Charming as Puck(48)

Muffy: Because you can tell us what Nick’s present today meant.

Felicity: What did he send now?

Muffy: I don’t know, but I bet it was thirty of something REALLY good.

Kami: He sent thirty keys. I don’t get it.

Muffy: Oh my god. He bought you thirty cars!

Kami: No, they look like house keys. Mostly. A few look like they go to padlocks.

Alina: You mean handcuffs?

Felicity: You know every time I think of my brother using handcuffs and petting…I can’t even type it, my blood pressure goes up, and that’s really bad for the baby.

Maren: Nice try, but your baby is half Berger. It’ll be fine. Your cooch after birth though…

Muffy: How big was Ares when he was born?

Felicity: This is why there are drugs and vaginal reconstruction, but I’m sure everything will go back to normal just like it’s supposed to. Except maybe with floppy boobs and a layer of belly fat I can’t shake. Kami, I have no idea why Nick sent you keys, but feel free to rack him in the nuts if he tries anything that would make me demand brain bleach. He needs to woo the shit out of you. Woo. The shit. Out of you.

Alina: Uh, is this Felicity, or did Zeus get hold of your phone?

Felicity: Dammit. It’s the Berger effect. I’m carrying Berger spawn, and he-she is infecting me with Zeus thoughts. I’M SUPPOSED TO BE HAVING ARES THOUGHTS. Ares thoughts would be so much nicer than Zeus thoughts. Whatever Nick’s planning for vengeance against Zeus for that cow, he better triple it on my behalf.

Kami: I promise I will NOT tell him that tonight.

Maren: Thank you.

Alina: On behalf of all of Thruster Nation, I second that. Thank you.

Muffy: Does anyone else think it’s funny that it’s called Thruster Nation? No? Just me? My mom’s giggling. She thinks it’s funny.

Muffy: Oh my god. I’m turning into my mother.

Felicity: Kami, I sincerely hope my brother realizes how much he doesn’t deserve you and how hard he’s going to have to work to earn you, because you would make the best sister-in-law, and I’m not saying that just because you perfected vegan brownies last winter. Which sound delicious, by the way, and you can send a pan or three my way anytime you want to. Also, I know Nick can be an ass, but I honestly believe he could be a really good boyfriend if he put half as much effort into a woman as he puts into looking good.

Maren: This isn’t getting any less weird.

Alina: I asked around at Chester Green’s last night. There’s not a single regular who can remember the last time Nick left the bar with a woman. I think he’s already domesticated, he just doesn’t know it yet.

Maren: So, basically, we’re saying have fun, guard your heart, and remember that the commune is still an option if he sends you dick cookies.

Kami: Um, thanks. I think.

Muffy: Oh my god. I just looked in the mirror. I went to my mom’s beautician, and OUR EYEBROWS ARE PLUCKED THE SAME NOW. I need to go lie down. Or possibly get a third job so I can afford to move out.

Kami: Third? What’s your second job?

Muffy: I mean second job.

My doorbell rings, and I sign off the group text and silence my phone while I follow my dogs to the door. I just charged the stupid phone, and five minutes of texting took the battery down to seventy percent. I really need to get one of those portable battery packs.

Or a new phone.

Except do I really need a phone on a date?

Nope, I definitely do not.

Tiger’s howling her adorable deflating-balloon howl. Pancake’s aroof!-ing, and Dixie’s wagging her back end off.

I smooth my hair back one last time before I swing the door open, and there’s Nick.

In dark jeans and a wool coat with a maroon button-down peeking through. He’s freshly-shaven again, though with a serious five-o’clock shadow going on, which I expected since he texted me a picture earlier today of him, Duncan Lavoie, and Tyler Jaeger in Thrusters T-shirts, all holding up kittens at a pet shelter.

I’d forgotten it was the first of their mandatory volunteer days today.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up and all of the hard angles of his rugged jaw and sharp cheekbones softening. “Hey,” he says, just like he has every other time I’ve seen him the last eight months, but this hey is different.

It’s softer. More thorough, if a hey can be thorough. Like he’s saying hi, thank you for giving me another chance, I hope I can talk you out of that sweater tonight, and wow, you look amazing all at once.

Which is crazy, because it’s just a hey.

“Hey,” I reply, and I just stand there, in the doorway, gawking at him like a total nincompoop. He got a haircut. And—oh, he’s wearing that aftershave I couldn’t get enough of back before the season started when someone set off a cologne bomb in the dressing room.

I showed up at his apartment and the whole thing smelled like a metrosexual lumberjack, and I swear I spent two hours with my nose just buried in his neck, sniffing.

Apparently I have a thing for metrosexual lumberjacks.

Which explains why I’m still drinking in the sight of him in his custom-fit coat and the pants that hug his thighs. When I realize his fingers are twitching like he’s facing down an opponent on a breakaway, like he’s nervous, the dragonflies buzzing around my stomach settle down.

He wouldn’t be nervous if he didn’t like me too.