Page 29 of Best Things in Life

“I don’t… love him—not that way. But I care about him, Nate.”

“I care about him too, Cookie.” I suck in a breath at the old endearment that strikes my heart as if Cupid needs to close the deal by reminding me who I really want. I look around the kitchen and my mom and aunts are in cleanup mode. Mom takes the plate from Nate when he nods that he’s done. He left some pasta. He never leaves food on his plate.

Trying to clamp down on my overzealous need to believe he might be seriously considering stealing me back from Bigs, I nudge his knee with mine and slip off the counter stool. He follows me. There aren’t many people left in the living room, Uncle Joe and my cousin and a few others. We go through the hallway and up the stairs. It’s a path we’ve taken before, to my room, and the déjà vu stirs through me, making me dizzy with desire.

Opening the door to my room, I rush in and he closes the door behind us and grabs my shoulder, spinning me around, right into his arms.

“Not wasting any time, are you? Remember, this isn’t three years ago.” I shove him away, shocked at the fear that rises up in me to deny him, and myself. But as he backs away and then paces in a circle, I can practically read his mind. “The setting is all the same, isn’t it?” I laugh, but not because it’s funny. “It’s damn disorienting.”

“You’re damn disorienting,” he says, stopping in front of me.

“Can you blame me? I have no reason to trust you.”

“I know, but I only want a chance to give you a few reasons to trust me.” He swipes a hand through his hair and gives me his innocent charmer look. “I thought being here today was a start.”

“Right. You want a gold star for missing a couple meaningless days of hockey practice.” I sniff.

“Jesus, Cookie.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t get benched for missing practice against coach’s—”

“What? What are you talking about? Didn’t you get permission to--”

He shakes his head, his eyes sad and I realize what he’s done

“Oh my god, Nate. You didn’t.” I want to throw up because even after everything, I realize I don’t want him to lose his dream, to not have the NHL career he’s always wanted. “Fuck.” I breathe the word and he reaches out and pulls me into his arms, lighting my all my nerves as my body molds to his hard muscles—not to mention his hard dick—and if he weren’t holding on so tight I might fall. Because my weak knees—weak everything—finally do give out.

“Tell me you don’t still feel something between us,” he says.

“You mean besides your boner?” My voice is shaky, my smart mouth taking over with my nerves bubbling up. He huffs out a laugh, but then his pupils go big and dark and dangerous and his mouth is a whisper from mine. So close even as he loosens his hold.

“This isn’t about lust,” he says, unconvincingly. “Well, not only about lust.” He quirks that half smile for a beat. “It’s about us. We have a—”

“Had.”

“Could still have”—he doesn’t let up—“a helluva lot more than whatever it is you have going with Bigs. And I want to prove it to you, beyond the fact that I’m here today and he isn’t, that I understand why this is important and he doesn’t.”

I whoosh out a breath and tears fill my eyes with such suddenness that I can’t hold them back and they roll down my cheeks. I frantically swipe at them.

“Don’t cry, Cookie,” he whispers gently and kisses my wet cheek and I shake my head, but I can’t stop because emotions overwhelm me. I’ve lost my Zia Rosaria and I know I’m losing Bigs and now I wonder why I’m still pushing away Nate when I want him so much. Because I can’t trust him?

Because I’m afraid. Fuck that. In the words of Zia Rosaria, if you don’t do something you’re a little afraid of once in a while you might as well join a nunnery. That’s what she told me when I went to her the day before I first slept with Nate.

He moves me to the bed and we sit on the edge, him holding me and me trying to gulp back the tears and swallow the emotion, but my heart is already too full and the words spill out.

“I’m afraid, Nate.”

“Not too afraid to admit that to me,” he says, and I roll my eyes, which effectively turns off the tear spigot, thank fuck. I snicker. Mostly at myself.

“I’m a mess. I don’t trust you but… I’m trusting you not to take advantage of my vulnerable state.” Daring to look up into his eyes, I see them change. The worry goes away and his brow smooths, his face softens into a tender smile. He’s not looking at me like he wants to eat me. He looks like he wants to hold me forever. He brings a hand up to caress my face and brush the remainders of the waterworks away. His hand is shaking. “You’re a mess too, aren’t you?” I say.

“You’re just noticing?”

I laugh and he kisses my temple. A light feathery touch, his breath warm. The scent of Italian spice, good wool, and manly sweat swirls, and the visceral strength of him surrounds me, takes over my senses. I would be crazy not to want him here and now after starving for him since the first day I saw him at SPU.

Clutching his arms, I smash my mouth to his in a kiss that feels like pure animal desperation. He doesn’t try to stop me as I push the jacket from his shoulders and knead my fingers into those sculped muscles of his back and shoulders. My mouth opens, inviting him in. Our tongues tangle hungrily. My ears are filled with the sounds of harsh breathing and bells ringing. Only I’m not sure if they’re peals of hallelujah or clangs of dire warning.

He pushes me back to my bed and I pull him down on top of me. He rolls to my side, simultaneously pushing my dress up to take a handful of my thigh as I moan with need.

“Are you sure…?” His voice is a thready rasp.