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She’s just… interesting. Intriguing. Captivating, with those pretty green eyes, all those messy curls framing her face like flames.
definitely; the guy looks like heartbreak wrapped up in a perfectly sculpted package. He looks like the kind of guy to ruin a girl’s life, honestly, with one wink of those pretty golden eyes.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about the girl. Even without her physical presence, she’s always there, lurking in the back of my mind, and it’s sickening.
“Could always sleep in my bed. I’ll protect you.” “Dream on.” “Believe me, querida, I will.”
There’s something about watching her get stronger and more confident and looking so fucking proud of herself when she nails a combination… fuck.
I tried to pay attention to the array of other girls here but my brain worked against me. That girl’s pretty, I would think. Amelia is so fucking beautiful it makes your chest hurt, it would remind me.
She’s…. light. She’s literal sunshine. And it makes a burst of anger shoot through me because I know that for so long, she was with someone who did nothing but dim her.
and there goes the urge to cry again when she leans into me the tiniest bit, almost subconsciously. “I would never hurt you.”
And when he murmurs, “I just gotta hold you for a sec,” in a quiet, calm, honest voice, that feels pretty freaking perilous too.
I’d probably beg a little too if it got me personal access to that smile, those dimples, on a regular basis.
I think I’d take a million beatings if it meant having her standing between my legs looking at me with all that concern again.
“You don’t talk about her,” I warn, my voice low and threatening and so deadly fucking serious. “You don’t look at her. You don’t even think about her. If you do, fucking trust me, I will make what I did to Dylan last night look like a fucking spa treatment. Okay?”
“I’m sorry I ruined your birthday, by the way.” “You didn’t.”
It’s my turn to deadpan him. “My ex-boyfriend beat the crap out of you for talking to me.” “And the night ended with a pretty girl in my bed, fawning over me,” Nick retorts smoothly. “I’d call that a win.”
The pretty blush encroaching on pale, freckled cheeks is worth Cass’ knuckles connecting with my shoulder.
Yeah. I’m fucked.
“Sometimes, I find it hard to look at you,” he murmurs, “because you’re so fucking beautiful I can’t think.”
“You’ve fucking ruined me and I don’t like it.”
“You’re gonna fight someone for staring at my ass?” “Querida, I wanna fight people for staring at your face.”
There's little doubt in my mind that if I did start swinging, he'd coach me from the side lines, calling out notes on my form.
I’m not sure a Nicolas Silva heartbreak is something I can recover from.
“I need to leave because you are everywhere, all the time, and I can’t fucking think straight. I can’t fucking breathe, Amelia.
I can’t sneak around,” he continues, and I bite down on a pathetic whimper, “and act like I’m not falling for you because it’s not fucking working. It’s too hard, Amelia.”
Home, I realize. That’s what kissing Nick feels like. Safety and peace and home.
"You are the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me."
Slumping against him, I intertwine my fingers with his and bring them to my lips, kissing his knuckles quickly, my voice trembling as I admit, “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me too.”
“There is nothing that you could possibly do to ever deserve anyone putting their hands on you like that. Nothing.” She doesn’t believe me, I can tell she doesn’t, but that’s okay. I’ll remind her every day for the rest of my fucking life until it sticks in that beautiful, complicated head of hers.
It hits me that even beyond that, imagining her in my life is effortless.
I can’t, no matter how hard I try, conjure up a future without her in it.
“I love you. And every reason you’re conjuring up for why you think I don’t only makes me love you more.”
“I love you, Nicolas.”
In a moment that I don’t think I’ll ever forget as long as I live, Nick breaks out in the most breathtaking smile I’ve ever seen. “Thank fucking God.”
I’m the reason his eyes are lit up like two golden stars. He loves me, he fucking loves me, and I love him.
“Touch my girl again and I’ll fucking kill you. Although,” I jerk my head toward Jackson, “when we tell his girl what you said about her, she might beat me to it. Hope you aren't too attached to your balls.”
“I'll tattoo your fucking name on my forehead if you want me to.”
After living so long with a gaping hole in my chest, I am whole. The friends in this room, the man gripping my thigh and the brother with an arm slung across my shoulders filled the gap without even knowing it. I'm complete.
He's all extra golden and extra bronzed and extra annoyingly perfect.
And all mine. The love of my fucking life.
He's waiting for me patiently, like he always is. Like he always will.
I'm quickly engulfed in his grip, his arms acting as my safe haven, as usual.
I love Nick, not with just my heart, but with my entire being. There isn't a part of me that doesn't love that man.
Nick is it for me.
