Page 7 of The Hookup Situation (Billionaire Situation #5)

JULIE

C omfortable warmth is the first thing I notice when I wake up.

It’s not the kind that comes from the fireplace in my condo.

It holds me tight. I drift in that hazy space between sleep and reality, feeling safer than I have in months, maybe years.

Everything smells like expensive cologne mixed with clean cotton.

My eyes jolt open, and I see the gray shirt and feel solid muscles.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I’m on Nick’s couch, but more specifically, I’m lying on top of him, holding him like he belongs to me.

My head rests on his chest, his strong arm wraps heavy around my waist, and our legs are tangled in a way that suggests we’ve been like this for hours. Because we have.

Memories from last night rush back, and when I try to lift my head, it pounds. We shared pizza and wine, then talked until our voices became rough. We shared a lot. At one point, I laughed so hard that I nearly cried.

We eventually started streaming When Harry Met Sally because neither of us had ever seen it to the end. We spent half the movie arguing about whether men and women could have sex and be just friends while Billy Crystal proved it was impossible .

Truthfully, I dislike that movie. I know it’s a romantic comedy classic, but there’s something about it I can’t stand. Every year, I try to watch it all the way through, but I always give up. Nick thought we’d be able to pull it off. We didn’t.

I fell asleep somewhere around one of Harry’s speeches. Total snoozefest.

Nick shifts, his arm tightening around me. I freeze, unsure of what to do.

Friends don’t wake up wrapped around each other like lovers. My heart shouldn’t flutter when we shift closer, and we absolutely shouldn’t fit together so effortlessly that when one of us pulls away, it feels wrong. But here we are.

We’re just friends because anything else leads to complications that neither of us needs or can deal with at this point in our lives.

I need to leave before he wakes up because I don’t want any awkwardness.

I stay perfectly still as I calculate my next move. His arms are my biggest hurdle because they’re heavy and warm and make me want to stay instead of pulling away. By some miracle, I slide out from under them, holding my breath when he stirs.

“Mmm,” he mumbles, still asleep. Reaching for the space where I was before, he turns onto his side.

My traitorous heart flutters again.

I quickly find my shoes. One is hidden under the couch; the other is by the leather chair, large enough to fit two people. I slip them on, trying not to make a sound.

Before I go, I take one last glance at him with his messy, dark hair and his face relaxed. Somehow, he looks unfairly gorgeous without even trying.

I grab the receipt from last night’s pizza and write a note on the back .

Thanks for the pizza and the company. Needed that. We should do it again sometime.

Little Red

The door closes behind me with a click, and I nearly sprint to my car.

The crisp autumn air is sharp in my lungs, and I try to gulp it down, wishing it would clear my head.

It doesn’t work, not when his cologne still clings to my sweater like a secret.

Not when the memory of how perfectly we get along plays on repeat.

“Friends,” I mutter as I start my car, then laugh at myself.

I leave the thought in the driveway as I pull away.

I’m not searching for a relationship, and neither is Nick.

The reason why we so easily gravitate to one another is because we’re both broken.

It’s why we’re honest with one another. There are no expectations, and what you see is exactly what you get. I’ve never met a man like him before.

Each time we’re together, I realize how much I enjoy his company and how our conversations flow freely. It’s as if I’ve known him forever when, in reality, it’s the third time we’ve met up.

Last October, when I was at Bookers, crying about Craig at the end of the bar, Nick talked me off the ledge. I shared my weaknesses, and he told me my ex was an idiot. He also explained how I shouldn’t take relationship advice from him because he sucked at them.

He was there for me that night and listened to me bleed out, and his kindness is something I’ll never forget.

I drive to my condo in the middle of town, watching the thick fog twirl close to the ground. Mornings like this are my favorite—a reminder that fall officially begins on Saturday, and that’s when the town celebration will kick off. I park and check my surroundings before I unlock the door .

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but it will within the next thirty minutes, which means I have to shower and get ready for work.

My place feels too empty and cold in comparison to where I just came from.

I drop my keys on the kitchen island and grab two aspirin for my head. After I swallow them down, I go straight to the bathroom to desperately wash away the lingering feeling of being held by Nick. I turn on the water, undress, then step into the shower.

The hot water pounds against my skin, and it barely removes the cologne that still lingers on me.

“Just friends,” I say aloud, as though repetition might help cement the thought into place.

But when I close my eyes, my mind drifts back to the effortless laughter, his flirty gaze, and how dangerously good it felt to be close to him. I twist the dial to cold, hoping shock therapy works. It doesn’t.

After my shower, I stand in my bedroom, staring at the sweater I wore last night. It smells like him, and I should wash it immediately.

Instead, I hold it to my face and breathe deep, wanting to remember that scent.

“Get it together, Jules,” I mutter, then throw the sweater in the hamper.

Just as I pull on some clothes for work, my phone dings in the kitchen.

Autumn

How was dinner with Mr. I’m Back, Baby?

I stare at the text, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

What am I supposed to say to her? That we talked until three in the morning? That I fell asleep on top of him on his couch and woke up in his arms? That neither of us made it through When Harry Met Sally ?

Another text appears before I can respond.

Autumn

Zane said your car was still at the cabin at four a.m., when he drove to town to get doughnuts for me!

Great. Guess there will be no denying that I stayed over.

It’s barely after six, but I’d be willing to bet half of Cozy Creek already thinks Nick and I were together doing everything except sleeping. I sigh. By lunch, the Fairy Godmothers of Cozy Creek will be picking out centerpieces for our wedding.

I turn my phone face down and don’t respond. I can’t deal with this right now, not when I need to be at work in just fifteen minutes.

My phone buzzes again, and when I glance at it, I’m disappointed to see it’s a reminder text from my coffee supplier, confirming delivery later today.

“Get it together,” I tell my reflection as I pull on a cute black sweater that swoops down in the front and some jeans that make my ass look perfect.

Last year, Blaire made me some super-cute black cat earrings with dangling legs and arms, and I slide them on. After a touch of lipstick and some mascara, I’m ready to leave. I grab a jacket and hurry out the door.

The streetlamps lining the sidewalk are still lit, casting pools of soft golden light against the lingering darkness, but the sun will rise at any moment.

Several people jog through the town square’s park, others stroll with their dogs, and in the distance, tiny headlamps bob rhythmically as runners scale Lookout Mountain’s trail.

Autumn used to be obsessed with jogging, and I’d always be so worried about her. She and Zane now run it together. The two of them are just a reminder of how much can change in a season.

When I arrive at Cozy Coffee, I slip inside quickly and lock up behind me again. Blaire has keys and will arrive in about fifteen minutes, giving me enough time to collect myself and start our opening tasks.

I start in the office, counting the cash drawers, then move to preheat the ovens.

As soon as Blaire arrives, she’ll dive straight into pastries and brewing coffee.

When the doors open, we’ll be slammed with the morning rush for hours.

Lately, we’ve been running the day shift with just the two of us, except on the weekends, but I’ll eventually have to start scheduling someone else to help us once fall kicks off.

After I quickly finish my opening checklist, I carry the cash drawers to the front and slide them into the registers.

When I glance up, I spot Blaire strolling past the large front windows that line the sidewalks, already giving me a curious look.

A few early customers gather in line by the door outside, eagerly waiting for their caffeine fix.

Blaire enters, locks the door behind her, and immediately tilts her head, eyes sparkling with suspicion.

“Good morning,” she says, her gaze locking on me. “Someone looks super guilty.”

“Who? Me?” I ask.

“Who? Me?” she repeats in a high-pitched tone as she walks to the back. I hear baking racks clanking as she quickly makes croissants. “Who else would I be talking to? The Ghost of Christmas Past? Let me guess. You had dinner with Nick after all.”

I snicker as Blaire continues running her mouth.

I grind the beans for the coffee makers. When she returns to the front, she adjusts her quartz crystal necklace. It’s the exact one she always wears to repel crazy ex-boyfriends with bad vibes.

“So,” she says, lingering long enough for me to fill in the silence, but I don’t say a single peep.

She groans. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re glowing like a human lava lamp, or do I need to read your tea leaves before I unlock the door? ”

I busy myself stacking pastries that don’t need arranging. “Nothing to tell.”

“It’s so weird, but for some reason, I don’t believe you.” She leans against the counter, studying me like I’m one of her tarot spreads. “Your aura is screaming in vivid colors. Bright orange.”