Page 10 of The Hookup Situation (Billionaire Situation #5)

NICK

M y arm is still around her waist, and neither of us moves. The scent of coffee and baked goods mixes with her sweet perfume that’s been on my skin since she fell asleep in my arms.

“Thank you for showing up at the right time,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “I seriously owe you.”

“Nah, he needed to fuck straight off,” I say, still not happy with how overbearing he was being. “You were uncomfortable. I saw it on your face.”

Before Julie can respond, Blaire screams from behind the counter with excitement, “Oh, it’s Nick. For five seconds, I thought you were kissing Craig!”

Her hands clasp together, bracelets jangling.

“Blaire.” Julie’s cheeks are pink.

She straightens her apron, glancing around the coffee shop, making note of the audience size.

All eyes are still on us and have been since the moment I entered.

But that’s not anything new. I’m used to people staring.

That’s what happens when you’re revealed as the love child of a well-known and highly followed billionaire.

“I saw the sparks,” Blaire whispers.

Julie tenses beside me. Without thinking, I slide my arm tighter around her, pulling her closer against my side. She relaxes, melting into me like she was made to fit there.

“Oh, hush.” Julie tries to hide her embarrassment, and I chuckle, finding it adorable.

She turns to me. “Wait for me, okay? I’m about to get off.”

“Of course.” There’s no other option because we need to discuss what the hell just happened.

After a long pause, Julie sucks in a deep breath and pulls away.

She walks through the dining room, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

I immediately miss her closeness, exactly how I did this morning when she thought she was sneaking out.

I was awake, but I didn’t want to make it awkward for her. The thought makes me laugh.

I move to the register to order a drink, and Blaire grins at me.

“What are you having today? The normal black serial-killer coffee, just like last season?”

“I’m a changed man,” I admit. “I’ll have an Earl Grey with a dash of milk, a spoonful of honey, and one raw sugar.”

When I pull out my wallet, she shakes her head.

“So bougie. This one’s on the house.”

Blaire punches a few buttons on the computer, and I hear the order print. I catch a glimpse of Julie in the back, chatting with the other manager. My eyes slide over to the evening crew, making my tea, while Blaire stares at me.

“You’ll never be able to read me,” I tell her.

“Ahh, you’re not as obtuse as you believe, Banks.” Curiosity radiates off her in rolling waves. “But I’d love to listen if you care to explain.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Typical billionaire response,” she says.

“I’ll let your bestie tell you what’s going on.” I move to the end of the counter, and she follows me.

“Oh, you’d better believe she will tell me everything,” she whispers, which does absolutely nothing. “I have at least fifteen follow-up questions after that kiss.”

“Honestly?” I laugh. “I do too.”

My Earl Grey appears, and as I grab it, Julie approaches me, sliding her hand into mine.

“I want all the deets,” Blaire yells as I’m tugged outside, around the building wall, and away from the nosy customers of Cozy Coffee.

Her face is still red. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Can I walk you home?” I hold my arm out for her, and she loops hers through it with a nod.

Her green eyes and bright red hair practically sparkle under the afternoon sunlight. She’s a dream.

On the stroll to her place, we don’t say much. The two of us are too lost in our heads—or at least I am. Julie lives close, but I’ve never been to her place before.

“That was …” She removes her arm from mine as we cross the busy street.

“Intense?” I glance over at her as we file in behind a crowd of tourists.

“I was going to say unexpected, but intense works too.” She chuckles. “I don’t know what happened back there.”

“I don’t either,” I reply, brushing my fingers against hers as we walk. “You needed an out, and I gave you one. Just didn’t expect you to kiss me.”

We turn up the sidewalk to her place.

“Ohhh, no, no, no, you were the one who kissed me ,” she says.

“Nope. I’m a gentleman. I always ask first. You stood on your tiptoes, and I couldn’t deny you in front of that piece of shit.”

“You were moving close, so I thought you were … wait, so it was a pity kiss?” She sounds offended.

I don’t know how to respond. “Hell no. The opportunity presented itself, and it happened. But you totally kissed me. ”

“That won’t be how I tell the story,” she says, wearing a soft smile.

“That’s fine. The truth always lives somewhere in the middle,” I say.

“Well, regardless, thank you for being a good friend .”

The word hangs between us.

I’ve never kissed a friend and felt so right. I’m tempted to ask her if the world stopped spinning for her, like it did for me, but I don’t. That kiss will forever be burned on my lips.

The electricity between us crackles stronger as I taste her ChapStick on my lips. Julie’s sweet and addictive.

As we arrive at her door, I shove my hands in my pockets so I’m not tempted to reach for her. “If you ever need me to rescue you again, just text me. I’ll even answer this time.”

Her laughter lights me up inside. “Careful, Banks. I might take you up on that.”

“I’m counting on it.” I grin, heart pounding harder as she turns to her door. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.

We stare at each other for an eternity.

“Want to come in?” she asks.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say, and I’m relieved.

When I step inside, it’s how I imagined it would be.

Warm and cozy with color everywhere. The accent walls in her living room and office space are painted deep jewel blue and purple.

Several mismatched throw pillows that somehow work lie neatly on her couch.

Big plants are in every corner of the room, reaching toward the natural light of the windows.

It feels like home, a place where life happens.

“Wine?” she asks.

Before I can answer, she’s already pulling two glasses from her turquoise-painted cabinets.

“Sure.”

I watch her move around the kitchen, noticing more eccentric decorations, like the chili pepper string lights hanging above the window. A collection of coffee mugs with sarcastic quotes dangle on a rack.

“Your condo is great,” I say, settling onto her couch, twisting my body to watch her.

“It’s no New York penthouse, but it will do, I suppose.”

She pops open the cork and pours us two glasses. I take one as she sits on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked under her.

“You know, I actually grew up in a small town that’s not much different from Cozy Creek.”

“Oh? Really?” she asks, intrigued.

“Most assume I had a silver spoon in my mouth because of who my father was, but that wasn’t my life. After my stepdad passed away, it was just me, my mom, and my older sister, Miranda. My mother raised me to be humble.”

“Wow, I’m sorry.”

“He was the man I considered to be my dad. I took it hard, but also I’m grateful he was such a big part of my life. I think about him and smile now.”

Her face softens. “How did you and Zane become friends?”

“We took lessons from one of the best coaches in the country, who trained Olympians. Our friendship wasn’t formed because of who our fathers were. It was because of our interests. Before I got into hockey, I thought I’d professionally snowboard like Zane.”

Julie drinks her wine, watching me. “Wow. You were a normie turned billionaire baddie? How did you adjust?”

This makes me laugh. “Who said I have?”

“Oh. Fair.”

“I never played hockey for the money. I played for the game,” I tell her.

“And why do you work at the marketing firm?” I ask.

“Hmm. That’s interesting.” I blink over at her. “No one has ever asked me that question before. No one has cared.”

She scoots a little closer. “Is it your dream job?”

“No,” I say out loud for the first time .

Her brows furrow.

“I work there because of my sister. Now, it’s about continuing her legacy.”

She thinks about it. “What is your legacy?”

“You’re asking the hard questions today.”

This earns me a grin as she runs her fingers through her hair. Our eye contact is intense, and I can’t help but study her lips or watch how her tongue darts out when she licks them.

“We should probably talk about earlier,” I say before we lose track.

She glances up at the clock above her mantel of photos. “Right. We should probably figure out how to squash this before the rumors start.”

“Or not,” I say, standing to grab the bottle of wine from the kitchen counter.

Julie finishes her glass, then swipes the bottle from my hand and takes several gulps.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asks.

“Let people believe whatever they want.” I meet her eyes. “A love story is great for business. The women sitting in the dining room today were invested.”

She groans. “They were. This could get out of hand very quickly.”

“Well, if it helps, I can be your fake boyfriend until I leave,” I say with a pause.

Her eyes widen.

“Under one condition,” I add.

“Yes?”

“You give me relationship advice.”

Julie bursts into laughter, but my smile stays planted.

“Wait, you’re serious. You don’t need relationship advice. You’re a playboy.”

“I was . You’re levelheaded enough to be able to give real feedback. I want to be a good partner for whoever comes next. ”

She holds out her hand. “It’s a deal, but you have to help me too. I don’t want to die alone, and I’m rusty on my dating game.”

“Okay.” We shake on it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “My brother is expecting me to return to the city changed. This is a start. Any opinions about me, I want them, good or bad.”

“Oh, that’s so dangerous, Nick,” she says. “Sometimes, my opinions are things that shouldn’t be said out loud.”

“Then whisper them,” I mutter.

She leans forward, her mouth close to my ear, her breasts pressing against my body. “You shouldn’t be looking at me like that.”