Page 15 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

He wasn’t overly affectionate. At least not in front of other people.

When I thought about the times when the whole friend group got together—Gemma, Grant, Martinez, the band—all that came to mind was the flutter in my gut from Nate’s lingering glances across the room.

I thought of fingertips grazing my knee beneath a table, knuckles against the small of my back as he passed by, him leaning in an inch closer than necessary to talk to me.

I thought of all the countless small moments.

When we were with the others, we were all light touches and stolen kisses in dark corners.

But his philosophy on affection didn’t seem to exist when we were alone.

He would tease me all day, throwing fleeting, heated looks my way over Grant’s kitchen table at game night, brushing his fingers against mine while passing me a drink, standing so closely I could feel the warmth of his body, but never wrapping me in his arms. Then, the second we stepped foot in his apartment, alone at last, we were something else entirely.

In the comfort of privacy, we were all hands and teeth, bruised lips, and heavy breaths.

The days were usually innocent enough, but the nights were made for getting tangled together .

By the time Nate parked outside his apartment building and we began the stairwell ascent, I could feel the alcohol catching up to me in full force.

With every step, my legs slowly deteriorated into a jelly-like substance.

I swear, my feet became leaden, too. Yet despite all this, I felt happy and bubbly, like I could’ve floated into his bed if I wanted to—were it not for the damn lead blocks attached to my feet.

Nate followed closely behind, which was strange considering he usually led the way up, and he kept a careful hand planted on the small of my back.

I glimpsed his other hand stretching toward me, too, as we climbed.

Not touching me, but ghosting near my elbow like he thought I might tumble backward, and he was preparing to catch me.

“I won’t fall, Nathan. I’m fine.” My words sounded a little too slurred to be convincing, even to me.

“I believe you,” he mused. “And it’s Nathaniel. Eyes ahead.”

“What?” I stopped mid-step. His chest collided with my back, his hands gripping the outside of my thighs to steady us both. I twisted to face him, still a step above, so we were nearly eye to eye for a change. “ Nathaniel? ”

His brows rose, a hint of a smile ticking the corner of his mouth upward. “Is there a problem, Olive? ”

“No.” I shook my head, my hair creating a curtain around my face. “S’just I thought Nate would be short for Nathan. ”

He leaned closer, sweeping my hair behind my ears with his middle fingers. “Nope.” He planted a soft kiss on my lips, a day’s worth of stubble pressing into my chin. “Nathaniel.”

I thought on it, letting his full name settle in my system. “I like it,” I decided, turning on my heel and definitely not stumbling on the next step.

An exasperated “Jesus Christ” sounded from behind me .

While he fiddled with the keys to his apartment door, my eyes shifted in and out of focus. I swayed where I stood, but all I could think about were his lips on my neck. I craved the feel of his hands traveling up and down my body.

As soon as we were inside, I slung an arm around his neck and pulled him down into another kiss, trying my damndest to deepen it.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and held me so closely, so tightly, I was barely standing on my own.

He combed his fingers through the hair at the base of my neck with his other hand, pulling gently at my waves.

“Let’s slow down,” he whispered.

I barely heard him. He smelled so good. How does he smell so good? All thought slowed completely to a stop as a wave of overwhelming, drunken desire took over.

I tugged off my jacket with some difficulty, one arm turning inside out.

It didn’t matter. I needed him, all of him, right then, and I couldn’t think of anything else.

Not the fact that my face was flushed and burning hot, or that my hands and feet tingled on pins and needles as the alcohol continued to work its way into my system.

I didn’t think about the dizziness or the faint nausea that was gradually worsening.

I pulled at the button of my jeans and was struggling with it when Nate put a hand over mine to stop the movement. Does he want to do that part? Fine.

Abandoning the attempt on my jeans, I reached for his instead. My fingers grazed the skin under the hem of his shirt, the soft trail of hair there, as I fumbled against the button on his pants.

He wrapped a warm hand around each of my wrists and pulled them up to his chest, holding them there with enough gentle force that I looked up to meet his deep sea eyes .

“Let me get you some water, okay?”

I nodded wordlessly as he guided me backward until the back of my knees met his couch. With one last peck, he released my wrists and turned to the kitchen.

I sat in a huff, feeling a little rejected and a lot drowsy. God, this couch is comfortable. I closed my eyes and let my head rest against the throw pillow while I waited. My stomach twisted, but I tried to ignore it as I breathed in deeply through my nose and out through my mouth.

Don’t puke.