Page 26 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The DICK-CON one situation

Helix

I don’t like these people.

The dad? Well, I’m reserving judgment on Albert Bell for now, but the rest of them can go to hell. At least the father came out and greeted us when we drove up. He seemed genuinely thrilled to see his daughter again, though the tentative hug shared with Nicolette was awkward at best.

The others? They barely acknowledged us when we walked in, other than the sister eyeing me up and down.

I also changed clothes on the plane, donning navy pants, a pale-blue button-down shirt, and brown Brioni loafers.

Yeah, Remington got me hooked on them when we switched shoes all those years ago at Phoenix’s bachelor party, and now I wear them almost exclusively.

I’m using all my good manners at the dinner table though, just like my mother did her best to teach us boys when we were little.

“The meatballs are delicious, Mrs. Bell,” I say politely.

“Thank you, Felix.”

“His name is Helix, Ma,” Nicolette corrects. “With an H.”

Bridget glares at her daughter. “I see you forgot to fix your hair today.”

I want to come across this table, but I need to let Nicolette find her own elephant, so I nudge her with my knee. When her attention turns to me, I subtly tap my nose, earning me a smile before she turns back to her mother.

“I didn’t forget, Ma. I like my hair down,” she says calmly, her chin lifting the slightest bit in defiance.

I want to fist pump, but instead, I drift my fingers through the curls and give her a little backup.

“I do as well. It’s one of my favorite things about Nicolette.

” Her hair is silky beneath my fingers, and I have to force myself to pull my hand away before I do some inappropriate shit in front of her entire family.

The so-called mother pinches her lips together but shuts the hell up while Mr. Bell clears his throat and gives me what seems to be a grateful smile. “Helix, we’re so glad you could make it. Was your flight okay?”

“Very smooth,” I reply, taking a sip of my water.

“What kind of aircraft were you on?”

“It was a Dassault Falcon 8X.”

The man’s green eyes widen. “You took a private jet?”

“Yes, sir. It’s my family’s craft.”

I wonder if I said something wrong because everyone stares at me like I just grew a horn from my forehead. Rory, the cheating prickwagon, chokes on a meatball, and Angelica scowls at her sister like she did something wrong by having a boyfriend with a private plane.

“Pop is obsessed with planes,” Nicolette explains. “You’ve just made his night.”

Her dad nods in affirmation. “I wanted to be an Air Force pilot, but I had a heart valve problem that disqualified me. I enjoy going to air shows every chance I get though.”

We talk for a few minutes about the Falcon, Mr. Bell asking about every single spec he can think of before he turns to Nicolette. “Honey, how is your new job going?”

“Really good, Pop. All the people who work there are?—”

“Nicci, did you see the new earrings Rory bought me?” Angelica breaks in, pulling her stick-straight blonde hair behind one ear to show off tiny diamond studs.

“Those are nice,” Nicolette mumbles, and I can hear the sigh she suppresses at the interruption.

After that, Angelica cuts off her sister three more times when their dad asks Nicolette a direct question, and it’s starting to piss me the fuck off. I notice she doesn’t do that to anyone else at the table. Only Nicolette. When dinner is almost done, Mr. Bell tries again.

“Nicci, tell me about your new townhome.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but this time, I’m the one who stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Hold on, sweetheart. You know your sister is going to interrupt you like she has four times already, so let’s let her get it out of her system.

” I don’t miss Nicolette’s small snort, which she turns into a cough as I direct my most saccharine smile across the table.

“Angelica, go ahead and say whatever it is you feel compelled to say so that Nicolette might actually get to finish a sentence some time tonight.”

I’m afraid I may have given the woman an aneurysm because her mouth gapes open before she begins stuttering out nonsense syllables. Finally, she grudgingly says, “Go ahead, Nicolette.”

My fake girlfriend finds my knee beneath the table and gives me a gentle squeeze as she has an uninterrupted conversation with her father about her new digs.

Rory keeps his gaze fixed on his plate while Angelica blushes furiously beside him. Mrs. Bell’s face is so sour, she looks like someone force-fed her a live squid.

But Nicolette seems happy to be talking to her dad, and that’s all that matters.

After dinner, Mr. Bell says, “Nicci, I put yours and Helix’s suitcases in the blue room upstairs.”

I freeze. Well, hell. Somehow with everything I’ve had going on this week, I seem to have overlooked one tiny detail…

The sleeping arrangements.

Nicolette shoots panicked eyes in my direction, and I try to portray a look of calm, but I’m not. What the fuck was I thinking? Of course they’d think we would share a room. You know, since we’re dating and all. Then her brow furrows, and she turns back to her father. “Not in my room?”

Angelica speaks up, her face once again smug for the first time since I put her in her place at dinner. “I needed extra space for some of my stuff, so I moved it all into your old room.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nicolette sounds a little freaked out, and to be honest, I am too.

But I take her hand and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile instead of an expression of holy shit, I’m going to be sharing a bedroom with a woman I’m wildly attracted to and yet can’t touch because she’s my employee .

“It’s fine, babe,” I say for everyone else’s benefit as we head upstairs.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeats in a whispered hiss the entire time we’re walking up the steps and turning down a hallway to the left.

“It’s fine,” I repeat. “I can take the floor.”

Nicolette pops her eyebrows at me as soon as she swings open a door and waits for my response.

“Oh.” That’s all I’ve got because this is the tiniest room I’ve ever seen. I’m not even sure if it could be considered a room. More like a glorified closet. The walls are painted a soft blue, and the bed covers have a blue-and-black diamond pattern that makes my eyes cross.

I stare at the bed that I’ll apparently be sharing with Nicolette because there is no floor space to speak of.

The bed is pushed up against the left wall, and there’s less than a foot of room on the right side because a black lacquered dresser takes up most of that wall.

Our suitcases wait at the foot, and the fit is so tight, we have to squeeze around them just to enter.

Nicolette deflates before my eyes. “I’m so sorry about this, Helix. I didn’t even think…”

My cock hardens simply from standing beside a bed with this gorgeous woman, which doesn’t bode well for me, but I tighten my fingers around hers in reassurance.

“We’ll make it work. There’s plenty of room.” My tone is falsely cheerful, but I smile through it.

She casts me a dubious look because there is definitely not plenty of room on the bed… the double bed.

Christ on a go-kart.

“You’re right. We’re both adults,” she tells me, making me harder as I think about some very adult things. “Why don’t you get ready for bed first? The bathroom is across the hall.”

I scoot around her, and the space is so limited, my erection brushes against her round ass.

My sharp intake of breath is echoed by Nicolette’s.

Pretending like my cock didn’t just have the pleasure of meeting those soft globes, I quickly grab a few things from my suitcase and hold them in front of my crotch to hide the evidence of what she already felt.

“I’m just gonna…” Jerking my head toward the hallway, I exit like the hounds of hell are on my heels.

Fifteen minutes and one cold shower later, I re-enter the prison cell, er, bedroom, with a settled cock to find Nicolette attempting to gnaw a hole in her bottom lip.

“All yours,” I announce. I’m dressed in soft black shorts and a plain white T-shirt, and once she’s gone, I contemplate what to do.

I normally sleep in my underwear unless Reece is staying over.

Then I wear my pants or shorts, sans shirt.

I sweat like a motherfucker if I try to sleep with a shirt on, no matter how low I set the air conditioner.

Finally deciding that sweating through the mattress would be more embarrassing than sleeping shirtless, I pull it off over my head and fold it neatly on the dresser. If Nicolette seems uncomfortable with my lack of sleeping attire, I’ll put it back on and try my best to deal with it.

I sit on the edge of the bed and scroll through my phone until Nicolette returns, her hair in a messy topknot, her face scrubbed clean, and…

She’s trying to kill me. Literally. The woman wants to send me into cardiac arrest. Without my permission, my eyes plunge down her body and to her sleepwear, which consists of a red satin tank top with skinny crisscross straps and lace around the bust. The hemline of the matching shorts slants upward on the sides, revealing a whole lotta damn leg.

The Sahara Desert has apparently relocated to my mouth. Or maybe my salivary glands have malfunctioned because my dry tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Hey, sorry. This is all I brought. I didn’t know…” She looks uncomfortable, shifting from one bare foot to the other.

I manage to produce enough spit to get my tongue to work, though my voice is croaky. “It’s nice. Totally fine.” Not sure how many times I’ve said the word fine in the past hour, but I’ve definitely gone over my limit at this point.

Her chin dips shyly. “Pretty lingerie is my guilty pleasure.”

“Mine too,” I say before I can stop myself. When her head snaps up, I quickly add with a chuckle, “Not to wear but to… admire.”