Page 78 of Game Misconduct

thirty

. . .

Nick

She stares at me, her ice cream long forgotten.

“Seriously?” The incredulity in her voice raises the volume several decibels. “You’re going to sit there and tell me that, what, you’ve been pining for me for the last three and a half years, and I’ve just been⁠—”

“I wasn’t pining,” I stress. “Regretted what happened. Couldn’t get it out of my head. Trust me, I tried. And then I saw you again, and I fucked up, and I know now why babe triggers you so much, but I never wanted you to hate me. Never wanted what happened between us to affect you so much.”

“So all this time…”

“The last year and a half, I thought you were dating Henry. I wasn’t going to pursue someone in a happy, committed relationship.”

“We never dated,” she repeats, and hearing it again soothes some of those frazzled nerves that have been eating at me for so long. “Nothing ever happened between us.”

“I know. I trust you. Just like you’ll trust that nothing ever happened with me and Elsy.”

“I’d hope not,” she snaps. “She’s married to my brother.”

I wince. “What’s the over/under on him breaking my face?”

She giggles, the sound warming the frozen stone that is my heart. “I’m not taking that bet.”

“He doesn’t have to worry. You don’t have to worry. Not about me.” I squeeze her index finger again. “I’m fucking crazy about you, Bex Marie.”

“That’s not my name.” She rolls her eyes with a fond smile. Until it slips off her face, and she stares down at her half-eaten ice cream, her eyes sad. “It’s Rebecca Lynn. But the only one who calls me that is my mother, and, well…”

“Got it. Bex Marie,” I tease.

Our eyes meet, and something heavy pulses between us, like the moment right before a storm breaks. The weight of everything we’ve said, and everything we’re finally brave enough to feel, presses down on my chest until breathing feels optional. The air thickens, charged with want and truth and the fragile hope that this—us—is real.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes, and in that quiet beat I feel it: the shift from holding back to letting go, from almost to finally.

“Hey, Nick?” she whispers.

“Yeah?” I whisper back.

“Take me home.”

Lightning crackles in my veins, sending electric shocks to my heart.

I clear my throat. “To be clear, do you want me to take you to your place? Or mine?”

“I don’t care where we go, so long as we’re alone in a bed.”

Shoving a too-big spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, I enjoy my last bite before I stand and toss the paper cup into the trash can.

She hands me her bowl, and I dispose of that, too, while she pulls out her hand sanitizer and applies it liberally to her hands. The scent of orange blossoms perfumes the air, settling the adrenaline coursing through me.

I offer my hand, and she squeezes the alcohol onto my palm. I rub my hands together, then bring them to my nose, inhaling deeply.

“It won’t get you high,” she chides with a smile, as she slips into her coat. I help settle the wool around her shoulders, straightening the upturned collar.

“Don’t need anything to get me high when I’ve got you. Just being around you makes me feel floaty.”

Her hand lands on my arm, concern pinching her beautiful face. “Floaty? Do I need to evaluate you again?”