12. CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

“Guess it’s true, I’m not good at a one-night stand”

Stay With Me – Sam Smith

Deon

“ F rench fries!” Nathalie screams from the passenger seat of the car, startling me. “I need french fries.” She obnoxiously bats her eyelashes as Gordie sleeps quietly in her lap. Her eyes grow unnaturally large behind her glasses. “ Pretty please ?”

A goofy, lopsided grin overtakes her face, and my heart does a small pitter-patter. Since we’ve left Jack and Maren’s home, it's been pittering and pattering. If we’re being painfully truthful, it’s been that way from the moment I realized beneath Nathalie’s soft-spoken exterior is a messy, teasing spitfire who’s hell-bent on making my life exhilarating .

“Fine,” I relent, “Let’s go get you some food.”

Five minutes later, I’m pulling my car into the drive-thru of a run-down McDonald's, and Nathalie is as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

“Do you only want french fries?”

Nathalie scoffs as if my question is blasphemous.

“I’m not a monster, Deon. I need nuggets, too.”

She rattles off her order, leaning to get closer to the window. Her proximity lights my skin on fire, the soft, sweet scent of her perfume permeating the air.

“Are you getting anything?” Nathalie’s head shifts slightly, her lips inches away from mine. Her eyes dart to my lips before she jolts back in her seat.

“I don’t think the nutrition specialists would be happy if I ate late-night McDonalds.” I look wistfully at the menu. While it would taste delicious, I’m not sure I want to face Addie on Monday and admit I ate fast food at one in the morning because my fake girlfriend wanted it, and I have a hard time saying no to her.

“How would they know?” She looks puzzled, and fuck, is it adorable with her Hobbit costume.

“I would tell them?”

“Why on Middle Earth would you do that?”

“It’s their job to make sure my nutrition is well-balanced. They can’t do that if I don’t tell them what I eat.”

Natalie holds out a finger and wags it back and forth.

“Rule number one, Deon Adams: Never, ever, rat yourself out.”

“I’m holding myself accountable. ”

She rolls her eyes and crawls out of her seat to lean over through the driver's side window—again. Gordie protests with a startling meow .

“Could I get another ten-piece nugget, a large fry, a cheeseburger, and an Oreo Mcflurry? Oh, and please don’t say your machine is down. There are two perished Hobbits in this car, and I may die if I don’t have an Oreo McFlurry. Thank you!”

I stare at her when she waves her hand to get me to pull forward. Nathalie hums to the music from the radio while we wait.

The college-aged worker slides the glass door open, handing over multiple brown paper bags, and the smell of grease fills the cab. I tap my card to pay, then begin to drive away when a single French fry disrupts my line of sight.

“Open up.”

“Huh?” I choke out while she waves the fry in front of my mouth like an airplane.

“Driving fry,” she amends, continuing to wave the potato. Hesitantly, I open my mouth, and she slides it between my lips. As I chew, her gaze lingers on my skin. “Drive fast; we must have supper before it gets cold.”

“Fuck, that was so good.”

I toss the empty McFlurry container onto the coffee table and lean back on the couch. I might regret this choice later, but right now, it's one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.

“McDonald's tastes so much better after midnight. It’s a scientific fact.”

I laugh.

“Oh, is it?”

“Mhm.” Nathalie rises to throw away our trash, and I watch her, enamored, as she hums a tune around the kitchen.

She pulls her hair out of the braided buns she wore at the party, and as her fingers run through the loose strands, I realize she is by far the most marvelous human I’ve ever met. It makes me want to do something fucking idiotic, like drag her into my bed and show her what else is better after midnight.

She returns to the couch, and pure, uncontrollable lust takes control over my limbs. Before I can think better of it, I snatch her hand and yank her into my lap.

“What are you doing?” Nathalie croaks as her thighs straddle my hips.

I have no idea, only that I want her .

Mustering up every ounce of courage I have, I ask, “Are you attracted to me?”

Her eyes animate, and the shock there is unmistakable before it morphs into something far clearer: lust.

I drag my thumb against the seam of her lips, and she gasps, arms falling to wrap around my shoulders. Her inner thigh grazes my cock as she shifts, and I hiss from the contact.

“Deon?” Her voice is questioning, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she presses her breasts against my chest, fingers dancing on the back of my neck.

I want to kiss her again. When it’s not for show or to prove something. I want to kiss her until she’s gasping, moaning, begging for more . Begging so thoroughly that when I sink into her, there is no her or I, there is only an us.

Nathalie’s eyes dip to my lips as they curve into a cocky grin.

“Tell me,” I whisper against her lips.

Tell me to stop.

Tell me to kiss you.

Tell me to keep you, and I just might.

So, so slowly, I trail a palm along her spine, and goosebumps begin to pepper her flesh. I drag her close so her lips are a hair’s breadth from mine.

I’m crossing every line I’ve drawn in the proverbial sand and doing so entirely sober. I’m drunk on how she makes me feel; it’s the adrenaline of plummeting from a plane and the comfort of returning home after a long trip.

It’s all there, swimming in her eyes, if I’m brave enough to take it. Lust. Trepidation. Need .

We can do this. No strings attached. Friends with benefits or whatever they call it.

I can do it.

I’ve never been able to separate sex from my emotions. I never had to. Maybe it’s time for a change.

I attempted a one-night stand a few times when I moved to Seattle, but anytime someone touched me, my skin would crawl, my stomach would churn, and I would leave.

For weeks after any encounter, a tight ball of anxiety would sit beneath my diaphragm. It was difficult to breathe—to function—so I stopped trying.

No experience was worth that feeling of discomfort.

I’ve only had sex with someone I loved, and now I can’t separate those emotions from the physical. It’s not everyone's experience, and I wish I was someone who could have sex without the emotional connection, but I’m not.

I’m not in love with Nathalie, but I trust her—emphatically. She’s…she’s my friend.

She’s patient and thoughtful and witty, and it might not be the emotional connection, but it’s something.

Seconds drag to minutes before Nathalie responds.

“You’re super fucking hot.” She leans in, and my smile grows so large it could be seen from space. She squeezes my neck. “Don’t let that go to your head.”

“Too late.”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

God.

Her question is hesitant and soft and does wicked things to my chest.

“I’m thinking about it.”

I brush a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. I’ve been thinking about it since our first fake date, since I had a taste of her.

“I think it would be a smart decision,” she says, lips tilting upward in a smirk.

I waste no time, leaving her no opportunity to add another teasing comment as I crash my lips to hers, stealing her smirk to catch her bottom lip between my teeth.

The kiss is hungry and demanding, and she matches the intensity shot for shot, my desire growing until it’s a living thing in my chest, controlling my every action.

She releases a soft moan before her tongue swipes across my lips, seeking entrance. I cup her jaw, tangling my fingers in her hair, gripping the strands as I release her from the kiss, trailing my lips down the column of her neck.

I loosen my grip, and Nathalie blinks before she sways her hips, eyes locked with mine as she moves. Another moan tumbles from her, and my cock pulses, my erection borderline painful as she teasingly shifts in my lap.

Fuck .

What the hell have I unleashed?