The Hard Count(60)

Alyssa blows out, her lips making a raspberry noise, and her giggles soon taking over. She waves close to the camera, then covers her mouth with both hands before blowing a huge kiss.

“I love you, Daddy!” she yells, and hearing her voice—so high, so loud, so proud—causes my eyes to tear.

Nico rests on his hands, his chin against them as they lay on the desktop. He lets his head fall to the side, and I watch his eyes dance over the joy playing out on the screen. The way she loves her daddy is the same way Nico looks at her.

“I want to make Vincent a video,” he says, stopping short, his tongue pinched between his teeth until he breathes out a short laugh, and his lips curl into a smile that dents his cheek. The video ends, and I click STOP just as Alyssa runs off the screen. Nico blinks at the visual slowly, his face frozen in the same expression, like he’s afraid to tell me the rest.

“I can help you,” I say. His eyes flit to mine, and his smile grows.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Sure,” I say.

Our eyes stare into each other for a few beats, until I can’t take it, and look back at the screen, dragging the player back to the beginning. Nico grabs a chair from the other end of the room, sliding it up next to mine so close that the metal touches. I feel his body against mine when he sits, a series of barely-there grazes that fire off a million sensations down the length of my body. I shift in my seat, moving just enough to the left that I can’t feel him any longer, though somehow, even through inches of nothingness, I can still feel his heat.

“So, do you just want me to cut all of these clips together?” I ask.

“I have some photos too. Here,” Nico says, pulling his phone from his back pocket. I take it, our fingertips touching on the exchange, and I know I don’t imagine the way Nico’s thumb runs softly along my knuckles.

“Th…thanks,” I stutter, laying his phone flat on the table in front of the keyboard.

I lean to my other side and pull out a cord, connecting his phone to the back. It takes me a few seconds to navigate to his photos, and I flip through them quickly, seeing pictures of him and Sasha, him with his family, his uncles, a few of the guys I recognize from that night at the football game, before Nico joined The Tradition. I stop when I see one of me, from the side, sitting at my desk in humanities, flipping through pages of a notebook, my hair down and draped over my shoulder.

“I like your hair down,” he says. I glance at him, knowing I’m blushing, and he leans to the side, his arm pressing into mine just enough to tell me it’s okay, his smile bashful and showing me he’s embarrassed, too.

“So…photos, yeah,” I say, turning my attention back to the screen, blinking and scrolling back to the beginning of his photo gallery, pausing on ones of Alyssa and him. “You want me to just…”

“Reagan.”

I know he’s looking at me. I can feel him, and I’m so unsure what to do. My foot is wiggling side-to-side along the floor, and my knee is moving in the chair, the nerves traveling rapidly up my leg. Nico’s hand touches me, his finger sprawling over my knee with just enough pressure that I stop. I suck in air, and my lips tingle. I feel him turn to face me, his hand sliding from its hold on my knee until it lets go, his fingers finding my face next, the same light pressure urging me to turn my head. My eyes trail behind the movement, clinging to the view on the computer screen, my hand gripping the computer mouse until I give in and shift to his gaze.

His eyes soften the moment we meet, the gold and brown blurring under the heaviness of his dark lashes. His lips aren’t smiling, but the straight line is more reverent than anything else, and as his thumb sweeps across my cheek, I gasp, letting go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“I like your eyes, too,” he says, and I become instantly aware of how heavy my eyelids are.

“And your freckles,” he says, running his fingertips down my cheek, to my chin. My face flushes from that attention next.

“And your…lips,” he says, brushing his knuckles slowly across my mouth, his eyes low and staring at my upper lip. My breath hitches against his touch. His eyes come back to mine, wrinkling at the sides with his smile.

“And your temper,” he says, his mouth pulled up on one side, the dimple there. “And your voice. And the way you argue. How you work so hard. How you look over your shoulder when you’re late. How you distract yourself with doodles when you’re early. The way you look at me…”

My eyes flash wider, and I take a sharp breath through my nose.

“Just don’t ever stop looking at me,” he says, scooting closer, his knees touching my leg, his hand bringing my face to his. Nico’s nose brushes against mine, and my eyes fall shut, my lips parting, almost reaching for him.

“Look at me like you expect more. Look at me like it isn’t going to be easy.” Nico breathes the words against my lips, pausing when his bottom lip connects with my top, the faintness of the touch so much better than any other real kiss I’ve had. “Make me earn it,” he says, pausing again to take my top lip between both of his. “I’ll earn it. I’ll never stop trying to earn it…to earn you.”

“Nico,” I whimper, my lips trembling against his. He presses his forehead to mine and brings his hands to my cheeks, his fingertips sliding into my hair, the wet strands sticking to my neck and shoulders, wrapping around his wrists like golden shackles.