Page 129 of Holidating
She tosses her hair. “Gullible much? I’m just kidding.” Then she smiles, and his stomach does some kind of swooshing thing. “Michael is my father. I thought he’d be here to say goodbye.” She looks at her watch. “He said he’d probably be back in time.”
Probably?That’s a little harsh.
“We can wait a minute,” he says, leaning against the car. She looks a little anxious. “And you still didn’t tell me your name.”
“Yeah, it’s…” She frowns.
“Tricky question?” he prods, because it would be a crying shameif he didn’t get this girl’s name. “If you’re headed to college right now, I’m a little worried for your GPA.”
She laughs suddenly, and the sound reverberates in his chest. It’s a little wild and unbridled. “Okay, okay. Sorry. But I’ve been thinking about this all day. This is my first year of college, and I’ve been Nicky my whole life. But maybe it’s time to introduce myself with my real name. Nicolette.”
“Nicolette,” he says slowly. “I don’t know any other Nicolettes. But I know other Nickys.”
“It’s different, yeah. That’s a plus, don’t you think?”
“Sure. But if you want to ease into it, you could start with Nicole and work your way up.”
She lets out a playful snort. “I suppose I could. It’s a family name. My grandfather was Nicholas Overland.”
“Does it have an interesting meaning? And I ask this as someone whose name literally means demon.”
“Does it?” Her smile brightens even further. “Maybe I should changemyname to Damien, because that’s pretty cool. Nicholas is two Greek words pushed together, and it means victorious people.”
“Huh,” he says. “A name for an overachiever. And it’s kinda militant—the kind of name they give you if they expect you to conquer the world.”
“That’s what the Overlands are supposed to be, I guess.” She checks the time again. “You know what? Let’s just go. My father wouldn’t want me to miss the plane just because his lunch ran late.”
Damien thinks that’s a little sad. Then again, his own father left town a couple years ago and never came back. So who is he to judge?
“All right. It’s your call. Hop in.” He opens the rear door for her, then seats himself behind the wheel and starts the vehicle.
“The code for the gate is 1980,” she says, scooting toward the right-hand side of the backseat. “But if you pull up close, I can reach it from this side.”
“1980. Your birth year?” he teases, mentally filing away the number, just in case he needs it later. Like if Nicolette comes home from college and invites him over for croquet in front of the mansion. Or, you know, sex.
“1980 is the year my father made Managing Director,” she says with a sniff. “He’s not a very sentimental person.”
“Nice taste in houses, though,” he says as the gate swings open for them. “Did you grow up here? I thought I knew everyone in the county.”
“It’s complicated,” she says. “We have a place in New York City and used to live mostly there. But I spent my summers in Vermont when I was little. And then my mother died when I was about ten, and my father moved us up here. But I went to boarding school in Massachusetts.”
That certainly explains why she never turned up at the high school in Colebury. He definitely would have noticed, even if she’s a year younger than he is. Which she must be, because Damien’s friends departed for college last August. “So where are you flying out to?”
“Raleigh-Durham. I’m starting at, um, Duke.”
“Sweeeeet! Great basketball team. I mean, it would be better if they had a hockey team. But I guess you can’t have everything.” He accelerates onto the highway.
She laughs. “I had the same thought. I played hockey in high school.”
“Shut the front door,” he says. “So did I. Were you any good?”
“Not really,” she says with a laugh. “You?”
“Nope!”
They both laugh uproariously—the way you do with someone you’ve known much longer than five minutes. Damien sneaks another look at her in the rearview mirror, and notices that laughter takes her from pretty to blazing hot. There’s a blush across her cheeks and her collarbone.
Christ. He better stop looking in the damn rearview, or they’re going to end up in a ditch.
