Page 59 of Selfie

“What’d you do?”

Wordlessly, he picks up his own cell and dials with one tap on the screen. My phone rings loudly and vibrates in my hand. I glance down at the caller ID which now reads:It’s Nate. I’m sorry.

My shoulders shake violently as I laugh. A genuine laugh that has my heart tightening, and my lungs working hard. “Every time you call, it’s an apology?” I manage between breathy huffs.

He looks so satisfied, like the sound of my laughter is a reward. “I have some apologies to make up for and it’s best to get a few in the bank ahead of time, just in case bosshole rears his ugly head.”

“Good call.”

He slinks his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against his chest. I’m transported right back to House of Blues when the charming man swept me off my feet in his VIP booth. It had nothing to do with his money or status. It wasthis feeling.I barely nibbled at my Chinese food, not wanting to derail my whole week with one cheat meal, yet I feel so damn full in his arms. A satiating warmth that pulls all my defenses down and makes me beyond vulnerable. But somehow, for no good reason, I trust him to hold me steady.

With his free hand, Nathan curls two fingers under my chin. He strokes the tip of my nose twice with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry for being so hard on you.”

I smile at him, getting lost in his almost-turquoise eyes, the blue and green blending in a spectacle of color. “And I’m sorry for calling you all those names.”

“That’s okay. I’ll survive ‘bosshole.’”

“Oh bosshole was the tip of the iceberg, my friend. I’ve used a lot of creative names for you over the past few weeks.”

“Really? Such as?” He tightens his grip around my shoulders, drawing me closer as his eyes narrow dangerously.

“Nothing noteworthy. Just know I’m sorry.”

“Come on, sassy-mouth. Let’s hear it. I can take it.” He squeezes even harder, unintentionally showing me his strength.

“No, thanks.”

“You have no qualms talking back to me. In fact, you do it with every breath you take. Why so nervous now?”

“Because if you squeeze me any harder, I’m going to squeak like a rubber duck.” Actually, I love the way he’s holding on to me desperately, like he’s afraid I’m going to slip away. I’m drowning in his scent, a heady blend of citrus, amber, and a hint of leather. I pretend to try to wiggle away, but it’s just for show. I want to be glued to every hard angle of this man’s perfect body.

“Am I scaring you?” We’re so close that when he whispers, his breath tickles my lips.

“A little,” I lie.

“Oh, baby, don’t worry. I’d never ever hurt you.”

“I know.” I’m shocked I can muster a coherent response because this Adonis of a man just called me “baby.”

He leans in close, we’re touching nose to nose, so I have a front-row seat when he widens his eyes in warning. “I am, however, going to tickle the shit out of you.”

In the span of a heartbeat, I’m lying back on the carpet, my boss on top of me, squealing, laughing, and writhing against the floor as I try to fight him off with my heels. I’m no match, but I don’t care. Because after weeks of angsty confusion,finally…

Nathan’s hands are all over me.

19

Nathan

Our eyes widen in tandem as the next voicemail plays on speaker. I hope by eleven o’clock at night, Spencer’s young sister, Charlie, is fast asleep in her room, because the profanities are not only aggressive, but creative. There’s a lot of background noise, things zipping and slamming, like someone is angrily packing bags. But this message isn’t a tenant complaining. The woman on the voicemail mistakenly dialed the number, evidently ignored the outgoing message, and proceeded to deliver a detailed, verbal dissertation on exactly how she’s going to dismember her cheating boyfriend.

Spencer clasps her hand over her mouth when the mystery lady gets to the part about dipping her—I’m assuming nowex-boyfriend’s penis in lye. “I feel like we should check on D’Anthony.”

“When was the message left?”

She squints one eye, as if doing quick calendar math. “About three weeks ago?”

“Oh, it’s way too late for D’Anthony. He’s gone now.” It’s a joke. The woman sounded far too drunk to be dangerous toanyone but herself. “But save that voice message, in case we get subpoenaed in a cold case.”

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