Page 36 of How Freaking Romantic

I open my eyes to find sunlight dancing across Nathan’s bedroom ceiling.

His sheets are wrapped around my limbs, his scent lacing my skin.

It feels so ordinary, so normal, that my brain takes a few minutes to catch up, to pause and wonder if the past few days actually happened, or if they were just some lucid dream.

Then I hear clattering coming from the kitchen—metal hitting metal—and the faint chords of Miles Davis playing from somewhere in the apartment.

It’s Monday morning.

I sit up slowly and run a hand through my matted curls before looking around his bedroom.

The watery light illuminates the corners, revealing our clothes still strewn across the floor and furniture.

After I came back inside the apartment yesterday, we spent the rest of the day in bed, a desperate attempt to fill those hours by memorizing every inch of one another—every touch, every gasp.

It had been like being broken apart and welded back together into something stronger.

I wanted him to feel that, too; I tried to find a way to communicate it with every kiss and lick and bite.

Like I could prove to both of us that this is more than just a fling. More than just physical.

But neither of us had said anything. We’d barely spoken at all.

And now the weekend is over.

The bedroom door is open, and from down the hall I can hear the shuffling of feet amid the low music.

I listen for a moment longer, then stand and walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

In the mirror I study my naked body as I brush, the faint marks from Nathan’s teeth still on my hips and breasts.

It sends a warm ache through my core. Which is why I walk back out to the bedroom and pull on my clothes still strewn across the chair.

I need to cover it all up, like it never happened.

I make it to the kitchen doorway and see him pouring Froot Loops into two bowls.

His back is to me, so I take a minute to watch the muscles as they work in tandem under his T-shirt.

His broad shoulders stretch the gray cotton, his arms pull taut the sleeves.

He’s wearing those sweatpants again; they fall low on his hips, and I can see a sliver of skin there.

The muscles in my core contract at the sight, all exhaustion forgotten as I fight the urge to come up behind him and kiss his neck.

You can’t do that anymore , I remind myself.

“Morning,” I say from the doorway.

He turns just enough to steal a glance at me. There’s a soft smile on his face. “Morning.”

He closes up the cereal box, then turns to face me fully, resting against the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest.

The expanse of the kitchen stretches out between us. It feels so different from the other morning, when I had barely noticed the size of it at all. Now it feels massive. And it should, I remind myself. It needs to.

“So,” I blurt out after a long, tense moment. “Last night…”

The corner of his mouth curls up. “Yeah?”

“We didn’t use a condom.”

He blinks. God, I can actually see him processing it in real time. “Jesus, Bea. I didn’t—”

“I’m on birth control,” I barrel on. “I just… wanted you to know. If you were worried or thinking about it or… whatever.”

“Okay.” He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to decipher my tone. “I had my physical a few weeks ago and I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” I fold my arms around my waist, looking everywhere but his face.

Miles Davis keeps playing in the other room, but here in the kitchen, we stand in silence for a long moment.

“I just made it weird again, didn’t I?” I say, an exhausted smile starting at the corners of my lips.

He smiles back. His stubble is almost a beard now, framing his jaw. “Yeah, you really did.”

I laugh softly.

“What time do you have class?” he asks.

His words hit somewhere deep in my gut. Right. Of course he wants to know what time I’m leaving. This was the deadline, wasn’t it? The expiration date we both set that’s now passed.

“Not until ten, but I should head home first. Make sure my building is still there.”

He nods. “Right.”

“What about you?”

“I usually get into work around eight.”

I steal a glance at the clock on the microwave.

7:22.

I try to think of what to say, but my mind only spins. God, what is this feeling? My mouth is dry, my body paralyzed while my brain races to figure out what the hell to do next.

I feel overwhelmed. And it has been so long since I felt anything like this that I have no idea what to do with it.

“Do you want some breakfast or something?” he asks, standing upright again and turning toward the counter. “I poured you some cereal—”

“I should get going.”

He pauses, his gaze suddenly sharp. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” I dart my eyes away. I know if he looks at my expression too closely, he’ll be able to see the truth there. “I have that huge bag of laundry, and the subway is such a mess during rush hour, so…” The words fade.

“I’ll get you a car,” he says, frowning.

“No, that’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just… going to go.”

My smile feels brittle—a superficial mask put on to keep an entirely different emotion at bay. I feel the cracks forming, and I don’t have the tools to reinforce them. So I turn on my heel and start out of the kitchen.

My laundry is still by the front door, along with my backpack.

The clothes that had been scattered in the living room are now folded neatly on top of it.

He must have done that this morning before I woke up.

It’s a sweet gesture that leaves behind a bitter aftertaste.

How long has he been awake, waiting for me to leave?

He’s walking down the hall as I slip on my shoes and coat. Then I shove the clothes into the laundry bag before cinching it closed, grabbing the strings with one hand and my backpack in the other. I don’t turn to face him; I don’t think I can bear it.

“I’ll see you before class tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

His brow furrows. “You think so?”

“I just… I have a lot to do, and it’s just a review class tomorrow.

You don’t really need me there for a review, right?

I have some papers I still need to grade, and I missed a whole weekend of studying for the bar, too, so…

” My tongue darts out to wet my lips. It’s not technically a lie, but it still sits heavy in my gut.

“Right.” He’s studying my face, those dark blue eyes working so hard to see below the surface.

My heart trips and I have no idea how to curb its manic pace. So I force another smile. “Bye, Nate.”

His expression shutters. “Bye, Bea.”

There’s so much more I want to say, but the words stay lodged in my throat. I turn to the door before he can see my bottom lip tremble, flipping the dead bolt and pulling the door open.

Then it suddenly slams shut again.

The sound reverberates down the hall, a sharp crack that makes me jump. I look up to see Nathan’s hand now braced on the door above me. When I turn, his head has fallen forward, like he’s been defeated.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is so low I barely make out the words.

I blink. “For what?”

His face is just inches from mine as he looks up enough to meet my eyes. “I lied to you.”

“When?”

“Back in your office. When you asked me why I took over Frank’s class. I lied. I told you I was doing him a favor. That’s not true. He asked me to cover the class a while ago and I had turned it down.”

My brows pinch together. “But then why—”

“I changed my mind when I found out that you were his TA. I took the job because I wanted to see you again. I didn’t think any of this would happen. I didn’t plan it, I just… I had to see you again, Bea. I had to talk to you and know you and…”

His voice fades. A heavy silence falls even as my pulse hammers in my ears, a turbulent mix of relief and shock and anger racing through my veins.

“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.

His jaw ticks. “I know. I should have—”

“Shut up.” I shake my head. “I lied, too.”

A moment. “What?”

“Yesterday,” I say. “When I got that text after our run, you asked me if everything was okay, and I told you it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing.

It was Maggie. She told me I could use the house.

Told me where the spare key was and everything.

So I didn’t have to stay here. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I didn’t want to go.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression hard. “I wouldn’t have let you leave.”

Somewhere in the apartment, music is still playing, but I barely hear it. I’m still processing his words. It’s only when I’ve run them through for the fourth time that it really hits me. He wants me here as much as I want to be here.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Technically, that would be kidnapping.”

He frowns, that sardonic look. “No, Bea. That’s false imprisonment.”

God, he’s such an asshole.

But I still kiss him. There’s no thought or reasoning, only my brain wanting to claim him. You love him. He is yours and you are his, and fuck everything else. I lean forward and take his mouth in mine, opening his lips and sliding my tongue against his.

Nathan lets out a long groan that’s more akin to a growl, a deep sound that seems to lodge itself somewhere below my sternum. Then his arms are around me, crushing me against his body as my hands dig into his hair. It’s like my body melts into his, fitting perfectly against every angle and curve.

What began as lazy quickly becomes frantic, pulling and pushing and biting and kissing. It’s like we’re using our bodies to fight and make up and argue and negotiate. I almost want to laugh. Isn’t that what we’ve always done? It’s a language we didn’t realize we were speaking until right now.

“I don’t want this to be the last time I kiss you,” he whispers into my lips. “I don’t want this to be done.”

I lean back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Me, either,” I say.

The corner of his mouth turns up. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

It’s just one word but it feels so big. He rests his forehead against mine, our labored breath mingling together.

“We’re doing this?” he asks.

“Yeah, we’re doing this,” I whisper. “Are we crazy?”

His smile broadens. “Probably.”

I laugh and then let out a yelp as he kneels down and throws me over his shoulder. I try to wiggle free, but he ignores me as he heads back down the hall toward the bedroom.

“Don’t you have to go to work?” I ask through my laugh.

“Fuck it. I’ll be late.”