Mine Would Be You (10)

Oh my. Heat pools instantly in the bottom of my stomach.

I want nothing more than to bury my head into this shirt and back under the covers—that are much softer and more expensive than mine—and go back to sleep. My eyes have adjusted to the room. Three huge windows line the bedroom walls, and I can see the New York City skyline clearly. The entire skyline. Every single building is crystal clear.

There’s a flat screen on the wall across from us, two armchairs by the windows, and a tall bookshelf with a record player and books lining it from top to bottom. The walls are gray, and the furniture is simplistic, but the room doesn’t feel cold. It’s homey. There are pictures on the dresser in frames and a few art pieces on the wall.

The bed rustles, and my eyes flicker back to him. He’s turned on his side, leaning on top the pillow wall. I bury myself deeper into the covers and watch as a lazy smirk falls onto his lips as he watches me.

“¿Qué?” I say quietly.

His eyes flicker with humor. “I know what that means, smart ass.”

I purse my lips to keep from grinning.

“Now is as good a time as ever, but I never got your name?”

“Nina.”

He extends his arm, breaking the pillow barrier, and the backwardness of this does not escape me. Learning a man’s name already in their bed, it’s a whole new world for me.

“Nina,” he says it slowly, like he’s testing it out, and my entire body erupts into tingles as he says it. Like no one else has ever said my name before. It’s a wildly confusing and alluring feeling. I want him to say it again, over and over. “I’m Jackson.”

I reach my arm out from under the covers and connect my hand with his. As I study him, the features of his face, I couldn’t see a name fitting him any better. I sit up, and his eyes don’t leave me as I adjust. I can’t decide whether to focus on Jackson or the striking view that sits a few feet away.

“It’s beautiful,” I say to him, softly because part of me is scared if I speak too loudly, this calm little bubble with this stranger is going to pop. And I’m not sure I want it to.

“It sure is.”

The same feeling I got at the bar last night spreads over my skin. His infectiously warm energy causes my own skin to prickle with warmth, and that’s how I know he’s not talking about the view. My eyes flicker away from the New York skyline and back to his cheeky grin, and as much as I wanted to keep my straight face, my lip falls from between my teeth at the sight of those damn dimples.

My phone vibrating angrily on the nightstand breaks the silence and our eye contact, and I reach for it. It’s ten a.m., and Harper’s name flashes across with five new text messages.

Harper: I hope you had fun. Are you coming home soon? Are you still having fun? Be safe. We’re brunching when you’re back.

Por el amor de Dios. I am in for a questioning.

I pull up the ride app and call one immediately. I draw my legs out from the bed to see a glass of water on the nightstand, and he gives me a nod when I look at it questioningly. I gulp it down as I pull on my shoes and realize this is going to be a painful morning-after outfit ride, especially when I take this shirt off.

“Well, I have to go.” I motion to the app. “But thank you. For last night and for the pillow wall.”

After putting my shoes on and regretting this outfit to the fullest, I realize I’m still buttoned in backwards. I run a hand through my hair and glance at him.

“Can you help me out?”

“Out of my shirt? Anytime.”

I bite the inside of my cheek at his cheesy line, but my stomach is going wild. I haven’t been this affected by a man since Myles—or maybe ever. The others I tried with never caused the butterflies to erupt or my cheeks to burn.

“All right, galán, just help me.”

I shake my head as I see his eyes flicker with curiosity. Hopefully, he’ll forget what I said by the time he can pull up Google Translate.

But still a smile forms on his lips again as he stands up and walks around to me. His fingertips brush over my spine like a whisper as he slowly unbuttons the shirt. My breathing hitches as he moves my hair over my shoulder to get the last few buttons. He lets his fingers brush my neck longer than he needs too, and my entire body pulses.

I need to get a grip. Immediately.

“Thank you,” I mutter, shrugging the shirt off and practically throw it at him.

“Anytime,” he whispers back, still extremely close to me, and his breath hits my neck. I spin, needing to get away from his dangerously wispy fingers and charming eyes.

I straighten my shoulders, still buzzing with nervous energy but not wanting him to see that as he walks me out through the ridiculously nice apartment. I can’t help but drag my eyes over him.

He’s got a few freckles spattered over his smooth skin, and when he turns around at the front door my eyes go straight to the low-riding band of his pants. The thoughts that fill my head cause whatever coolness I was feeling to disappear as I glance up to see him watching me with one eyebrow raised and a buoyant expression.

Part of me wants to drop dead at being caught looking.

Before he can say another cheeky word, I’m uttering him a rushed goodbye, and I’m out the door pressing the elevator button. I climb in, with his eyes on me the whole time.

“Nina, wait!” he shouts.