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“We’ve been drinking,” Nash says against my lips, kissing me softly again. “I like you, Vi, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”
with chronic Femoroacetabular Impingement in his hip.
whole, ‘working with the ex who pulverized my heart’ factor.
Not to mention, none of these tools could handle Violet in the bedroom to begin with. They would have no idea what to do with someone like her. Beneath that deceptively innocent exterior, those big doe eyes and tight little body, Violet is a dirty talking goddess. She’s also kinky. I’m talking, we-had-a-safe word, kind of kinky. A
“Listen, fuckers.” All eyes in the room fall to me. “All any of you need to know is that Violet is one hundred percent out-of-bounds. If any of you even think about touching her, it’ll be a career-ending move. Because I will end you. Immediately.”
While I sort of suspected this going in, I am more certain than ever that he’d be appalled if he knew what turned me on.
Hating Nash would be so much easier if I didn’t have the underlying urge to tear off his clothes all the time.
“Sex is like pizza,” he says, catching my attention again. “Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.”
I want more than anything for him to kiss me, and it terrifies the hell out of me. “I should go,” I whisper, turning away.
don’t believe in signs, the supernatural, or serendipity. But the fact that Violet’s car accident happened a mere day after I got sidelined last January is fucking with my head.
The good part of this internship situation is, I see Nash all the time. The bad part is, I see Nash all the time.
Nash’s lips tug as he peers down at me. “This table is really low.” “I’m really short. Or you’re really tall, depending how you look at it.” This quote from the night we met slips out before I can stop myself. Though, he probably doesn’t even remember. “Bit of both, really.” His mouth pulls into a heart-stopping grin. A dull ache forms in my chest, because he does.
Julianna nudges me. “Want another drink?” She’s perched on Marcus’s lap to my left, a development she seems thrilled with but that somehow leaves me uneasy. I can’t pinpoint why, when he’s never been anything but perfectly pleasant to me.
“Did you kiss him back?” Julianna presses. “What do you think?” My cheeks burn hotter than a fireplace, and I bury my face in my palms. “Of course, I did. It’s Nash. He’s my own personal brand of heroin.”
And when it comes down to it, I would risk a hundred heartbreaks to have him again.
“I can’t believe you don’t like yellow Skittles,” I tell him, popping them into my mouth. “They’re the best kind.” Nash utters a sound of disgust. “They taste like Lemon Pledge.” “When did you eat furniture polish? And they taste like lemony sunshine, thank you very much.”
This necklace is our ‘game on’ symbol from before—an invitation to grab me, take me, bend me over the nearest couch. Of course, that won’t be happening since the couch is occupied by a handful of his friends. But it’s still a green light for Nash to come up with something else.
