013

I stood up quickly, ready to escape before Nick could say anything or do something stupid, but of course, he wasn’t going to make it that easy.

“So,” he said, standing up as well, “did you enjoy the meeting?”

I grabbed my notebook, trying to act casual. “Yeah, it was… interesting,” I said.

Nick took a step closer, and suddenly, the air around us felt different.

“You know,” he said, his voice lower now, “you looked really cute when you were trying to act like you weren’t staring at me, earlier.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to roll my eyes and walk away.

But instead, all I could do was stand there, heart racing, completely aware of just how close he was.

But wait…

I kind of wanted him.

Nick didn’t move at first. He just stood there, watching me with that confident, unreadable expression, as if he could see right through me, as if he already knew how much I was struggling to stay unaffected by him.

Then, slowly, he took another step closer.

“You’re not going to deny it, are you?” he murmured, his voice teasing, his eyes locked onto mine.

I swallowed hard, gripping my notebook a little tighter. “Deny what?”

Nick rubbed his nose slightly, his lips curving into that half-smile that made my stomach tighten in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge. “That you were staring at me.”

I let out a breathy laugh, trying to shake off the way his presence made me feel unsteady. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh?” His voice was lower now, smooth, coaxing, dangerously close to something that felt like temptation. “Then why were you blushing?”

I wasn’t blushing. Or at least, I didn’t want to be. But Nick had a way of making the space between us feel smaller than it actually was. He had a way of tilting the world slightly off-balance, of making me forget why keeping my distance was the smart thing to do.

Before I could come up with something to say, he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against the edge of my notebook. It wasn’t much, just the lightest touch, but it sent a spark of awareness through me.

“I like you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blinked. “You what?”

His gaze traveled over my face, lingering on my lips for just a second before meeting my eyes again. “I said that I like you.”

There it was. The thing I had been avoiding, the thing I didn’t want to hear.

Nick wasn’t just some confident, good-looking guy who happened to make my pulse race. He was a piece of me, a piece I had convinced myself I could live without.

I took a step back, needing space, needing to breathe, but Nick followed, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He wasn’t touching me, not yet, but the air between us was thick with something unspoken, something electric.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

Nick let out a quiet chuckle, and then, in one slow, easy motion, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was barely there, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

“You’re always running away from me,” he said, his fingers staying just a second too long before pulling away. “Why?”

I opened my mouth to answer and to tell him that this wasn’t a good idea, that I wasn’t going to fall for him, but the words never came out.

Because at that moment, Nick closed the distance between us completely.

His hands found my waist, his touch firm but careful, his body close enough that I could feel his warmth through my clothes. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it, but I didn’t move, didn’t push him away.

“I know we talked about this,” he murmured, his lips inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin.

And yet, he didn’t step back.

Neither did I.

I loathed how much I wanted this. Detested how my body leaned into his without permission, how my fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him just a little closer.

Nick made a low sound in his throat, something like frustration, something like restraint, and then—finally—he kissed me.

The moment his lips met mine, it was like the ground shifted beneath me.

It wasn’t a soft, hesitant kiss. It was deep, hungry, the kind of kiss that stole the breath right out of my lungs. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me against him, and I let him, let myself sink into the feeling of him, the familiarity, the way he knew exactly how to make me melt.

My back hit the edge of the table behind me, and Nick took advantage of it, pressing me gently against it, his body flush with mine. His lips trailed from my mouth to my jaw, down to the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I gasped, my fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Nick—”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at me, his breathing uneven, his pupils blown wide.

“We shouldn’t?,” he asked, but his thumb was tracing slow, lazy circles against my hip, his body still pressed against mine, and I knew he didn’t mean it.

I didn’t mean it either.

I pulled him back to me, my hands sliding up into his hair, and he groaned against my lips. His hands roamed over my sides, my back, and my butt, exploring like he was memorizing every inch of me all over again.

And then—just as suddenly as it started—he stopped.

One second, he was kissing me like he couldn’t get enough, and the next, he was pulling away, his hands dropping and his body stepping back.

I stood there, breathless, my lips tingling, my body still burning from his touch, and stared at him, confused.

“Nick?” My voice was hoarse.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I can’t,” he said, his voice rough, strained. “Not like this.”

I winked, my mind still trying to catch up with his antics.

And then, just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving me leaning on the table, flushed, frustrated, and embarrassingly aware of just how much I still wanted him.