Page 67 of No Strings Attached
A few months after we came back to Seattle, Amira introduced me to her family. I was more nervous than I let on. Her ex had left a bad taste in their mouths, and I wouldn’t have blamedthem for having doubts. But they were open. Curious, though not invasive. They didn’t judge me, and I got to show them that I wasn’t Chad. That I respected their culture, their home, and most of all—Amira.
It took some time.
Eventually, I proved to them that I was here to stay.
This year, for the first time ever, I didn’t go home to Nantucket for Christmas.
My mom was a little sad when I told her I wouldn’t make it to her traditional Christmas Eve dinner. But when I promised that Amira and I would be in Nantucket in time for New Year’s—no big party, just family—she softened. She loves Amira like a daughter and I’ve loved to watch their relationship blossom over the past months.
I get off the couch and walk over to a mantle where many frames hold pictures of Amira and her family. She’s an only child, though never felt lonely with the amount of cousins she has.
A pair of arms wrap around me from behind, soft and familiar, and the nerves that were building in my body instantly settle.
“Hey, stranger,” Amira murmurs against my back. “You okay?”
I nod and lean into her touch. “I’m good. Just... absorbing.”
She hands me a small glass of something clear. I bring it to my nose and blink. “This smells like black licorice.”
“It’s Arak. A little something to calm your nerves.”
I laugh under my breath. “You sure it’s not going to knock me out?”
“Not unless you take three shots in a row. Then maybe.” Her grin softens. “You’re doing great, by the way. My mom already told me to make sure you get a second plate before my uncle steals all the stuffed grape leaves.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed in the best way.
Amira’s been nothing but patient, understanding, and attentive with me. She asked me months ago if she could explain my anxiety to her family. With my blessing, she did. Since then, they’ve gone out of their way to make me feel comfortable. Her mom always checks in when we’re in a big group, always makes sure I have somewhere quiet to step away if I need it.
I sit back down on the couch and Amira sits next to me, legs tucked up under her, and I set the glass of Arak on the table.
Because suddenly, I want something else.
I tilt her chin toward me and kiss her, softly at first. But then her lips part, and I feel the unmistakable flick of her tongue against mine.
My pulse jumps.
“Mira,” I warn, already feeling myself harden in my slacks. “You know what happens when you give me tongue.”
She hums against my mouth, completely unbothered, and kisses me again—deeper this time.
My hand slides up her back, drawing her closer, until her chest presses against mine and my restraint starts to fray at the edges. I shift, trying to keep it together while her fingers graze the back of my neck.
“I’m not above sneaking upstairs right now,” I murmur, lips brushing hers.
Amira pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, cheeks flushed. “Later. After dessert.”
“You better mean that.”
“I always do.”
Right then, my phone buzzes on the side table, the screen lighting up with an incoming video call. I glance over and see Brianna’s name.
“Answer,” Amira says, already rising to her feet.
I catch her wrist and tug her back long enough to smack her ass. She yelps, laughing as she turns toward the kitchen.
“Tell them I said hi!” Amira calls over her shoulder.
