CHAPTER SEVEN
Friday, November 17
Friday night can’t come soon enough. The week seems to drag on interminably. The one bright spot is that the Lunds have gone away and left me the hell alone for the last two days.
Bas, who says he’s planning to quit before this deal goes through, seems relieved, too. We’re investigating possible reasons Colossus wants to acquire Stratus Solutions—and Nia—so badly, especially without a COO. They’re an investment corporation. They don’t manufacture or service tech. This acquisition seemed logical when they intended to keep me around to run things and reap the rewards. Now that they want to operate everything themselves, it makes far less sense. Sure, the staff could assist them, but even collectively they can’t run the company.
“We’re doing all we can. Are you going to stop brooding?”
I turn to face Bas. He’s been asking me this for days. The short answer is no. Not only do the Lunds bug me, I have this nagging worry that my blunt honesty isn’t what Nia wanted on our last date. I shouldn’t be surprised; what woman wants a husband who doesn’t love her? But I doubt I’m capable of opening myself up again. It would be wrong and unfair to lie about that. Besides, there are plenty of logical reasons for her to say yes.
“Are you going to leave it alone?”
“Dude, I’m your best friend. If you need to talk to someone—”
“I don’t.”
Bas sighs. “Something is up. You and Nia have both been acting weird lately. Since I was raised by a single mom and I’ve got four pain-in-my-butt sisters, I speak female. You don’t. I can help.”
He wants me to be happy, and I don’t want to be an ass, but… “I have to figure this out for myself.”
“Listen, buddy. I think Nia is good for you, and I’d rather not see you screw this up. I overheard you say on the phone earlier that you two are going out tonight. Let me help. What are your plans?”
Since he means well, I can’t be mad. “She’s planning tonight, so I have no clue. I admit I’m anxious because I had no idea she enjoys performing in a burlesque show in her spare time. So who knows what she’ll come up with for us to do?”
Bas laughs. “And you hate not being in control.”
Almost as much as I hate him ribbing me about it. “Bite me.”
“Do you know what you two are going to talk about?”
“I need an agenda on a date?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, but if you want to move your relationship forward and you’re looking for a way to tell her that—”
“Nia knows exactly how interested I am. The ball is in her court.” And it’s going to be a long six weeks without knowing whether she’ll be moving to Maui with me as my wife. Because even if I sell out, I’m moving. I can start a business on the island. There’s nothing keeping me in Seattle.
But no matter what, I’m not letting Nia go to the Lunds.
“Okay. Well, if she gets back to you and you need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks.” Right now, there’s simply nothing to say.
“Have fun tonight.” Bas gives me a jaunty wave, then he’s gone.
Since Nia left the office an hour ago and it’s nearly six, I pack up and head to my place. She’s supposed to meet me there at six thirty.
As soon as I hit the door, I pick up the few odds and ends lying around. My running shoes go in the closet. Yesterday’s water glass goes in the dishwasher. I fluff up the comforter on my bed, which has clean sheets as of yesterday, thank you very much.
By the time I change my clothes, check my hair, and find a bottle of wine in case I can talk her into staying here for the evening, the bell rings.
“Hi.” Somehow, I manage to breathe the word as she stands in my doorway.
I must look somewhere between bowled over and stupefied because she grins. “You like my dress?”
“Like isn’t the right word.”
She’s wantable. Edible. Fuckable. I swallow, but I can’t tear my gaze away from the thin straps grazing her shoulders, leading to a tight white, corset-style dress that dips low and hugs her plump breasts. My mouth is already watering as I take the visual tour lower and trace the nip of her waist, the womanly swell of her hips, and the lace trim that flirts with her thighs. Her white wedges show off her insanely gorgeous legs and a flash of turquoise toe polish.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
“Are we going to stay in so I can talk you out of that dress?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No. We’ve got plans.”
“I said that out loud?”
“You did.”
“I…um, only meant to think it. Oops.”
Nia smiles. “I see you took my wardrobe suggestions to heart. White shirt, black pants, black loafers. Perfect. Let’s go.”
When she takes my hand, I drag my feet. “Where are we going?”
“That’s not how this works. You surprised me on Tuesday night. Now it’s my turn.” She tugs again.
I still resist. “Are we doing anything that’s going to embarrass me in public?”
Why else would she have me dress so specifically if she didn’t want me to show off somehow?
“You’ll be in public. Embarrassment is relative since some people find most human contact uncomfortable.”
She means me. And she’s poking.
I scowl. “You’re not answering my question.”
“Just keeping a little mystery. Let’s go or we’re going to be late.”
When I help her into my car and slide behind the wheel, I slant a stare her way. “Where to?”
Nia smiles as she fiddles with the radio. “You’re not the only one with tricks up their sleeve. I’ll give you directions. Head north on I-5 for now.”
As she searches for a station, something slightly familiar hits my eardrums. She stops there with a little smile. “My grandmother used to love the Beach Boys. I remember listening with her when I was really little.”
Then she falls silent, lost in her memories. I focus on the old tune. I don’t remember the sleigh bells, and it seems funny on a non-Christmas carol? But okay…
That quirkiness aside, the opening lines resonate with me. I may not love Nia, but she should never doubt my sincerity. I will do whatever it takes to make her sure of us, of the fact I’ll make her happy. Then the male vocalist croons with a plaintive tone something I should probably be asking myself when it comes to my lovely assistant-turned-girlfriend. Because really, God only knows what I’d be without her. Lost at work and home. Lost professionally and personally.
I can’t let her go.
Twenty minutes of her meticulous navigation and a few more classic tunes later, we arrive. I’m not exactly sure why we’re at an older strip mall in an unfamiliar but established neighborhood. The second I help her out of the car, she takes my hand in hers and drags me to an Italian place tucked away in the corner.
Once we’re inside, it’s obviously a casual, family-owned place. Nia catches sight of an older man, who suddenly beams. “Bella!”
“Hi, Lorenzo. I couldn’t let another week go by without seeing my favorite chef.”
The man is fifty-five if he’s a day, and she still manages to make him blush as he comes forward and wraps her in a big bear hug. “Bah. It’s not me you love; it’s my pizza.”
“Can’t I love you both?”
He laughs and wags a finger at her. “Mateo is still single. I give you all the pizza if you marry him.”
“Sorry. I can’t do it, not even for that.”
Lorenzo tosses his hands in the air. “I’ll beat sense into him, make the man-whore settle down.”
Suddenly, a broad woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense expression bustles into the room. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? That son of ours…” She shakes her head and asks before giving Nia a hug. “Oh, bambina. Good to see you.”
“Hi, Guilia. Good to see you, too. This is my…new boyfriend, Evan.”
She frowns. “Same name as your boss?”
“Same man as my boss,” she admits wryly.
“Evan Cook,” I hold out my hand, fascinated by her closeness with the Italian couple.
“Nice to meet you. Be good to our girl or I’ll find a way to marry her off to my son.”
They treat it like a running joke, but I think they’re at least half-serious. “Not if I marry her first. I’ve already asked, by the way.”
I’m staking my claim, and I want everyone to know it.
Nia turns to me, stare pointed. Apparently, she didn’t want me to mention that. I shrug.
“Have you now?” Guilia asks, then regards Nia. “Where is the ring?”
I pause. Valid question. Perhaps a ring wouldn’t change Nia’s answer, but it would prove I’m serious. After all, the notion of putting a ring on a woman’s finger led me to proposing in the first place.
“I haven’t said yes,” Nia points out.
“Yet,” I add. I may have overlooked something that, in retrospect, seems obvious, but I’m hardly done trying to convince her. “I’m not giving up.”
“Okay, I like this one,” the older woman says. “If I must give up the idea of you reforming Mateo, I can do that if this man loves you.”
Her smile is jovial, but beside me Nia stiffens.
That L-word. Again. Why has everyone attached such illogical and often fleeting emotion to an arrangement that can be both practical and necessary? A home, safety, and financial security in exchange for sexual ease, domestic help, and companionship; the arrangement is enduring and timeless. Of course, Nia supports herself, but I can give her far more. And I’m convinced that she alone can give me everything I need.
“It’s only our second date,” she says into the awkward silence, then winks. “But I’m hopeful.”
The older couple smiles and shows us to our table. We’ve barely opened a bottle of Chianti and enjoyed a few ravioli appetizers that melt in my mouth when Lorenzo delivers us a big, veggie-laden pie.
As much as I believe in clean eating, I have a weakness for pizza. After one bite, I’m hooked.
“This is fantastic. If the pizza is free, maybe you should marry Mateo and keep me on the side,” I joke.
“Ha. You only say that because you can’t cook. And because you haven’t met Mateo.”
Suddenly, something occurs to me. “Did you date him?”
“For about three months.”
I don’t like the way she gets quiet. “And?”
“Like Lorenzo said, he’s a man-whore. The whole time he was dating me, he was sleeping with someone else.”
And her. She doesn’t say so, but it’s implied.
“He hurt you?”
“Not really,” she assures. “He pissed me off. Not caring as much as I should that he was boffing a co-worker was my clue that I needed to end things.”
“How long ago was that?” I want her to tell me it was a long time ago. I want her to tell me it was way before we met.
“Two years ago. Remember when I told you I was spending a lot of time with friends on a houseboat in the bay that summer? I lived with Mateo in July, August, and part of September. So I spent a lot of time with Lorenzo and Guilia.” She shrugs. “Everything ended when my mom got sick and passed away. Mateo wasn’t there for me, but his parents were. I don’t know how I would have made it through that time without them. They’re like family to me.”
I have mixed feelings about that. When she sees them, I’ll bet she sometimes runs into her ex-lover. That hardly thrills me. But I also know how much family and the bonds of closeness matter to her. Since she has none, it’s understandable that she found people she adores to act as her surrogates. It’s endearing, too. But it also proves that Nia is smart since she didn’t marry Mateo simply to have one.
Isn’t that what you did?
I shove the voice in my head aside. It doesn’t understand. Becca and I were different. We were not only survivors and like minds, but well-matched. Kindred spirits, even. We’d been together long enough to know one other and understand what our marriage would be. Becca appreciated our quiet. Maybe we weren’t as passionate as some couples, but she had been through a lot. Besides, there’s more to life than sex.
Though I admit it’s feeling a lot more important now that I’m with Nia.
I scowl at that observation.
“I’m not interested in him anymore, so wipe that frown off your face. I only brought you here tonight because of the amazing pizza.”
As much as some stubborn part of me wants to argue with that, I can’t. “It’s delicious.”
“And because it’s really close to where we’re heading next. I hope you’re in the mood to dance.”
Dance? I’m picturing a bar with loud music and strangers pressing against one another, getting more desperate as the night goes on. The good news is, people are usually having fun and getting drunk, so they shouldn’t notice me. “I’ve never danced.”
“Never?”
I don’t know why she looks so shocked. “A lot of people have never danced.”
She raises her brows. “I don’t know any. Surely you danced at least once at your wedding reception.”
“Rebecca and I were married at the county courthouse. After I paid for the marriage license and the costume-jewelry wedding rings, I had forty-three dollars to my name. Neither of us had family or friends attending. So no reception.”
Nia looks stunned. “Diana didn’t come?”
“She never liked Becca.” And that always bothered me.
“Why?”
“According to Diana, I’m a ‘strong personality,’ and she thought I needed someone equally strong to balance me. Becca was fragile. As she matured and felt more secure, she grew a better sense of self. But Diana is the sort of person who makes up her mind once and there’s no changing it.”
Nia pauses. “Okay, so you didn’t dance at your wedding. What about school events? The prom?”
I shake my head. “I spent most of my time with computers, and Becca’s foster father would never have let her go to anything like that.”
“Well, since you’ve missed out on all the fun of the dance floor, I’m going to help you make up for lost time.”
“I’m going to be horrible at this.”
She laughs. “First, we don’t know that for sure. Second, everyone has to start somewhere.”
“What about you? How did you start dancing?”
“My mom worked a lot. One of her friends owned a dance studio and watched me after school so I wouldn’t be alone. I was six when I decided I didn’t want to watch anymore.” She shrugs. “I spent years dancing, lots of it competitively in high school. I’ve got ribbons and trophies galore if you want to see sometime.”
“When did you find burlesque?” I’m displeased that she seeks attention from strangers by taking most of her clothes off on stage, but I still want to understand.
“My first year of college. I had a TA who danced on the side. She broke her ankle skiing and asked if I could fill in until she healed.” Nia shrugs. “I’ve been hooked since. I know you think it’s the same as stripping, but burlesque is an art form. It’s a tease. No one is shoving bills in my thong. No one touches me. And no one gets to ask me for a lap dance. I have all the power to shake my thing, give the audience a wink, and go home alone.”
“Do you get hit on at the club?” I don’t know why that possibility hasn’t occurred to me sooner. Heck, I don’t even know why I bothered to ask now. “Of course you do.”
“It happens. Most guys accept a gracious but firm no. For the ones who are a little more persistent, Kyle is usually around and willing to play boyfriend. It’s not perfect, but it works.”
Not for me, it doesn’t. And it seems as if everywhere I turn, I’m confronted by Nia’s exes.
“How many lovers have you had?” The question is out before I can stop it.
She tenses. “More than you. Is that a problem? It doesn’t make me a slut.”
“No. It doesn’t. I-I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Then what did you mean?”
This is my insecurity showing. This is me wondering if I can make her happy emotionally…and sexually. I lack her experience. It’s not as if I can blame her for what she did before we got together. And I don’t regret my years with Becca. After all, our choices have led us here.
Sex with Nia blew my mind, but I’m wondering if I can really do the same for her. The passion we shared in her dressing room was unexpected and urgent, like a sudden tornado that swept us both up. But if we deliberately planned to spend the night together, took our time and shared our pleasure slowly? I don’t know if I could turn her inside out and persuade her to surrender herself to me. Once with Nia was enough to tell me that she’s vastly different in bed than Becca. I’m wondering if I’m actually prepared for a woman like her.
“That I don’t want to disappoint you.”
She softens. “I don’t think you can.” I must still look unconvinced, because she sighs and takes my hand. “Look at it this way: I’ve had a little experience with a lot of guys. None of it lasted. None of it wowed me. None of it was with anyone I loved. You have a lot of experience with one woman. You know what it’s like to really connect, keep it fresh, and make something last. I don’t think one kind of experience is better than the other. And I don’t think any of that really matters. I’m not thinking about Kyle or Mateo when I’m with you. And I hope you’re not thinking about Becca when you’re with me.”
“No.” In truth, Nia seems to have settled somewhere inside me and taken over half my brain functions…and most of my cock.
“Then let’s just be us. No labels, no judgment. No worries. If it’s meant to be, we’ll figure it out. If it’s not, then we’ll hope that we’ve each learned something from the experience and made one another feel good while it lasted.”
I suspect she’s right, but I prefer something more. “I’m looking to get married.”
“And I’m only looking to get married for the right reasons.”
Love. That’s what she means. This conversation frustrates me because a poetic, idealized emotion is completely unnecessary. I’m even more annoyed that I have four more candidates I could interview for the position of wife, and yet I’m only interested in Nia. This is clearly a defect in my thought process. Maybe I should chalk it up to the sex drive not being logical. Whatever the reason, I’m not willing to give up trying to convince her that we could be happy together without silly Prince-Charming fantasies.
Instead of railing, I need to be rational and show her all the unmistakable, cogent reasons she should marry me, starting with family. She wants one? I have one. They’ll love her. And she will absolutely adore them.
“I get it. And I appreciate the honesty,” I say finally. “But I intend to marry you.”
“Evan—”
“Before you protest, tell me what you’re doing for Thanksgiving.”
She frowns at the change of subject. “Well, I’m thinking about doing a 5K. I’ll DVR the parade so I have something to do besides miss my mom. I’ll probably eat Chinese takeout from down the street. You?”
I smile and go in for the kill. “I’m going to Maui. Come with me. If there’s any chance we’re going to spend our lives together, then I want to introduce you to my siblings and their spouses. Plus, you can get a feel for the island and make sure it’s someplace you could actually see yourself living.”
Nia hesitates, likely weighing the pros and cons. “Actually, that’s a decent idea. It makes sense to see the island before I decide whether to move. And I’d like to meet your siblings.”
I’ve got her. “I’m leaving Monday morning. I was planning to stay for twelve days.”
“I don’t have that much vacation time saved.”
“I know the boss.” I wink. “I’m pretty sure I can fix that for you.”
“All right, then. That sounds really nice.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re not spending your first holiday without Becca alone in your apartment.”
“Me, too.” I already knew I couldn’t, but having Nia with me will give me so much more to be thankful for.
“I’ll need to find a hotel and a flight. My credit card is going to hate me, but—”
“No, it’s not. I’m flying charter. I think I can find you an extra seat on the plane, maybe the one next to me. And don’t worry about hotel. We’ll be staying with my sister and her husband.”
Her eyes pop out. “You mean the Noah Weston?”
“Yes. You know football?”
“Um, yeah. Growing up in the south, you live and breathe it. Lots of the guys in high school idolized him. Are you sure he and Harlow won’t mind?”
“They’ll enjoy it. And we won’t be in the way. They have a huge place with eight bedrooms. Right on the ocean. With a great pool. The weather will be fantastic.” I grin her way. “Are you convinced yet?”
“Yes.” She gives me a self-deprecating laugh. “Geez, I sound easy.”
“Easy?” I shake my head. “No, I just said all the right things.”
“Okay, we’ll go with that conclusion.”
Guilia boxes up the leftover pizza and waves off my credit card. They say goodbye to Nia with a big hug and a promise to get together soon.
When we reach the car, I unlock it and hold her door open. “Where am I going?”
Nia takes the box from my hand, tosses it in the front seat, then swings her hip into the door. It shuts with a click. “Right there.”
She points across the parking lot at the side unit. The front is a huge floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window. Above is a tired sign lit in flashing red that reads DANCING DELIGHTS STUDIO. It’s not a bar. It’s not a club. It’s… I don’t know what it is.
“Explain,” I demand.
“What?” She leads me across the asphalt. “I said we were going dancing.”
“I assumed that meant someplace crowded and loud, where I could blend in and no one would care how I looked or that I’ve never danced. This…”
“Is a place where they teach people to ballroom dance.”
“Fuck me.” I close my eyes.
She giggles. “You’ll be fine.”
“Well, if I die of embarrassment, I know who to blame.”
That makes her laugh harder. “You won’t. I promise. Besides, we’re both beginners. I’ve never done this, either.”
“So…are we learning to waltz or foxtrot?” When Nia presses her lips together and shakes her head, I know immediately she’s withholding something. “What? Tell me.”
She sighs. “We’re going to rumba.”
I frown. “I know what a rhomboid is. I know what a rhombus is. I even know how to define a rumpus. But rumba doesn’t compute.”
“That’s why we’re here. To learn. And no, it’s not a muscle, a shape you used in geometry, or a commotion.”
“I’m going to suck at this. No telling Bas—or anyone. I’m swearing you to silence.”
“Don’t you want to know what the rumba is?”
“Only because I have to face it.”
Nia takes my hand and leads me toward the studio’s red door. “The dance of love.”
No holding back a groan as we make our way inside. Four other couples are waiting, all of various ages and backgrounds with two things in common: the women look excited…while the men are looking for the exit.
We pause a few feet inside the door. The guys are sizing one another up, probably wondering who will be the worst at this. The answer is surely me, and the fact I’m still willing to do this for Nia says something, probably that I’m either brave or stupid.
“Good evening, everyone,” says a man with brown hair, arms bulging out of his black tank. He’s got tight pants and a Russian accent. “I am Pasha. And tonight, Lacie is my partner. We will teach you basics of my favorite Latin dance, rumba. It is dance of love. Before we begin, we will demonstrate so you feel movement’s mood and pace. Watch.”
The willowy blonde at his side presses a remote, and Latin music fills the air. It’s slow and sultry and makes me think of humid breezes, warm evenings, and sex. Okay, this isn’t bad…so far.
Then the pair starts moving, hips swinging in synch, as they move closer, circling one another. The footwork is intricate. Her arms create fluid lines and flourishes all around her body as she sways and shifts, seeming to lure him in. He stands tall, shoulders squared, seducing her with the flow of his movements and his eyes. He shifts his weight, undulating, posturing, and preening.
“Men’s hips don’t move like that.” I whisper against Nia’s ear.
She represses a laugh and gestures to Pasha. “Obviously, they do. Now, hush and pay attention.”
By the end of their demonstration, I’m convinced I will never learn to do this dance half so well, especially in the three hours we’ll be here. What I do think, however, is I’ll get to watch Nia’s lush, lithe body move in the sexiest ways. That, I can appreciate.
We spend some time learning basic movements—a box step, a slow-quick-quick-slow rhythm to our footwork, and something called a crossover. And let’s be honest, I suck every bit as much as I thought. I’m a shit show with two left feet. But Nia is incredible. Watching her sway and flow while I rub up against her in the name of dance is a damn good time.
At the end of the three hours, we put everything we’ve learned together into a forty-second demonstration, and I’m more mesmerized by the way she lures me closer with a come-hither sweep of her fingers and her supple, seductive moves than counting my own steps.
God, everything about her draws me in. I don’t know how or why I’ve overlooked her for months now. I only know I’m determined to have her tonight.
And for the rest of our lives.
At the end of the class, we’re given a pat on the back and encouraged to come back for a six-week course of lessons beginning in January. I smile blandly. And I’m the first guy to pull his girl out the door and into the car.
When I toss the pizza box into the back and slide into the driver’s seat beside her, she’s frowning. “Evan, you practically ran a ten-yard dash out of that place. What’s wrong—”
“I have to kiss you,” I say in a rush before I fill my fingers with the loose curls at her crown, lower my head, and capture her lips.
As she gasps in surprise, I thrust deep. Our suddenly rough breaths fill the car. I’m cursing the console between us as our kiss turns endless. I devour her with a hunger I can’t fight, and I’m vaguely aware of the momentary bright flash of headlights, signaling that the other couples have left the lot. Somewhere in my head, I know I need to release Nia, drive back to my place, then pray like hell I can persuade her to let me peel off her second-skin of a dress and take her to bed.
In the back of my mind, I’m still aware that I haven’t nailed a few hundred women, like my brothers did before they married. I’m worried that puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to pleasing Nia, but I want her too badly to let that stop me from trying.
Suddenly, her hand drops to my thigh. I counter, gliding my palm up from her waist until I’m cupping her breast through the thin white fabric. I brush the hard tip with my thumb, enjoying her throaty little moans and wishing like hell I had her naked.
When I reach inside the dress and lift her flesh from the confines of her bodice, she grips my forearm to stay me. “Evan, this is a parking lot.”
She means it’s a public place where people might be able to see us. I understand…but her panting little voice is subverting my brain.
“My windows are tinted.”
“But—” she protests…until I glide my lips up her neck and my fingers tease her bare nipple. “Oh…”
I moan in return. She has the most gorgeous scent behind her ear, thick and swirling, like amber. She’s musky, earthy…but with a hint of something sweet. It drives me wild. She drives me wild. For almost two weeks, I’ve questioned what happened in her dressing room. I’ve never been impulsive or felt so compelled to touch a woman. I never believed in an unstoppable need for sex, certainly never thought it could overtake my logic and overwhelm my better sense. Something about Nia has me questioning my preconceived notions. I’m revved up every moment I’m with her. And when I get close…
“You’re like honey on my tongue.” I lick my way up her throat, loving her whimpers as her nails curl into my thigh and she arches her breast into my hand. “So sweet. So addictive.”
“Evan.” Her head falls back, and she bares her neck in surrender. “Why do you make me feel this way?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I nip at her ear, then dip lower to nibble at her neck.
“You know we can’t do this here.”
No, I don’t know that. As previously stated, my windows are tinted. But a glance around the interior of my car tells me I need to rethink this spatially. If we go much further, my six-foot-three frame won’t fit anywhere that allows me to get inside her.
Unacceptable.
Gritting my teeth, I pull away, tug my phone from my pocket, and ask it, “What’s the fastest way home?”
“Getting directions.”
By the time the device pulls up a map, I’ve already revved the car out of the lot and zoomed toward the highway.
Traffic is light just before midnight. I’m racing down the road, my zipper crushed against my aching cock as I remember the way Nia dances and smells and kisses.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, her voice low in the charged silence.
“That you get to me in a way I’ve never felt.” I swallow. “That when I touch you, I lose my head and my ability to see reason.”
“Lust will do that.” She sounds even quieter.
My first thought is to protest. I know simple lust. When I was married to Becca, I met beautiful women. Sometimes they even propositioned me, especially after I got rich. I never acted on the feeling. But the urgency flaring through my veins now isn’t like that. It’s…more. It’s something I don’t have a name for.
I don’t speak for the rest of the drive. When we reach my place, I park in the garage and cut the engine. Nia reaches for the handle of the passenger door.
“Wait.”
“Evan, it’s late. And I have a late night tomorrow, too.”
Because she’ll be performing. With her ex. I grit my teeth. I know I should let her go; she’s asked me to. I need to think about everything she said tonight. About everything I’ve realized.
It’s the last thing I want.
“All right,” I manage to say. “I had a good time tonight. Thanks for taking me to meet Lorenzo and Guilia, and for introducing me to the people you consider family.”
“Since we’re going to Hawaii, you’ll be doing the same for me.”
I am. And on some level, I realize that introducing her to my new family is more than a tactic to win her over. I want them to approve of her. And I want her to like them. I want to blend her into this new family of mine because what I feel for Nia is more than friendship. It’s definitely more than lust, too. It doesn’t have a name, but whatever it is, no matter how unsettling, I want more.