After another round of ibuprofen and a cup of much-needed caffeine, I was well on my way toward feeling rejuvenated—a whole whopping hour before the end of my workday. But whatever. Considering I’d spent the better part of my morning nursing the small hangover courtesy of the multiple drinks I’d consumed with Nick and the girls, it was just nice to reach the point where the side effects of alcohol had made their official exit, timing be damned.
The slight headache and sleepy eyes I’d started the day with had been my body’s way of saying it’d been a while since I’d engaged in alcohol by shot glass.
I couldn’t complain, though. The headache and fatigue paled in comparison to that one night in college where I’d ended a frat party with my head in the toilet. Everyone has experienced at least one night of drunken debauchery and poor decisions, but I wasn’t sure anyone had done it with quite as much flare as I had.
Let’s just say I walked away with a condom stuck in my hair and an undisclosed array of colors on my white skirt and leave it at that.
Ah, memories.
All the reminiscence had me wondering how Nick was feeling.
I’d chatted with him briefly this morning via text, and he’d been obviously thrilled by my magnificence at planning a night out…and slightly accusatory about the way he felt as a result.
A part of me felt a little bad about dragging him out to a dance club last night, but another part of me, the one who’d danced and kissed and laughed her ass off with Nick, didn’t have the slightest regret.
Last night had been fun. More than fun, actually. Having the opportunity to see normally conservative and reserved Nick Raines let loose had been the best damn sight I’d witnessed in a long fucking time.
Taking advantage of the short break in my workday, I grabbed my phone off my desk and sent him a quick message.
Me: Feeling any better?
Nick: I think I might have aged ten years between last night and this morning.
Eeeek. It was probably safe to assume the side effects of alcohol were still running wildly in his veins.
Me: That bad?
Nick: Yes, *that* bad.
Me: Shots were probably a bad choice, huh?
Nick: They were perfect if you were trying to enhance my capability for empathy. Apparently, THIS is what it feels like when I root around in someone’s brain.
Me: LOL. Whoops. What are you doing tonight?
Nick: Letting my liver recover.
I snorted at his response. I could picture him saying those words to me in person, his mouth crested in a sarcastic little smirk.
Me: But it’s Friday, Nick. Liver recovery is for Sundays and Mondays. Tonight, we should go out again and have some fun.
Nick: I think you’re secretly trying to kill me. I’m forty, AKA an old man by drinking standards. And, you do realize I’m inside people’s brains all day, right? Just confirming.
I giggled out loud at his dramatics.
Me: LOL. Don’t be ridiculous. Pretty please, Nick. Hang out with me tonight?
Nick: No begging necessary. I’m a big fan of spending time with you, and I had an amazing time last night. But, tonight, for the sake of civilization and any hope of the brain cells you claim to need for FMSP, I need to stay low-key.
Before I could respond, he sent another text.
Nick: Not gonna lie, I felt like a shit dad this morning when even my daughter picked up on the fact that I was hungover.
Oh hell. Break my heart, why don’t you. My mouth fell into a small frown as I typed.
Me: You are NOT a shit dad. But I’m one hundred percent down with low-key. No alcohol, or even dancing for that matter. Just a nonthreatening, nonviolent, nonmind-altering dinner. I know the cutest little diner a few blocks from your office. They literally serve the very best milk shakes and cheeseburgers the world has ever known.
Nick: Dinner without violence sounds spectacular. I only have one request.
Me: And what’s that?
Nick: You let me kiss you again.
The instant I read his text, I squealed. Out loud. Like a total girl.
Kiss me again? Yes, please!
Nick Raines could press his lips to mine whenever he wanted.
Me: If you must… PS-You must.
Oh boy. I think I have it bad for the brain surgeon.
Harry’s was a staple for NYC locals. Greasy food, kitschy fifties décor, and Harry himself running the show every single day of the week, it was basically an Americana icon. One that I’d frequented with my parents since I was old enough to walk.
With the dinner rush in full swing, a hostess led us to the last empty booth in the joint, and I slid into the vacant seat, only to have my handsome dinner date slide in right beside me.
I grinned at Nick as the hostess with a name tag that read Suzy Q set our plastic menus on the table.
“Our special tonight is the double-decker cheeseburger with a side of fries, and our homemade, Oreo-infused chocolate milk shake,” she explained with a hand to her poodle-skirt-covered hip. “Take your time looking through the menu. I’ll be back to get your orders in a jiff.”
I picked up my menu and moaned out loud at the staged picture of my very favorite item on the bottom of the first page—The San Francisco Frisco Melt.
“Someone sounds a little excited.” Nick chuckled softly beside me, but his eyes stayed fixated on his menu.
“I can’t help it.” I shrugged and shivered playfully at once. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I feel like it’s been a hundred years since I ate at Harry’s.”
“This is my first time eating here.”
“What?” I damn near shouted. “You’re a Harry’s virgin?”
He nodded his amusement, his gaze finally lifting to mine. “That I am.”
“You mean to tell me Harry’s meat has never touched your lips?”
“Very nice, Char.” His eyes were all grimace and disgust, but his lips crested into a smirk. “My appetite is just ravenous now.”
I giggled. “Would you like my recommendations?”
He quirked a brow. “Do I have a choice?”
“No,” I said with a smile. “But sometimes it’s nice to feel like you have a choice, isn’t it?”
Nick grinned. “Have you just given away one of womankind’s greatest secrets? You all just make it seem like we have a choice, like we have some kind of control, but in reality, you’ve chosen everything for us?”
I avoided outing the sisterhood with an innocent smack of my lips and proceeded to give him my Harry’s spiel. “For a newbie, I suggest going for the double cheeseburger and fries. Just so you don’t get overwhelmed by the goodness. But, if you’re feeling real frisky, I highly recommend the Frisco melt.”
“And what is the Harry’s veteran getting?”
“Obviously, the best damn thing on the menu.”
“Do tell what that is,” he demanded, but I shook my head.
“Nuh-uh. That’s top secret, Harry’s VIP kind of information.”
Before he could take the witty banter further, Suzy Q arrived back at our table, setting down two fresh water glasses and napkin covered silverware. “Have we decided?”
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Nick announced cleverly, and I quirked a teasing brow.
“But I haven’t even ordered yet.”
“I know, but I figured it’s best to order the same thing as the woman who seems to know Harry’s meat better than anyone else.”
A barking laugh left my lips. “Ew, gross,” I muttered, and Suzy Q just stared at the two of us like we were crazy.
“Fine,” I acquiesced before our waitress just up and left us to our inside-jokes-focused conversation with none of Harry’s meat for either of us. “We’ll have two Frisco melts, a large order of fries, and two chocolate milk shakes.”
She jotted down our order on her notepad and shouted, over her shoulder and toward the kitchen, “I need two number sevens, a jumbo fry, and two choco shakes!” Once the chef dinged the small silver bell in response, she slid her pen and notepad back into her apron. “Is there anything else I can get ya’s?”
“I think we’re all set,” Nick answered. “Thanks.”
As our waitress walked toward the kitchen, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tucked me in close to his side. “You look beautiful tonight, Char.”
I smiled. “So do you.”
“Isn’t it amazing what a good hangover can do for your skin complexion?” he teased, and I giggled.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. There’s no way your hangover was that bad.”
He raised his brow. “Trust me, it was bad. I would’ve canceled surgeries if I’d had an OR schedule today.”
“Sheesh,” I muttered. “I guess that means we need to work on making your drinking game strong.”
“Hell no.” He laughed and shook his head in two determined side-to-side motions. “I’ll stay alcohol-free, thank you very much.”
“If it makes you feel any better, my morning started out a little rough, too.”
“I guess that does make me feel a little better. It also enlightens me to the fact that you aren’t ashamed to lie for your own amusement.” He shook his head and did his best to change his voice to that of a woman. “Oh, I’m fine. Hungover? Ha-ha-ha. No, sir. I have the blood of a goddess and the heartiness of a god.”
I laughed and covered my mouth with two fingers when the rolling waves refused to stop. “I’m sorry I told you I was fine when you were suffering.” I cleared my throat and bumped up the volume on my faux melancholy. “I only puked twelve times,” I lied again, and his eyes widened in concern.
“Shit. Seriously?”
“No.” I grinned. He discreetly pinched the side of my ass in retaliation. “Actually, I only woke up with a little bit of a headache,” I admitted. “Nothing some ibuprofen wasn’t able to solve.”
“So, if you’re measuring on the same scale as I am, I guess your first proclamation of fine wasn’t so off base. I woke up feeling like I’d attempted my own brain surgery without anesthetic.”
“Eeek.” I grimaced at the metaphor. “Sorry I made you drink last night.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “I haven’t had that much fun in a long fucking time.”
I searched his eyes and smiled at the truth and honesty that lay behind his gaze. “Me either.”
Nick brushed a piece of hair behind my ear and leaned forward, his lips painting barely there, shiver-inducing kisses up and down my neck.
Goose bumps pebbled my skin, and a soft sigh left my lips. “That feels good.”
“It does.”
“Yeah, it does feel good,” I responded. “Really good.”
“That wasn’t a question, Char.” Nick’s eyes met mine, but his lips stayed busy on my skin. “I’m finding that kissing you is my new favorite thing.”
Mine too.
Cripes, if he kept this up, I’d have to tell Harry we needed a rain check.
Just as Suzy Q carried a tray of food toward our booth, Nick placed one final kiss to my shoulder before straightening up in his seat.
My mouth turned down into a little pout of its own accord. When it came to Nick, I seemed to have this incessant craving for more from him. More touches, more kisses, more attention. Just, more.
I silently wondered if I’d been a cat in a past life or something. Lord knows, if he offered to pet me right now, I’d be in his lap and purring my excitement without a second thought.
He brushed his index finger across my mouth. “I think we’re going to need to finish what we started, after we eat, at my place. Sound good?”
Oh my God, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! my brain, and most likely, my vagina shouted. My mouth did a better job of playing it cool. “That sounds perfect.”