Page 15 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

ESSIE

I am not dressed for a visit from Nate, and yet he’s here.

I check my reflection in the hall mirror on the way to the door and wish I was still wearing my cute jean shorts and top and not my ratty jogger shorts and an oversized, baggy crop top.

The latter is totally bestie-appropriate wear.

The former is better for greeting the hot, smart guy I made out with on a lawn tractor, who posed as my boyfriend for no reason I can understand, and who danced like it was his job to show up my ex.

Most of the time he’s an insufferable jerk, but recently he’s done some things to balance it out. And I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Or how good his arms feel around me. It’s such a problem.

I take a steadying breath, adopt a smile, and open my apartment door. “Hey, Nate.”

“Essie.” His gaze meets mine, then drops for a couple of beats before it lifts again. “This was delivered to the wrong location.” He taps the box under his arm.

“Thanks for bringing it over.”

“I was in the neighborhood.” He doesn’t make a move to hand it to me.

Maybe it’s heavy. “Do you want to come in for a minute?” Looks like we’re being formal and appropriate, not antagonistic and competitive. At least for now.

His eyes dart briefly to my mouth. “Sure.”

Rix appears, purse slung over her shoulder. “Hey, Nate.”

His expression softens. “Hey, Rix.”

She comes in for a hug, which he returns. “Thanks for bringing that all the way over here.”

“It’s not a problem,” he assures her.

She kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll message when I get home, and I’ll probably see you tomorrow, unless work gets in the way.”

“Sounds good.”

She slips on her flip-flops, waves, and walks out the door. I secure the safety out of habit, then turn to Nate, who’s now standing inside my apartment looking uncomfortable and unreasonably sexy in a pair of black shorts and a black shirt. The bulk of his wardrobe is funeral appropriate.

I remind myself that I’ve sworn off men.

Then in the next beat, I internally debate the merits of a fuck buddy.

I need to learn not to get attached. Nate has made his stance on love and relationships clear.

He’s not interested. Our life goals do not align.

Which could make him a good option for no-strings fun, if I could learn how to do that…

After a moment I realize that while I’ve been up in my head, he’s been standing in my kitchen, still holding the box. My manners kick in. “Can I offer you something to drink? I have a few beers and some white wine.”

“I could have a beer.” He sets the box on the counter.

I head for the fridge, glad to have somewhere else to look.

The telling buzz of a phone has me looking for mine—my mom is supposed to call after her pottery class tonight—but Nate pulls his out of his pocket, frowns, jabs a button, and shoves it back in.

His mood seems to shift, eyes darkening.

I swear it’s like a rain cloud has just rolled into my apartment.

I grab a beer and the bottle of wine Rix and I opened earlier. I uncap the beer and pass it to Nate. “Everything okay?” I pour myself a little wine.

“There’s a lot of color in here.” Nate’s gaze moves around my apartment.

It makes me self-conscious, especially knowing what I do about him, and how people perceive me.

There are pink bows adorning my bookshelves, and a Once Upon a Time poster is hanging in the living room.

I’m in love with love. I always have been. Fairy tales bring me joy.

“I like bright things.” And apparently dark things with the way my body is responding to his presence in my apartment.

“You’ve really leaned into the whole princess fantasy, eh?”

“You’re really leaning into the total asshole fantasy, eh?” I fire back.

His expression shifts, and he runs a hand down his face. “Sorry. It was my mom that just called. I’ve been avoiding her for a while.”

“Oh.” My defensiveness tones down a notch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We’re not the kind of people who talk about things, are we?” His gaze moves over me in an assessing, not unappreciative sweep.

“I guess not.” I pull my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck.

I’m used to being looked at. Admired. As a teenager, I was flattered. As an adult, it’s become a curse I can’t escape. Yet also a reflex.

Nate could have just dropped off the box and left, especially after dodging a call from his mother. But he didn’t. He’s still here, of his own free will. “Do you want the grand tour?” There isn’t much to my apartment, but it’s better than standing here staring at each other.

“Sure.” He takes a long swig of his beer.

“This is the kitchen.” I motion to our surroundings, then beckon him to follow me to the living room. A series of framed art prints featuring princesses and their princes line the wall. The bookshelves are filled with books based on fairy tales.

“You and pink are a thing, eh?” he observes, pausing to examine the photo collage comprised of pictures of me and Rix over the years.

“It’s a happy color.” And related to love and sexuality. I straighten a heart-shaped throw pillow and fold a blanket, draping it over the arm of the couch, which is a dusty rose color.

Nate stops at the bookshelf, scanning the titles.

One shelf consists solely of special-edition fairy tales, but the one below still holds a handful of my textbooks from university—the ones I sometimes refer back to when I need to look up the chemical structure of a specific makeup or skin care product.

“Quite the eclectic array of reading material.” He plucks a textbook on the science of skin care from the shelf and leafs through it before sliding it back in place. “I didn’t realize how much chemistry is involved.”

“Combining the wrong products can cause unpleasant interactions,” I explain.

Nate tips his head. “It’s science and art. You went to university just like I did. Don’t downplay the challenge or the accomplishment.”

“It’s a vastly different skill set, and mine won’t change lives.” I point toward the next door and change the subject. “The bathroom is through there.”

Nate leaves it alone and pokes his head inside the bathroom. His eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t comment. The pink theme is strong, but no other guy who’s been in my apartment has focused on the color, the décor, or my bookshelves.

Nate heads for the last door, which is my bedroom. The one room I hadn’t planned to show him.

I set my wineglass on the coffee table and gazelle leap past him to barricade the doorway. My bedroom is an homage to every princess fairy tale I’ve ever read. He will one-hundred percent make fun of me if he sees it .

His body collides with mine, and I slap a hand over his eyes. “You can’t see my bedroom.”

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” His fingers curve around my mine as he pries them away from his eyes.

I could try to seduce him, and he could reject me, and the next few weeks would be unbearably awkward.

I reach behind me and pull my bedroom door closed.

“It’s a mess because Rix and I were narrowing down my wardrobe choices for our girls’ weekend.

All my bathing suits and pretty lingerie are lying on my bed. ”

Nate’s fingers stay wrapped around mine, and his nostrils flare. “Why do you need lingerie for a girls’ weekend?”

I smile up at him, enjoying the dark look on his face. “I like to be prepared for every possible adventure.”

He scowls and clears his throat.

I wish everything about him wasn’t such a turn-on.

“Are you saying that to push my buttons?”

“Do you want me to push your buttons, Nathan?”

“Maybe.” His voice softens. “I bet your lingerie is all pink and lacy.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.” His brow creases. “And it’s driving me up the fucking wall.”

His admission shocks and emboldens me. He doesn’t believe in love, doesn’t want the same things I do, so hooking up with him will never lead to anything else.

He won’t fall for me, and I won’t fall for someone who thinks love isn’t even real.

He’s safe because he can’t hurt me. So I needle him.

“Can’t stop thinking about that kiss, huh? ”

“No. I can’t. I also can’t stop thinking about dance lessons and that idiot ex of yours.” He’s sincere and annoyed.

Our eyes lock, and then drop to each other’s mouths.

I want him to break.

And he does. “Fuck it.”

One second, we’re standing in the middle of the hallway, and the next, I’m pressed against the wall, Nate’s knee between my thighs and his lips dragging along the column of my throat.

“Why do you have to be so fucking tempting?” He groans and bites the edge of my jaw.

“Because the dark is always trying to consume the light.”

He pauses for a moment, eyes on me. “Not inaccurate.” Then he slants his mouth over mine.

I part for him, and we both make needy, relieved noises as our tongues brush. Those dance lessons earlier in the week felt like the best kind of foreplay, but my self-administered orgasm later that night was lackluster at best. I’d been angry for caving in, but I needed the release.

Nate is the most competitive man I know. And that’s saying something because I’ve been surrounded by hockey players and actors for years. I bet he’s just as driven in the bedroom. It suits his personality.

We could relieve some of the tension between us. Maybe then I’ll stop fixating on that damn kiss.

I move his hand under my shirt. His fingers skate up my ribs, and he makes a deep sound of approval as his thumb finds my nipple. It sends an electric jolt through my body that settles between my thighs and comes out of my mouth as a moan.

“Shit, that’s hot.” He rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I slip a single digit into the waistband of his shorts. When I’m not met with a reprimand, I pop the button. He’s already hard. Surely we can get each other off without me mentally marrying his brilliant, grumpy, unpleasant, hot ass.