probably to cover up the mash-up of emotions that have been churning my guts since we agreed to take Rogerâs deal. Maybe itâs how Nick copes too. Because after playing dress-up in this costume store for more than an hour, all Iâve found is a pair of glovesâand Nickâs surprising sense of humor. Now that weâve stopped sniping at each other, Iâm stunned by how smoothly his laugh slides under my skin.
Across the store, Chelsea and my sister use their overflowing shopping carts as bumper cars, and last I checked, Mat was in the suit aisle working his Latino charm on a blond salesgirl.
Being left alone with Nick should put me on edge, but itâs like something has shifted between us. Heâs different. Softer. Like he gets weâre all in this together. Or maybe Iâm imagining a difference to quell my rising panic. Seven cars. Seven weeks.
We must be fucking nuts.
I try on an absurd pair of heels while Nick thumbs through a rack behind me. The aisles at the back of the store are packed tighter together, making me hyper aware of our closeness. We both turn and end up face-to-face.
Like thatâs not awkward.
Nick waggles his eyebrows and the left side of his mustache breaks loose, snagging on his lip piercing.
A ridiculous grin splits my face. âOh my God. I canât even . . .â I stand on tiptoes to adjust the mustache. My balance shifts and I teeter forward, almost falling into Nick. He grabs my elbows to steady me. Weâre close. Too close. The heat from his breath pulses across my neck.
Suddenly I feel exposed.
âUm . . .â
We both shift a little to the left, which only wedges us closer. Iâve got nowhere to go but into his chest. His solid. Muscular. Chest. The tips of winged tattoos show through the tight T-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders.
âMustache canât look that bad.â Startled by his voice, I look up and he winks. âYou fell for itâliterally.â
âDream on.â
I try to push away, but my knees buckle a little. His eyes sweep across my neck, my chest, settle on my lips. My pulse goes from zero to sixty. I swallow hard as he closes the gap between us, the scent of his peppermint breath drawing me in.
âJules?â
His voice is smooth, like a fine-tuned Camaro. I drink it up. âYes.â
âYes?â
Jesus, YES! My brain protests with the force of an air raid siren that I should back the hell up. Our lives are too complicated, too unstable. Nick doesnât even like me. But the glint in his eye tells me something different.
A strangled groan escapes my lips. Iâm an idiot to think I could be immune to this.
âSo, yes to the mustache, then?â
I blink so hard my eyes hurt. âYou were asking for an opinion about the fucking mustache?â I punch him in the shoulder and take a step back.
His eyes twinkle with mischief. âWhat did you think I meant?â
My stomach bottoms out. Fuck. I really am an idiot.
âGuys, is this not the best ha . . . ?â Chelseaâs voice trails off. âOh crap.â
I spin around so that Nick wonât see the disappointment and confusion on my face, and work up a smile for Chelsea. A newsboy cap sits askew atop her red curls. She looks freaking amazing.
âNow thatâs how you pull off a costume accessory,â I say, directing the comment at Nick without turning around. Thereâs an edge to my voice that borders on pissed and I know Iâm mad at myself for letting my guard down, even a little.
Chelsea offers a lopsided grin. âFound one for you too.â
âPlease, no.â
She reaches for my hand. âCome on .â
I let her lead me away, grateful for the out. We find Emma at the front of the store, twirling in front of a mirror with both hands pressed against a hat far too big for her head.
Chelsea leans in. âSorry if I interrupted something
Louis - Sackett's 08 L'amour