Page 29 of Fumbled Into Love

“Alright,” Declan draws out the word, causing the hair on my neck to rise. “But prepare yourself for tears.”

Nerves flutter in my chest as I bang on the door. An unannounced arrival may have been a bad idea.

I regret my rash decision as her door flies open, and a body slams into mine, tiny arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

Fuck my rash decision. If this is how Nathalie hugs Declan, she is never getting close to him ever again. These types of hugs shouldn’t belong to him, one where I’m the only reason she’s still standing.

I sigh, leaning into the embrace when her body stiffens and jerks back.

Wide, bloodshot eyes blink up at me.

“You’re not Declan.”

Nathalie’s usually immaculate braids are falling apart, large pieces hanging around her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and the tip of her nose is a soft shade of pink. Her lips are plump, likely from chewing on them, and I quickly avert my eyes.

“No. I’m not.”

She looks around me into the hallway. “Where is he? Parking the car?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “He’s not coming.”

“What? Why? I’m supposed to stay with him.” Her cheeks flush, and she spins away, stomping through the small layer of water on her floor.

“You’re going to stay with me,” I say, entering the apartment.

Nathalie spins, and she’s…angry? I was not expecting that. The water sloshes, and she’s right in front of me, eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

I wring my hands together. I was prepared for tears, not wrath.

“Well…” I’m floundering for a logical way to say I was jealous when you called Declan, which is wildly out of character for me—but a frequent feeling around you—and I stopped using my brain. “I thought—”

What did I think? Nothing. Nothing except how my fake girlfriend should stay with me and not with Declan. All I’ve wanted is to be someone's shoulder to lean on, and it upsets me Declan is her shoulder, and I’m not.

“It would look…odd if my girlfriend was living with my teammate instead of me. Bad optics?”

Nathalie pauses in a puddle of water in her kitchen and spins. Water flies and splashes. I squirm beneath her baffled look.

“You care that much about the optics?”

Her question is full of confusion, but I can’t tell her that it’s her I care about far more than I should.

I dodge her question, instead saying, “Just let me help you pack.”

Nathalie’s shoulders slump, and she begins to sniffle.

“All my stuff is wet,” she wails, tears tracking down her cheeks.

The urge to hold her overwhelms my rational thought as I drag her into a hug, casting soothing circles on her back. Her anger slumps away, shoulders sagging in my grip.

A wave of comfort washes over me as Nathalie's arms wrap around my waist; there's a sense of security in this moment I’ve lacked for the last five years.

Physical affection has always held comfort for me, but I don’t know how to share that with someone without growing pesky feelings, so I’ve refrained entirely.

The whole reason I adopted my cat, Gordito, was to have someone to cuddle with. When I went to the shelter, the big black ball of fur screamed, ‘Cuddle Buddy.’ Turns out, he’s evil and only hangs out with me when he’s pouncing at my feet at night or stalking me like prey.

“Sorry,” she mumbles against my chest, fingers gripping the back of my shirt. “It’s a nice offer.”

---