Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(32)

“Are you sure you want to skip the after-party?” he asked before being escorted away for the third time.

“Positive. Thanks for the invite, though.”

He walked toward me and leaned his face in. I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead his lips pressed against my cheek.

“Thank you for coming. I’m really glad I was able to share that with you.”

I nodded and swallowed, holding back the tears that welled in my eyes. This felt like goodbye. A real one. Like it was the last time we would share something like this. I thought of the good memories we’d shared, and a part of me felt like I didn’t want to let go. It was hard, being with him like this, acting like he cared and believing once he actually had. I’d mourned our separation. I didn’t want to mourn the loss again. I wanted to move on. I wanted to get it over with. But having him in front of me—this man I genuinely cared for—seeing him win so big . . . I remembered the conversations we’d had about it because I’d always believed he would be big. It felt like too much for me. And that’s why when he wrapped his arms around me, I let myself feel the power in his hug. I let myself feel that he, too, was sad about us not working.

“I wish things would have been different,” he whispered into my hair.

“Me too,” I said, and stepped back to let go. I gave him one last smile before walking to where Marcus waited for me, leaving the glitz and glamour behind. And I would mourn this too. Not the lights and cameras, but the role of supporter, a role I felt I had done a f*cking incredible job at.

“Home, right?” Marcus said once we got into the Escalade. I nodded, but suddenly hearing the word home and associating it with the life I once I had with Gabriel pained me, and I knew I needed to get out of there.





IT WAS STILL dark out when I got to the office, and Victor had to buzz me in. There weren’t any paparazzi around this time, which was a plus, but Marcus stayed waited by the car in case they’d been tipped off and showed up. I assumed nobody would be in the office at that ungodly hour, unless my dad was there. On court days he also met people pretty early. During the elevator ride up, I fixed my messy hair and used the mirrored wall to check my reflection. When the elevator doors opened, my hands froze mid-finger comb as my gaze caught Victor waiting for me with his arms crossed. He wasn’t wearing a suit like I expected. Instead he wore a pair of grey sweatpants, running shoes, and a white T-shirt that showed me just enough of his defined body to make my breath stop short. His hair was brushed back, but wet, and the expression on his face gave me a hint of just how much anger he was containing.

“Hi,” I whispered as his eyes raked down my body slowly, sensually just once before returning to my face, and he gestured for me to step out of the elevator.

I blinked as I did so and tried not to visibly show how affected I was. I walked forward and followed him as he started down the hall. The light was off, but the light from the lobby illuminated it just enough. We stepped into the same conference room we’d met in before and he closed the door behind us. The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, so we were in the dark. A flutter of nervousness made its way through me.

“Are you going to turn the lights on?” I asked.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked, his voice low and close behind me.

I was afraid to turn around. I was afraid to move. Instead, I put my hands forward and held on to the top of the chair in front of me.

“I can explain that,” I said, my voice as firm as my grip on the chair.

I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the light of the projector in front of us as it switched on, giving the room a dim, orange glow. I turned around to face Victor, who was leaning against the wall across from me with his arms crossed. My eyes dropped to his defined arms and I felt my heart stumble on its own beats. I’d seen him in swimming trunks the other day, but he’d been wearing a wetsuit shirt, and while it showcased the toned ridges and definition I was already sure he had, I hadn’t seen him completely naked. Now all I could do was stand there and wonder.

My imagination conjured images of myself clawing off that cotton shirt and tossing it aside as I went down on him. I shook my head and blinked rapidly to rid myself of my thoughts. What was it about being near this guy that made me so needy for him? I’d just been at a stupid award show with my hot ex, yet it was this man I lusted after. Always. It had always been that way. From the moment I met him, I’d known I’d wanted him. And now, standing in front of me with that darkened gaze trained on me—as if he could see the dirty film in my head that he was about to star in—I wanted him again, and again, but unlike the previous time we’d been together, I felt fragile. Like I could sense that I would get hurt. Maybe it was the sensitive state I was in. Maybe it was because when I spent time with him at my dad’s beach house he was so different, so attentive, and I realized that underneath all that pissed-off exterior I knew there was a caring man, one who would comfort me even when I didn’t want to be comforted. One that knew when to hold my hand and just shut up. I sighed.

“Nicole,” he said, closing his eyes briefly and breathing out as if he was doing some kind of yoga meditation. “I am this close,” he said, opening his eyes and demonstrating an inch of space with his long fingers. Long and skilled fingers. I blinked again. He exhaled again, this time pushing himself off the wall and walking toward me until he was inches away from me and I had to tilt my head to look at his face.