5. CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

“Stay cool, it’s just a kiss”

Talk Too Much – COIN

Deon

I ’m sick with nerves as I take the stairs to Nathalie’s apartment, using the exercise and time to compose myself.

It’s a date. A fake date to prove to the world I have a girlfriend. We’ll eat dinner, talk, take a photo to post on the internet, and leave.

Simple.

No matter how often I tell myself those facts, the churning in my stomach doesn’t settle. I haven’t been on a date in five years and I’m rusty. Worse, it’s with Nathalie and I fear I may comment on something I know, but shouldn’t, and incriminate myself as a creep who knows far too much about her.

I got lucky with the macarons. It won’t happen again.

She may have casually mentioned at Sawyer’s wedding that she wants a massive tray of macarons at her wedding. I may have remembered.

Declan’s comment about taking advantage of her doesn’t help the nerves.

I stop on the fourth floor and nearly choke from the acrid smell lingering in the hallway. It’s like someone boiled hotdogs and sweaty socks.

Nathalie swings the door open and all thoughts of the rancid smell fade away. I gulp at the black dress, nearly second skin, accentuating every curve and slope of her body. It’s long enough to be considered modest, but revealing enough for my heart to race.

Woah .

Her long, brown hair cascades over her shoulders and my fingers itch to run through the loose waves. Her hair is pretty in the braids, but down…it’s beautiful. Finally, my eyes reach hers, and I rear back.

“What happened to your glasses?” My body has many reactions to her appearance, but my brain can't comprehend the lack of glasses. I’m flustered, by the situation, and her soft, warm beauty.

Nathalie yanks me into the apartment where I’m blasted with the aroma of apples and spices, a much-welcomed scent compared to the hallway.

“I put in my contacts,” Nathalie answers, shutting the door behind me.

Duh, Deon. What an idiotic question.

“Why does your hallway smell like…that? ”

“Creepy Terry probably decided to cook.” She walks down the small hallway. “Let me grab my heels and bag and we can go.”

I don’t hesitate to follow her. “Creepy who?”

Nathalie doesn’t stop walking as she waves a hand over her head in dismissal. “It’s the nickname Declan and I came up with. He’s harmless.”

“His name is Creepy Terry. Doesn’t sound harmless to me,” I say in disbelief. How is she so…blasé? I’m hot on her heels until I’m in the center of a disaster, surrounded by clothing and stacks of books.

Envy spears my chest. I rub away the unwelcome sensation. Nathalie and Declan’s relationship is not important to me, so I shock myself when I ask, “Do you like Declan?”

Nathalie spins, loose curls flying. She barks out a laugh. “God, no.” Her smile morphs into a cocky smirk as her hands land on her hips. “Sounds like someone’s jealous…”

“What—no,” I choke out. I shift my gaze. Clothes and bags and…a lacy bra pepper the floor. Fuck. I spin around, the image of black lacy underwear beneath a tight black dress seared into my mind. I force air into my lungs. “I—I’ll wait in the living room.”

I ignore how my voice cracks.

Her laugh echoes down the hallway as I scurry away. Dropping onto the couch, I work through the plan tonight. Dinner, photos, then home. Nothing in my plan accounts for lacy underthings and tight dresses and Creepy Terry, whoever he is.

I peek into Nathalie’s life as I wait. This apartment is far messier than earlier this week, and that version wasn’t tidy. The corner of her living room is nothing but towers of novels, and a dozen shoes litter the floors, most without the other in the pair.

A loud, thudding sound batters the walls and I wince.

“Uh…What’s that sound?” I yell, surveying the room for any structural issues.

“Oh, it’s just the pipes. They make that noise sometimes. Other times it’s this creaking sound. It’s fine, the building is old.” Nathalie dismisses my concerns as she pops out of her room and struts to the door.

This building isn’t old, it’s decrepit, and no one should be allowed to live here.

She’s digging through a massive bag when I reach her. She spins and I catch her as she stumbles. Nathalie gives me a soft smile that I store in the caverns of my mind for safekeeping and reminiscing.

“So, where are we going?”

The chatter of patrons enjoying their meal fills the uncomfortable silence between Nathalie and me. I’ve already pounded back three glasses of water to help cool the inferno beneath my skin.

I’m sweating through my shirt.

Nathalie silently reads the menu and I run my fingers along the seam of the fancy cloth menu, focusing on the stitching. She attempted conversation in the car, but that quickly ended when I could only respond with grunts and hums.

How was the game? Grunt.

Have you been to this restaurant before? Hum.

Are you okay? Another grunt.

The answer to that last question is, no, I am not okay. My brain is short-circuiting, too full of anxiety and nerves to function in any capacity.

“You look nice tonight.” I force back my wince at how stiff the compliment comes out and how unnatural it sounds. I can’t even compliment her properly. If I had control of my tongue, I would say that she looks radiant and that from the moment I saw her, I was completely and utterly entranced by her beauty.

Instead, I’ve reverted to caveman speak. Girl. Pretty. Like.

“Uh, thanks.” Nathalie sips her wine. Her eyes scan the menu once more before they dart to mine. “Deon…”

“What?”

I am not a fan of the look on her face. One of confusion mixed with disdain. Is the menu not to her liking? She mentioned she enjoyed Italian food, so I found the nicest place in Seattle with a reservation available. “Your sheet, ” I refuse to say the word ‘questionnaire’ out loud, “didn’t mention food allergies.”

Her brows furrow.

“I’m not allergic to anything.” I pocket the information, “But this place is way too expensive.”

“It’s fine.” I wave her off. “I have the money.”

Savannah preferred places like this, where the serving sizes were small and the bill was large. It’s upscale and classy, Deon.

“That isn’t the point.” Nathalie’s head tilts and I fight the urge to squirm. Her gaze is unnerving. She blinks a few times, before closing her menu with a thud . “This is weird.”

Her laugh is airy and soft, and it settles something inside me.

“It’s so weird,” I admit. Releasing a deep breath, I admit a small truth. “I haven’t done this in a while. ”

“What? Admitted to the whole world you have a girlfriend who doesn’t exist then create a ruse to fake-date? I hope not or else I’m not special .”

A small smile pulls at my lips.

“No, though that is also a first for me. I mean going on a date.”

“That’s not shocking,” she says with a teasing smile. “ I don’t date, ” Nathalie mocks, deepening her voice. “ There is no time for love in my life. Only football. ”

My jaw falls.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes, you do.”

I frown. Is that how she perceives me? As a closed-off, hard-ass who doesn’t believe in love?

Trust me, believing in love is not the issue. It’s falling in love with the wrong person.

“If it makes you feel better, this is my first date ever. You’re number one as far as first dates go.”

“This is your first date…ever?”

My eyes bulge from my skull.

Not a chance.

I search her face for any hint of humor but her eyes cast downward.

Oh, wow. Okay. Wow.

She’s never been on a date?

Well, I’ve royally fucked up her first date. She'll remember this as the worst first date ever and I will forever be associated as the ‘shitty-first-date-guy’. I don’t want to be that guy. I want to be the ‘spectacular-first-date-guy’.

Somehow, I’ve got to turn this nightmare around, and fast .

“Mhm…” Nathalie slams back her wine and rises, smoothing the fabrics of her dress, hands sliding over the curves and slopes of her hips.

I choke when she clutches my hand and yanks me from my seat. The heat of her palm sears into mine as she interlaces our fingers.

Fuck. Holding hands is nice.

I scramble to drop a hundred-dollar bill on the table before she drags me out of the stuffy restaurant and into the crisp October air.

“Where are we going?” I ask as Nathalie struts to the valet and the young worker works to retrieve the car. A pit in my stomach forms while we wait. “Did I do something wrong?”

Nathalie spins, a pinched expression on her face.

“No, not at all. If this is going to be our first date we’re going to do something fun , not sit in a stuffy room full of snobby people and leave hungry because the serving sizes are for mice.”

I bark out a laugh and her brown eyes dart behind my head, wide and full of panic.

“Kiss me.”

The words are a demanding whisper and my stomach knots.

“What?”

My brain scrambles as she steps closer. Muscles seize as her hand glides up my chest to cradle the back of my neck. Her fingers press against my skin, dragging me into her bubble, so close that I can pick out the small flecks of gold in her irises.

“The guy to your left has a camera aimed at us. Kiss. Me.” Her breath dances along my skin.

She demands it again, and everything in my body short circuits. My eyes quickly dart left to the phone camera aimed at us, slightly hidden behind shrubbery. Nathalie steps forward, nails digging into my skin as she presses onto her toes. Reflexively, I dip my head to meet her.

I gulp as her eyes flick to my lips before her palm softly lands on my cheek, thumb swiping against my cheekbone. The heat of her hand sears where she makes contact and I sink into the touch. As I inhale a shaky breath, her lips press against mine in a hesitant kiss. It’s gentle and questioning and the shock of intimacy in it unlocks something deep in my chest.

My hands move of their own volition, cradling her face and demanding entry as my tongue sweeps across the seam of her lips. The kiss morphs into something hungrier, something so far from fake as she stumbles into my chest, breasts grazing my torso as bolts of electricity zap through my veins.

My mind screams.

More, more, more.

Something is unleashed inside me, something I’ve buried deep, tried to hide from. Something that Nathalie threatens to bring alive.

Nathalie releases a small moan and my dick twitches. I chase that sound, desperate to hear it again—to be the cause of that sound, again—when she pulls away, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a tomato hue.

“Uh…” She touches her lips and blinks. “I-I think they’re gone.”

My eyes are locked on her, the world fading to nothing but background noise as my axis tilts. A foreign feeling swirls in my gut as she shuffles on her feet.

“Who?” I gravitate toward her, skin scorching from the heat of the kiss.

“The guy with the camera?” Her brows crunch but I’m overwhelmed by the euphoria of her lips on mine, how her skin felt beneath my calloused palms, and the way her body melted into mine, like the last two pieces of a puzzle. “You’re not half bad at that, you know.”

I—what?

I flounder for a response when the valet worker drives up with my car.

“You’re all set, Mr. Adams,” the kid says, dropping the keys into my hands before Nathalie snatches them away.

“I’m driving,” she declares, spinning the keys around her finger and kicking off her heels. My brain is full of fog and all my blood has rushed straight to my dick so I don’t argue when she pauses and whispers, “Tip the poor kid.”

I spin around, limbs flying toward my wallet. “Shit—yeah, right.” I slap a hundred-dollar bill in the kid's hand before bolting to the car.

What the fuck was that?

That kiss was a zap of lightning in my veins and the strongest shot of Everclear. I slide into the passenger seat of my car in a daze.

Kissing someone has never felt like that and that is lethal knowledge.

Nathalie’s grin is wide and mischievous as she revs the engine. My stomach flips and turns.

“Ready to have fun, Adams?”

I take in the wild eyes and full smile and the answer tumbles from me. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.”