Fight or Flight(31)

“You’re in my bed,” he whispered.

“Technically, I’m on it,” I joked stupidly, wanting to defuse the sudden tension between us.

Finally, he took a few steps toward me, and the chill the strange man had put in my blood suddenly dissipated under a wave of warmth. My cheeks grew flushed and my palms sweaty and I didn’t know why. Except … except Nick was looking at me … differently.

Like a boy looks at a girl.

“Oh.” I tensed in realization.

Nick threw me a lazy, almost shy, self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. Oh. I, um … I shouldn’t get on the bed with you.”

“Since when?” My breathing sounded a little funny. It felt funny too. Like I couldn’t quite catch a complete breath.

His eyes pinned me to the spot and he seemed so nervous I wanted to hug him. He swallowed hard. “Since a while.” He exhaled. Shakily, making the butterflies in my stomach spread their wings and come to life again. “I … I love you, Ava. And not like how I love Gem. I don’t want to kiss Gem.”

Wow.

Oh my God.

How did this night turn from the worst night ever to … well, kind of freaking epic?

I stared at him in total shock.

Nick was always the “boy next door,” but lately I knew my feelings toward him had been changing. I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it like he was. And I never, ever thought he would feel the same way back.

It wasn’t like I didn’t get asked out, and I’d been on a few dates. I’d even dated Michael Crawley in the seventh grade for eight months. But this was Nick. I never imagined Nick could love me romantically.

“What if I’m glad?” I whispered, my heart racing. “What if I love you too?” And I did. He was Nick. My protector and my best friend.

His eyes widened ever so slightly and then he rounded the bed, getting onto it beside me. I turned into him and he reached out to tentatively cup my cheek in his hand.

“It’s okay.” I sighed, nuzzling into his touch, amazed how the ugly shivers from a mere few minutes ago had transformed into excited trembling. “You can kiss me.”

When he did, it was the sweetest, softest kiss I’d ever been given. Boys usually just stuck their tongue in my mouth, wiggled it around a bit, and then grinned smugly like they’d accomplished something great instead of something yuck.

Not Nick.

My best friend could kiss.

I laughed softly at the thought, amazed that this was happening.

Nick smiled, caressing my cheek with his thumb. “What?”

“Only you could turn the worst night ever into the best.”

He grinned and wrapped his arm around me, pulling my head down onto his shoulder. “I can’t believe you like me back.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” I asked in disbelief.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in school. Even the guys on the varsity team talk about you.”

“They talk about a freshman? Perverts,” I joked.

He chuckled. “My point is, you could have anyone.”

I frowned. “But I don’t want just anyone.”

“Not even Styler James?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. Styler was Gem’s big crush, and I indulged her by oohing and aahing over him sometimes. He was a junior and admittedly extremely cute. “His name is Styler, Nick.”

My head rose with his shoulders as he laughed quietly. “Doesn’t seem to bother every other girl, including Gem.”

“Gem can have him. I want you.”

I felt his lips on my forehead. “You have me,” he whispered. “I’ll always protect you, Ava.”

Snuggling deeper into him, I believed it. I believed it with every bone in my body. He had all my faith.

“So you’re my girl?” he asked. “I get to tell everyone to back off now, ’cause you’re my girl?”

“Yes.” I reached for his hand. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

“Always.”

I woke up in a jolt from the dream. The memory. Sweat soaked the hair at the back of my neck and my skin felt flushed.

So much for sleep taking me away from the ghosts my time back home had stirred up. If sleep wasn’t going to do it, then I hoped running would. I got up just as the dawn was breaking, changed into running clothes, and took off.

A few miles later I felt marginally better, but I knew keeping busy would be the only way to distract myself from the shaky hangover dreaming of my past had left me with. Which was why I was so happy to return to work that morning.

Stella Larson Designs was located on Beacon Street, just a few doors down from XV Beacon Hotel but on the opposite side of the street. It hadn’t always been in such a prime location, but as Stella’s company took off, she relocated, taking the risk on an expensive office location in the hopes that it would appeal to wealthy clients. And it seemed to work. We had an airy reception room with muted gray tile flooring, a white leather corner sofa scattered with a few different-sized pillows in a gray palette, and a gray throw. At the back of the room was a sideboard in a gray-painted finish that held our public portfolios. Hung on the wall above it were photographs from some of our favorite designs framed in thin lemon-colored frames. That tiny burst of color continued in the vase on the sideboard, the handblown glass bowl on the coffee table, and the miniature button-back armchair in the corner of the room.