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And in the middle of my chaos, there was you.
And just like that, his hotness is forgotten. God dammit. It’s always the hot ones.
A cruel curve to his lips, he opens his mouth to say something, but another voice interrupts him. “Is there a problem here?” An audible cry of relief escapes me when Dylan’s hands suddenly drop and I’m freed.
“You’ve been perving at the girl every time we’re in Greenies for months now. I thought you were gonna cry when you finally spoke the other day.”
“Such a shame,” Amelia sighs and clicks her tongue. “I’m on the hunt for a rebound.” Well, if that little line doesn’t steal my attention.
“You!” A lazy grin pulls at my lips. “Me?” “You were rude to me.” She remembers me, is all my twisted brain gets out of that exclamation.
She’s yelling but she might as well be whispering sweet nothings with the way I’m gazing at her.
“I think this is the part where you say good morning, querida.”
Nick’s voice stops me before I can. “Well, someone decided their dress wasn’t comfortable anymore so someone decided to strip off and run around my house half-naked at the crack of dawn.”
Cass Morgan and his family were my family for ten years until my dad and I moved.
Tugging me close, Cass wraps his arms around my shoulders, resting his chin atop my head and reminding me of how much taller than me he is.
“Wait,” Ben interrupts before we can give him the explanation he asked for, and I watch as some sort of realization seems to dawn on him. “She’s Tiny?”
“How do you guys know each other, anyway?” An awkward pause follows my question. “He, uh, moved in next door. After you left, his family bought the place.”
don’t think I’m fit for being in public right now.” “Look fine to me.” The words are barely out of Nick’s mouth before he goes flying sideways. “Nope,” Cass shakes his head rapidly from side to side. “Absolutely not.”
“Who are you?” Dylan scoffs as though the question is preposterous. “Her boyfriend.” “Ex-boyfriend,” more than one person corrects. Most notably, the snarling men on either side of me, and the seething women across from me.
“Brother,” he scoffs, distrust written all over his tense features. “Do I look stupid?” “Yeah,” a deep, accented voice drawls. “You do.” I glance aside as Nick rounds the corner, casual in tone and stance, entirely un-casual in expression.
“So about that rebound you mentioned last night,” Nick suddenly says, and I jerk in a mixture of surprise and disgust for my past, drunken self. “Anyone in mind?” “What?” “Because I’d be more than willing,” “Nick!”
“He asked for your number.” Suspicion, and something else I can’t put a name to, tickles my spine. “When?” “Like, an hour ago. Nick asked Jackson to ask me for it. Cass slapped him.” I
What are the fucking odds that the girl I’ve been eyeing for the last couple of weeks, or months, maybe, is my best friend’s sister? Huh?
Drop the defenses, querida. I’m not tryna take care of you. Tryna help you take care of yourself.
“It’s fine.” God, I’ve said that word more over the past couple of weeks than I have in my entire life.
“Great,” he says, eyes the richest brown as they twinkle at me. “Cuz I already made you a roadtrip playlist.” “You are such a little shit.” “You love me.”
“So, you know the Silvas spend Thanksgiving with us, right?” Oh, fuck my life.
“Don’t make her tell you again.” Nick’s low warning, uttered in a more distinctly accented voice than usual, isn’t aimed at me yet I feel it in my freaking bones.
“Listen, Jean,” Nick cuts her off and my chest actually hurts from stifling laughter yet again. “I’m tryna talk to my girl so if you could leave us alone, that’d be great.”
“Could always sleep in my bed. I’ll protect you.” “Dream on.”
“Believe me, querida, I will.”
I look like I’ve been dragged backward through a hedge. He looks like he’s about to pose for Men’s Health. I’m fighting for my life. He’s grinning like he could go another couple of rounds.
the smile I broke several speed limits to see up close.
That girl’s pretty, I would think. Amelia is so fucking beautiful it makes your chest hurt, it would remind me. Nice smile, I notice. But it doesn’t compare to hers.
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.
“Feliz aniversarió, Nicolas,” she murmurs, her smile hesitant. “Did I say that right?” Wrong. So, so wrong. Not her pronunciation but the thoughts popping into my head at the sound of her crooning my mother tongue.
Amelia laughs again and I contemplate asking her, begging her, to please, please stop before I lose my fucking mind.
Because Cass might be a big dumbass but he’s not that foolish. Three weeks with the girl and I’m addicted. Hell, a few months of knowing her only as the hot redheaded waitress and I was hooked. Ten years with her everywhere all the time? I’d be a goner.
Silence settles over all of us, so profound you could hear a pin drop. So silent I can practically hear my little white lies disintegrating. So silent I hear Cass’ sharp intake of breath. “The third time?”
And it should be illegal that not even a severe beating can knock the flirt out of him.
And when he murmurs, “I just gotta hold you for a sec,” in a quiet, calm, honest voice, that feels pretty freaking perilous too.
To quote Luna quoting some drunk, scorned woman; Nicolas Silva doesn’t fuck with feelings. Nicolas Silva just fucks.
“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?”
“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.”
in a tired daze, she simply grabbed the closest thing and threw it on. My brain has a fucking field day theorizing why that happened to be my clothes.
don’t make a habit of giving out my clothes.” “Yeah,” Amelia muses, humor lightening her tone. “It would probably throw off your game if your groupies had matching uniforms.”
o que aconteceu com seu rosto?”
The uh-huh James snorts reeks of disbelief. “Brother’s best friend.” He pokes me in the thigh. “Very cliché, Tiny.”
“You strike out?” A bitter, bitter laugh.
“I’m not sweet, Amelia.” he spits. “I don’t turn up at girls’ houses to watch movies. I don’t buy them lunch or bring them coffee. I don’t let them sleep in my bed or steal my clothes. I don’t get jealous when a guy so much as looks at them. I don’t get in fights with their ex-boyfriends. I sure as fuck don’t introduce them to my mother. I’m not that guy.”
“Sometimes, I find it hard to look at you,” he murmurs, “because you’re so fucking beautiful I can’t think.”
Oh, God. Why? Why? Hot, sweet—most of the time—and he works in a bookstore? Be still my freaking beating heart.
“Marry him.” My groan echoes around the living room. “Luna.” “He teaches you self-defense. He beat up Dylan. He brings you coffee. He works in a bookstore.”
Tugging on the hem of shorts that barely cover her fucking ass, I answer honestly. “I’m too drunk to get in a fight.”
