’s phone vibrates and he looks at it again as he moves closer to me.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“Something wrong?”
“Asher texted. Apparently, photos from the festival made it onto some gossip blog.” He shows me his phone.
The headline readsHockey Heartbreaker Nick Banks Cozies Up with Small-Town Barista.
Below are three photos. One is of us kissing after his speech, him wiping whipped cream off my nose, and one where I’m looking at him like he hung the moon.
“The comments,” Nick says. “Don’t read them.”
