Alcohol You Later (30)

He’s literally inside of me and still reducing our connection to friendship.

There are no words for how much it hurts to nod my agreement.

Desperate to put an end the emotional torment, I roll my hips, grinding against him while making a show of licking the pads of my thumb and forefinger and tweaking my nipple.

Desire flames in his eyes, and he picks up the tempo. His grip on my hips tightens to the point of pain.

The exquisite burn has me clawing at my skin.

“Look at me,” he orders when I turn away.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It hurts.”

He stills, and the fire in my core threatens to come to a complete halt. “But you told me—”

I slap my hips against his. “Keep going, Nicholas. It hurts in the best way.”

My words reignite the cocky confidence he’s best known for. With renewed vigor, he pummels into me. His piercings stroking my most sensitive parts.

I meet him thrust for thrust, my body trembling as my own orgasm mounts.

“Fuck,” he growls, reaching around to stroke my clit, his hips jerking as he spills his release. Those little spasms push me over the edge, sending me tumbling into the abyss.

This time when our eyes meet in the glass, he offers me that lazy smile of his, and a sense of contentment falls over me.

Someday.

Not today. But someday.

Baby steps.





“How’s your head?”

I’m half-asleep and still a little bit drunk, debating whether to get out of bed to relieve my aching bladder when the sound of Nick’s voice forces my eyes open. I blink a few times to adjust to the dim light filtering in from the slightly ajar bathroom door. The way he’s staring down at me from his propped position warms my chest. And the knowledge that he must have been in that position for quite a while to have noticed the moment I started to rouse sparks life in the hope that died with his words in that dressing room last night.

“Wanted to make sure we were okay.” Nick grabs one of my hands, sandwiching it between his massive man paws. Weaving his fingers in and out of mine, he chews his lip while toying with them in the most adorably nervous manner. “Shit got kinda weird after the show.” His throat clears. “Do you…do you remember?” He flips the switch, illuminating the headboard lights and nearly blinding me in the process.

“Ugh,” I groan, my cheeks catching fire at the reminder. “Wish I could forget.”

His answering chuckle falls flat with worry. “Still friends?” His lower lip pokes out. And he gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Just you try to get rid of me,” I threaten, instantly regretting my words, which were meant as a joke but are in fact my greatest fear—that he will eventually tire of me and move on. That I’ll become one of many in the long legacy of shattered hearts he’ll leave behind. That I’ll someday be just a distant memory, if he ever thinks of me at all, while he’ll forever be the one.

“So, everything’s okay? You know you can talk to me…right? About anything.” He tucks my chin, linking eyes with mine. “We’re dudes.”

Dudes. I shudder.

“The last few days have just been a lot to absorb…and I may have overindulged a bit,” I admit, tracing my finger over each of the three black doves inked along his side. “Enough about that.” Snuggling closer, I plant a kiss on his ribs. I’m suddenly feeling very curious, and desperate for a change in topic. “Tell me about these.”

“The tattoo?”

“Yeah.” Nick isn’t the type to mark himself with random shit just for the hell of it. There must be a story there. “What do they represent?”

Wincing, he shifts his arm to hold me closer. It’s quiet for a beat, as he seems to be lost in thought, and I’m beginning to regret asking the question at all. I fear my attempt at lightening the conversation is going to do the complete opposite.

“It’s okay,” I say, swirling my fingers over his abs. “You don’t need to answer.”

“There’s, uh… one for each person who walked out on me.” He keeps his tone even, devoid of emotion. But it’s there, filling the air around us, weighing on my chest like a massive boulder.

“One for my mother.” He reaches across his body, touching the first little bird reverently. The hole she left when she walked out on him at such a young age has never healed. I doubt it ever will.

I hate her. More than I ever thought I could hate another person.

His fingers skate to the one just below and a little to the left. “This one’s for my pops, who was there, but not really, you know?”

I nod, repulsion for his birth givers churning in my gut. “You deserved better.”

He shrugs, moving to the third and final piece. “And this one’s for Ridge.” A wistful smile curves his lips. “I ever tell you about him?”

“No.” I can’t help but smile back.

“He was my neighbor and best friend all through school. The guy had a really shitty homelife, but we all did…” He shrugs. “Buncha fuckin’ misfits bonded over various traumas.”

I nod as he mindlessly strokes a finger up and down my forearm.

“Anyway, he got into it with his dad one night. It was fucking bad. He was all beat up.” Nick’s jaw grinds at the memory. “We sat outside for a few hours, plotting all the ways we could end the son of a bitch without spending the rest of our lives behind bars.” He sucks his lips between his teeth, shaking his head. “We weren’t serious…at least I wasn’t.”