Page 60 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Now

Like a scar from my childhood, you are a part of me. I don’t know what I look like without you.

T he door to Nate’s suite closed behind us, and suddenly, I was surrounded by the still silence of being alone with him.

He had given me his suit jacket on our walk back to his suite, and it hung loosely over my shoulders.

His suite was an exact mirror image of mine, but it felt smaller somehow.

Like all the air was being sucked up, and the room itself held its breath.

He led us further inside, absentmindedly loosening and untying the tie around his neck. Maybe it was the jacket, but I was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of him that filled the air.

My eyes roved around the room—from his open suitcase spilling clothes onto the floor, to the black hat he wore the day before hanging on the handle of the balcony doors, to his leather notebook on the bedside table—and finally settled on his shoulders, the back of his head, the hair hanging lazily over his forehead as he turned to face me.

There it was .

That static electricity. That feeling of weightlessness and groundedness that existed all at once when he looked at me.

We both knew what was supposed to happen next.

He took a step closer, and I expected him to invade my space, to say something, but instead, he dropped to a knee. I stepped back instinctively, confused.

“Wha—”

“Here.” He motioned, encouraging me to lift my leg. Tentatively, I lifted my left foot. He wrapped a hand around my ankle and began undoing the buckle of my heeled sandal. I had to brace a hand on his shoulder to stay upright as he tugged at the strap, gently guiding it free.

“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered, feeling childish.

“Hush,” he whispered back, easing the heel off my foot and motioning for me to give him my other ankle.

I obeyed.

“Thank you,” I said when he rose to his full height.

Every time I looked at him, it was like the very first time.

It was as if I hadn’t been looking at him all night, all weekend.

Suddenly, I was back at that packed club in Hartwood, surrounded by college kids in ugly Christmas sweaters, heart racing because a cute guy’s knee bumped mine under a sticky table. He stole my breath.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurted.

He froze a moment, then laughed through his nose, flashing that dimple with his close-lipped smile. “Who said anything about sex?”

“It’s kind of what we do in these situations. We have it down to a science, I fear.”

He toed his shoes off without untying them. “Believe it or not, I don’t always show up with an agenda. ”

I chewed on my lip, eyes darting away from him and back again, my paper-thin willpower threatening to break with the slightest pressure.

“We don’t have to do anything, Oli.”

I sighed and paced in place, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to him. “I don’t have anything to wear,” I thought aloud.

“Do you want me to go to your suite and get some things for you?” Nate asked, bending to rifle through his suitcase.

“Oh, god no,” I protested, then laughed at the thought. “He might actually kill you if you showed up and packed an overnight bag for me. Maybe I can text Gemma and…”

Nate gave me a look over his shoulder and held up a black lump of fabric. My words died in my throat.

No way.

I took it from him and unfurled the lump—a ratty old band T-shirt.

“You sure?” I asked. Jim Morrison’s faded face looked up at me from the fabric.

Hello, old friend.

He shrugged. “Figured it would be more comfortable than the dress.”

Five minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom in his T-shirt and a pair of boxers. Feeling hilariously sheepish and out of place, I made quick work of crossing the room and hiding under the covers on the far side of the bed.

Nate watched me with a laugh, probably feeling just as funny as I did about what was happening. He disappeared into the bathroom, returning a minute later in just a pair of boxers.

Willpower, Olive.

I only allowed myself a quick, savoring look before averting my eyes as he peeled back the covers and lay on the other side of the bed. “So, are you going to try and get on another flight to Boston tomorrow? ”

I sighed. “I guess. Though, I do have a few more days of PTO. I’m tempted to just hide out here for a while. What about you? Going back to Hartwood tomorrow?”

“I actually live back in Connecticut now.”

“You do?”

“Yep. Moved about six months ago. I’m closer to my mom and Paige now.”

And closer to Boston , my squirrel brain noted.

“But to answer your question, I’m not going home tomorrow. I’m planning to go down to San Francisco for a few days.”

“Really?” I turned onto my side to face him, tucking my hands under my head. “I’ve never been.”

He lolled his head to the side and propped an arm under his neck. “Me neither. I figured since I’m here, I might as well check it out.”

“Don’t you have a European tour to prep for?” I teased.

He laughed through his nose. I barely caught a glimpse of his dimple, half hidden by his pillow. “We don’t start rehearsals until January. I have some time.”

I hummed my reply. When he turned his gaze back to the ceiling, I did, too, letting the still silence wash over us once more.

It seemed like neither of us was eager for the night to be over, desperate to stay in this moment just a minute longer but having no clue what was safe to talk about.

For the next few minutes, Nate’s breathing slowed.

Were it not for the nervously twitching fingers I could see out of the corner of my eye, I would have thought he’d fallen asleep with the lamp light still on.

My fingers tangled together under the blanket.

“Oli?”

“Yeah? ”

“Would… would you want to come with me? To San Francisco?” He cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s already planned. I mean, I have a hotel already sorted out. Three nights near the wharf. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But… I’d like you to. If you want.”

I studied the tiles above the bed. “I’m not going to invite myself on your vacation, Nate.”

“You aren’t inviting yourself. I just invited you.”

“I don’t know.” I hesitated. Three nights alone with Nate. What would that mean? Are we just hitting restart on a movie we both already knew the ending of? Or could it be something else altogether? “I’d like to think about it, if that’s okay.”

He nodded, swallowing. “Of course.”

Nate turned over, and I caught a glimpse of The Fool tattoo on the back of his arm as he flipped off the lamp, surrounding us in darkness.

He settled back down and got comfortable, and I mourned the loss of being able to see his face as I turned my head back toward him. At least he couldn’t see me staring.

Throwing an arm behind his head again, he said, “I’m really glad I got to come this weekend.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t know if I’d be able to. I had to sort some stuff out for the tour, and Paige needed help moving, and…

I didn’t want to miss it for Grant, but…

” I didn’t have to see his face to know those blue eyes were on me when he turned his head.

“I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t think about you the whole flight here. ”

Glad to know I wasn’t the only one.

“I’m glad you came this weekend, too.”

He nodded, and we fell into silence again for a beat, staring at each other through the darkness .

“I really am sorry,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For all of it. Everything.”

I pressed my lips together in a sad smile. “Me, too.”

His nod shook the pillows slightly, and he turned his face back toward the ceiling. Pressure built behind my eyes as I kept them trained on the faint outline of his profile.

How sad. And silly. And paradoxical.

I tried so hard for so long to let him go, willed myself to forget my feelings, begged to be rid of the memories of his smile, his eyes, that stupid dimple. And now I didn’t want to sleep—didn’t even want to blink for the fear that this moment might disappear forever.

I wasn’t ready to accept a life he wasn’t in. I never had been.

Was I willing to jump into the unknown with both feet, even if I couldn’t guarantee happiness was at the bottom?

But what if it is?

The old Oli would have questioned if the risk was worth it, but I was learning to say the things on my mind—to ask for the things I wanted.

A warmth bloomed in my chest, a calmness.

Fuck it.

“Nate?”

“Mmh?”

“There’s a conversation we need to have. And I think I need to have it before the night is over.”

Wordlessly, he flipped the lamp back on and twisted into a sitting position facing me.

The blankets fell away from his body, leaving him with only one leg covered as he rested a hand on a propped-up knee.

I sat up, too, crisscrossing my legs, looking at him face-on.

His chest rose and fell almost as fast as mine when the weight settled around us .

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“I can’t let another day go by without knowing what we are…

what we mean to each other. I’ve always been too scared to say it out loud because deep down, I didn’t think you’d feel the same.

It felt easier to stay quiet so I could protect myself, but I know now that wasn’t the right decision. So, I’m just going to say it.”

My eyes caught on his throat as he swallowed. Looking away, they settled on my lap, on my fingers picking at the thick duvet. This was brave, but I wasn’t quite strong enough to keep my thoughts straight when he was so close.

Steeling myself, I met his deep blue gaze again.