7. Nick

CHAPTER 7

NICK

A ll I wanted to do was hop in that steamy shower with Sydney and rekindle what we’d had. I wanted to drink her in, lather her with soap, slide my hands up and down each delicious curve. Every muscle in my body tensed; all systems were a go.

Taking a deep breath, I scrubbed my hand hard over my neck. Why had I thought this would be a good idea? If I couldn’t get Sydney to reconsider us, I’d be blueballing myself worse than a middle schooler with a fucking crush. Damn it!

Relax, Milton. You still have time. Play it cool; she’ll come around.

The door to the bathroom opened and Sydney stepped out, a white towel wrapped around her, steam highlighting her silhouette.

Hot damn. What was that about keeping it cool?

I shifted in my now-too-tight jeans, trying hard to focus on her face, not the creamy skin peeking out from the top of her towel.

“Shower’s open, Milton.” She tilted her head towards the open door, urging me into the bathroom.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, my throat bone-dry.

“What? Why are you staring at me?” Sydney frowned, her dark eyes narrowed.

“I’m not.” I raised my hands up and headed towards the shower, brushing past her before she could get a good look at my hard-on.

“Whatever, Milton.” She moved towards her suitcase, her back to me, and bent over.

I took the opportunity to cop one more furtive look before ducking into the safety of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

Damn. How was I going to survive tonight, sleeping in the same bed together? Maybe this wasn’t my best idea after all.

“ W hite? Red? Or something stronger?” I asked Sydney, surveying the options my mother had laid out on the large mahogany coffee table in the living room. Judging by her tell-tale fiddling with her necklace and the biting of her lower lip, I’d have recommended whiskey on the rocks, but somehow I knew she’d decline.

“White’s good. Thanks.” She shifted from foot to foot, waiting for her wine, the soft holiday music doing little to calm her.

“Here you go,” I said, handing over the glass. Then I leaned in, brushing against her shoulder, my lips almost touching her cheek. “Relax. It’s fine.” I straightened back up before the scent of her perfume undid all the cooling down I’d done in the shower.

“Bro!” Nate rushed into the room, slapping me hard on the back. Luckily, I didn’t have any beverage in my hand at the moment. “Merry Christmas! And Sydney, great to see you.” He moved in, kissing her on both cheeks.

A pink blush climbed from her neck to her face as she met his smile. “Good to see you, too, Nate. It’s been awhile.”

“It has indeed. Too long, I’d say.” He winked at her and I pushed down the urge to punch him. My brother had better stay far away from my fake girlfriend…

I grabbed two rocks glasses, dropped a single cube of ice into each, then poured two fingers of whiskey for each of us.

“Cheers,” I said, handing my brother his drink. The three of us clinked glasses, took a sip.

“How’s the big city, you two? Is it amazing being back in the same zip code?” Nate asked us, although his eyes never left Sydney’s face. I didn’t blame him; I’d rather stare at her than me any day, too.

Sydney swallowed hard, blinking once, twice. “Uh, good. Things are good. And yeah, it’s great being back together.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” I said, wrapping my arm around Sydney’s waist and pulling her into me. She blushed a deeper shade of pink, but kept smiling at Nate.

“That’s fantastic. I know how much this guy talked about missing you when he was out in the desert. Happy it’s working out for you two.” Nate grinned at us, took another slug of his drink.

“Really, babe? You missed me that much? I had no idea,” Sydney said, glancing at me, her voice a bit higher-pitched than normal.

“Of course. You knew that,” I said, locking eyes with her and tracing the outline of her cheekbone. She shivered under my touch and my gut unknotted. We still had undeniable chemistry between us, no matter what she said.

“Hey, now that you’re back home, I want to come up for a game or two, stay the night in the city. Maybe Sydney could introduce me to some of her cute single friends. Whattya say?” Nate interrupted the moment.

“Sure, that’d be great,” I said, nodding, only half-listening.

“Mm-hmm,” Sydney echoed, bobbing her head, but still looking at me.

“Cool. Shoot me your game schedule, Nick, and I’ll see what days I can take off.”

“Kids, dinner!” My mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

Nate headed into the dining room, Sydney and I following close behind, my arm still wrapped around her. The table was set for dinner, with the white-and-gold Christmas tablecloth, Christmas china, and an evergreen centerpiece completing the tableau.

“This all looks lovely,” Sydney said, beaming at my mother.

“Aww, thank you. We’re just happy to have you all here for the holidays. Come, sit.” My mom gestured to the seats on the opposite side of the table, Sydney and me sitting next to each other, Nate and my gran across from us, and my parents flanking the ends. “Your father is running late, but he said to start the salads without him.”

“Mom, can I get you a drink? Gran?” Nate offered.

“Sure, honey. Just bring the white and red to the table. That’s the easiest.”

Sydney and I took our seats and Gran immediately started talking football.

“You boys are going to make the playoffs, right?” she asked, peering at me over her glasses.

I nodded. “Planning on it, Gran.”

Her serious face broke into a wide grin. “Well, you better, because I want to see my grandson play some ball. I’m coming to the city for a game.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I said. “Nate is too. You should come with him, hit the town afterwards.” I smirked at Nate as he walked back into the room with the wine. He glared at me over my gran’s white head.

“White, Gran?” Nick asked, showing her the bottle.

“If that’s the strongest you got, sure.”

Nate filled her glass, then my mom’s, topping Sydney off for good measure before taking his seat.

“This looks great, Mom,” Nate said, digging into his salad.

“Thanks, hun. Dinner’s a roast, new potatoes, and broccoli. I know you boys probably don’t eat home-cooked meals too often, so I made your favorites.” She smiled, then took a sip of wine. “Sydney, what’s your family doing for the holidays? Will you see them at all?”

Sydney smoothed her napkin on her lap and cleared her throat before answering. “My dad’s out in California with my stepmom. I’ll probably see him after the season’s over. Not sure about my mom, but probably not. We don’t usually spend the holidays together. Because of my schedule.” Sydney twisted her necklace, rubbing it between her fingers.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you could join us.”

Sydney smiled, straightened her shoulders. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course, dear. Anytime.”

“Ho, ho, ho!” My dad barreled into the room, grinning, breaking the awkwardness over Sydney’s family arrangement. He ruffled Nate’s hair, shot me a wave, then kissed my mom square on the lips.

“Dad! We’re at the dinner table,” Nate teased before shoveling another bite of salad into his mouth.

“So? I can’t share some holiday cheer with my lovely wife?”

“Gross,” Nate said, wrinkling his nose.

“Pour yourself a drink, John. Your salad’s in the fridge; I didn’t want it to wilt.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Dinner went on for a solid hour, the majority of the conversation revolving around my team’s offensive strategy. Sydney held her own, offering some solid observations. I loved that she knew the game, the players, the ins and outs of the industry. It was one of the thousands of things I loved about her. Maybe it was the wine, but I hadn’t felt this happy, this relaxed, in a long while. Something about having her next to me felt so right.

Reaching under the table, I found her hand, laced our fingers together. She glanced over at me through her dark lashes, but didn’t pull away. I rubbed her thumb with mine, our intertwined hands resting lightly on her thigh.

Progress. She was definitely warming up to me.

“Dinner was fantastic, Mom. Let us clean up,” I said, already placing my silverware on my plate.

“I’ll get it, honey.”

“No way, Mom. We’ve got this,” Nate chimed in. “You, Dad, and Gran go put on a Christmas movie or something.”

Our parents and Gran moved into the den, leaving me, Nate, and Sydney to clean up. We worked together quickly, gathering up the dishes, glassware, and napkins. Sydney and I loaded them into the dishwasher, while Nate put away the leftovers.

“You guys want to go out? Or are you going to hang out with Mom and Dad?” Nate asked, shoving the last of the roast into the fridge.

“I think we’ll stay here. Jackson’s supposed to stop by and drop a sweater off for Sydney.”

“Ah, for the infamous Ugly Sweater party.” Nate waggled his brows.

“That sounds ominous,” Sydney joked, leaning back against the counter.

“It’s always a good time. But be forewarned—go easy on the punch and watch out for mistletoe. Mr. McGregor loves pointing out when people are under it and insisting you kiss, whether you’re a couple or not. It’s extremely awkward.”

Sydney pressed her lips together, looking straight at me from across the kitchen. “Yeah. That is awkward.”

Wiping my hand on a dishtowel, I averted my gaze from hers, my throat suddenly dry. Why’d Nate have to bring up Mr. McGregor’s mistletoe fetish?

“Alright, kids, I’m going to head out. I don’t really want to watch some sappy Christmas movie with the parents. Plus, I have to work tomorrow, unlike some people. See ya at the party. And watch out for mistletoe.” Nate winked at Sydney before heading to the den to say goodbye to our parents.

“Thin ice, Milton,” Sydney said in a low voice, moving across the kitchen to me. “First, the sweater, now a weird mistletoe thing.”

“It’ll be fine,” I assured her. “He’s harmless; nothing to worry about. It’ll be fun and festive, promise.”