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It has been a long day — three classes and a four-hour shift at work. I just want to sink into the couch and have a drink and ignore my stack of homework and also make out with Nick, but that’s not in the cards since I can’t ever work up the courage to make a move on my gorgeous sex-god of a friend. So, a drink and homework it is!
Except that Isaac presents me with a pair of thick ecru envelopes along with my gin and tonic. “What is this?” I ask him as I take the drink and the mail.
“They are addressed to you, Charbino,” he points out.
I roll my eyes and slip a pencil under the flap. Both envelopes hold identical sheets of heavy paper stock that inform me that I’ve been invited to a multi-frat ‘Crush Party’ on Saturday. I hand one to Isaac to read; he hands it back with a smirk. “Whoever could these be from?” he asks archly.
“It’s got to be some sort of prank, right? I barely even know anyone who is in a frat.”
“Besides the obvious?” Isaac asks. When I just blink at him, he reaches over and pets my hair. “Come on, Charlotta. One of them is definitely from Nick.”
“I guess, maybe.” He has been trying to get me to come to one of his house’s dumb parties all year. So maybe he’s hoping my curiosity will get the better of me, and I’ll finally roll up to this one. I fear he’s right. Do people reveal who they invited at these things? What if it’s a joke? I mean, even if it is, at least Nick will be there. Although, maybe he’ll be too busy with whoever he actually wants to sleep with to bother with me. It’s not like Nick exactly lacks for options, given that he’s tall and built and kind and funny and has lips that would look really good bruised from kissing and — Isaac is eyebrowing me. I slump into a sulk on the couch. “I’m hopeless,” I moan.
“Right. At least two guys are interested enough in you to invite you to a party, but ‘hopeless,’ let’s go with that.” Isaac pokes my calf with his foot. “Isn’t there a frat boy in your honors seminar group? Or there’s that guy who’s always hanging around the cafe?”
“Logan Bradford? No way.” I mean, it would be incredibly fucking flattering if it were Logan. He’s definitely cute and clever and has really great hair. What? I’m allowed to be shallow, okay? It’s not like I even have the energy for a real relationship these days, so surface attraction is just fine. It doesn’t have to go anywhere. I don’t really want it to go anywhere.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself since all my attempts at dating since Paul have fizzled spectacularly.
“So you’re going?” Isaac prods me, glancing at me over the top of his copy of A Market of Dreams and Destiny .
Am I? I have, so far, avoided Nick’s hints that I should come, though he has lately stopped trying. I mean, he often ducks out of the parties early to come hang out here, unless I’ve got other plans, which increasingly I do not. A few months ago, I came really close to showing up at one when I got stood up yet again, but I changed my mind at the last minute, went to the club with James, and had the world’s most mediocre night with some guy whose name I can’t even remember instead.
I know I should put myself back out there, but sorry if spending Saturday night curled up on the couch, pretending I’ve fallen asleep as an excuse to lay my head on Nick’s shoulder, imagining that this is a prelude to him carrying me to bed and having his way with me is more interesting than yet another subpar blowie from a stranger. Obviously, that’s not what happens on those nights. The movie ends, Nick ‘wakes’ me up, smiles at me indulgently, and on the way home, I’m sure, scrolls through his contacts and decides who to send a ‘you up’ text.
“Fine, I’ll go,” I grumble. If nothing else, I want to know who sent the other invite….
~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh god, was I supposed to bring the invitation, like do I need proof that I was invited? It doesn’t occur to me until I’m standing in front of the house. Nick’s friend Imogen sees me and grabs my arm. “Charlie Spring! Are you going to the Crush Party?”
“Um, yeah,” I say awkwardly.
She tugs me toward the door. “NICHOLAS!” she sings out as we enter. Nick waves at her, and then looks a little startled when he sees me with her. Of course, he probably invited Imogen; I know they’re close. He keeps telling me they aren’t together and never have been, but come on, they are both gorgeous, and they clearly like each other, so that seems unlikely.
He hugs both of us in greeting, and I overhear someone mutter something about fucking bi guys as they walk past. Imogen shouts a greeting at someone over Nick’s shoulder and takes off after dropping a quick kiss on his cheek, and the two of us are left standing in a weird half-hug until I clear my throat and step back a bit.
Nick smiles at me, and we fall into easy conversation about what we’ve been up to since we last saw each other, all of two days ago. “Do you want a beer or something?” he asks me after a while.
“Do you have anything that isn’t terrible?” I ask with a sly grin.
“Sorry if the free beer isn’t up to your standards, your lordship,” he quips. He raises two fingers up high and moments later, a harassed looking kid runs up with two cans of High Life. “Pledges.” He shrugs.
“Wow, so the music sucks, but at least the service is good?” I tease back.
Otis steps up to us and tells Nick the kegs have arrived and they need his help hauling them in. I nod and let him go, feeling incredibly uncomfortable and out of place. I find a patch of wall to lean against as I watch the house fill up with pretty people. I recognize a few of them, but no one I know well enough to talk to. So, I go in search of a drink instead and, when I pull my hand out of a cooler, Logan Bradford is there.
“Hey!” he shouts over the loud music. “Charlie, right?”
“Um, yeah,” I agree. “Hi, Logan.”
“Come dance with me,” he suggests. And I immediately drop the can of sad bad beer back into its ice bath and follow him to the area where people are bouncing around. Because why not. “It’s nice to see you outside of the cafe,” he tells me as we shimmy around.
“Are you…. Did you invite me?”
“You sound surprised. You shouldn’t be.” He grins at me. Is it weird that ten seconds ago, he pretended not to be sure about my name? Maybe he’s just more awkward than he seems. We spin a bit and, behind him, I see Nick glaring at us from across the room. A guy comes up to him, I think it’s one of the guys on his club soccer team. He grabs Nick’s shoulder and starts an urgent monologue. Nick looks spooked, and like he’s trying to back himself further into the wall. I feel an immediate impulse to go rescue him, but then Logan drops a hand on my waist, distracting me. “I’m glad you came,” he says into my ear, and I feel a jolt of warmth. He really is hot. He asks me a few questions about my major and why he hasn’t seen me at a party like this before. He seems like maybe he’s actually nice?
“Logan!” someone shouts, and I let him get pulled away. I actually don’t mind. It gives me a moment to collect my thoughts. So I make my way over to Nick, who seems to plan on spending the evening holding up that wall.
“Hey!” I call out. “If I say I’m thirsty, can you do that neat trick again?”
Nick laughs and bumps my hip with his, and hopefully was too busy waving down an aspiring frat brother to notice the way I swooned at that. “So, how long before you sneak out of this party?” I ask him.
“Well, you’re here.” He gives me a half shrug. “So I guess I’ll stick around.”
He’s… joking? Right? Because that makes it sounds like he dips out of parties and comes to my apartment because I’m there, instead of what I’ve always assumed, which is that he hates these things and can’t easily escape since they are in his house , and he comes to mine because it’s a reliable place to crash.
I’m struggling for how to respond to this when a tall blond with a spectacular pout waltzes up and petulantly announces that she has to talk to Nick, right now . Nick glances at me apologetically, says he’ll be right back, and allows himself to be pulled into a corner. I think I hear the girl say ‘why did you invite me if you’re just going to ignore me all night?’ as they walk away. But I’m distracted from my attempts to eavesdrop by Logan’s arrival.
“Do you want to go somewhere quieter and talk?” he asks, brushing his fingers across the top of my hand.
“Sure,” I agree with a smile. It’s cool out on the back lawn, but not too cold. We chat about our plans for after graduation, and while it’s pretty clear that we want different things out of life ultimately, that doesn’t mean we couldn’t have some laughs for a few months, you know, if that’s on the table. Which, it increasingly seems to be, the more we chat, the more he tells me I have a cute laugh and he likes my hair, the more he keeps dropping little touches on my shoulder and waist and wrist.
I go to get us more beers, making a detour to one of the bathrooms on the way. I rearrange my hair and practice smiling coyly in the mirror a few times before I exit. I pass Nick, having a fraught conversation with a different girl this time. The kegs are set up now, so I fill a pair of cups and head back out. It takes me a few minutes to find Logan, as the party has started really spilling out onto the backyard.
As I get closer, I notice he’s talking to a couple of other guys, including, unfortunately, one I recognize. After Paul and I split, I made a few big mistakes, and Phil is absolutely one of those. “Taking you a while to seal the deal,” he’s saying to Logan.
“Look, I know he’s a sure thing, but I figure he’ll be a lot sweeter if I make him think this might not be a one-off,” Logan replies.
I stop still, beer slopping over the top of the Solo cups onto my hands. My heart leaps into my mouth. Fuck, I should have known this was too good to be true. Part of me wants to do something dramatic, cause a scene, kick him in the balls, dump the beers over his perfect hair…. For a moment, I let these dramatic scenes play out in my head. But instead I turn on my heel and head back inside to the kitchen sink to dump out the beers.
“Hey! You okay?” Nick grabs the cups and sets them on the counter, then wraps an arm around me. “Charlie, seriously, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” I manage. I grab one of the cups and chug down the contents. “Just, you know, another perfect night.”
I start to grab the other cup, but Nick gently grips my wrist. “Okay, drinky,” he chides me. I glare at him and he tugs at my arm. “Come dance with me,” he says quietly. I blink up at him in surprise — Nick rarely dances unless forced — but I nod and let him pull me over to join the writhing throng. At first we just sway a bit, but then Nick steps closer to me and rests a hand on the small of my back, and it’s just weird to let my arms hang there now, right? So I rest them on his shoulders, and he presses closer. His face is so close to mine that it’s hard to look right at him, so I look past him, at the other people dancing, and at a couple of girls who are staring daggers at me. People have been coming at Nick all night; is he using me as a shield? Or trying to make me feel better? He must have gathered that things went south with Logan. But when I dare to look at his face, the look in his eyes is intense, and he keeps his eyes on mine as he drags me just a little closer.
The next song has a faster rhythm, and his thigh keeps brushing against mine. My heart is beating so fast that I’m not sure I’m actually getting oxygen to my limbs. Except that I can definitely feel it when Nick runs one hand from my wrist to my shoulder and back again. I can feel the warmth radiating off him, and suddenly I feel overheated. “I think I need another drink,” I say quietly.
“Charlie, are you sure that’s what you want?” His voice has dropped an octave and he practically whispers this in my ear.
“Whatever,” I snort, trying to maintain some semblance of chill. “This free swill is practically water anyway.”
“I’ve got better stuff up in my room,” he says, and he’s still holding my wrist.
It’s rather distracting, the gentle way he’s holding me. But I shake my head. “I’m not dragging you away from your party, Nick. Besides, don’t you want to find the crush you invited and talk to them?”
“Who says I haven’t?” Nick asks. And now his thumb is stroking a circle over my skin.
Oh .
So many thoughts run through my brain that they slam into each other and bounce off and lay in piles around my head, flailing and trying to get my attention.
“You say you have something better to offer me in your room?” I manage. Okay, that actually sounded almost smooth.
“Yeah. I hope so,” Nick says, one of those beautiful lopsided smiles sliding across his lips. “I know you’re pretty discerning.”
This is giving me a lot of credit, but far be it for me to correct him. “Well, I think maybe my taste is improving.”
“Let’s hope it lives up to your expectations.” Oh my god, this is flirting. We are hardcore flirting. I smirk at him and give a little shrug, when what I really want to do is climb him and cling to him and have him carry me up the stairs. Nick adjusts his grip on my wrist so that he’s holding my hand instead. He leads me through the crowd and up the stairs, staunchly ignoring a couple of questioning looks and a big double thumbs up from Imogen. My heart pounds at the idea that maybe something is actually going to happen, and that this isn’t just some misdirect where he gets me into his room and then just hands me an IPA or something.
Given the way he pulls me in behind him and then gently presses me against the door to close it, I don’t think I’m reading the room wrong for once. When he inhales, his chest brushes against mine, and if I tried to look up into his eyes, there’s so little room between us that we would be kissing. I’m not entirely sure what keeps me from doing that, what keeps my gaze firmly turned toward the sight of his left hand on my right arm, but some part of me needs him to be the one to move first.
“Charlie?” he whispers.
I turn my head to look up at him, which means my cheek brushes against his, and then my lips graze against his. And then we are kissing. At first, it’s tentative, gentle, and his hands come up to cup the sides of my face. Then suddenly it’s not, and his tongue is in my mouth and his fingers are in my hair, and I am clinging to his shoulders like I might fall to the ground if I let go.
He stops, resting his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. Then he pulls back slightly so we can look at each other. There’s just enough light from the fairy lights over his bed that I can see his expression. We should talk, right? Figure out what we’re doing and what this means? I mean, if we stop right now, we can both pretend we’d had way more to drink than we actually have and maybe we can still salvage the friendship. He’s searching my face like he’s trying to read my mind, and he looks a little desperate as I stand there not saying anything.
“Nick.” I realize I’m worrying my bottom lip, and he is watching it intensely . “If we do this, what happens tomorrow?”
He gives a little half shrug. “We do this again?”
A giggle bubbles up out of me, and I kiss him again to muffle it. This will be fine. We will figure it out. At least I really fucking hope so. His hands come up to hold the sides of my face again, and I don’t know why that’s so simultaneously hot and comforting, but his thumb brushing across my cheek like that is inexplicably making my dick jump. He kisses a path down from the corner of my mouth to my neck, and within seconds has found the spot that makes me surge up onto the balls of my feet, my hand gripping his hair hard to hold him in place. I can hear his breathy laugh against my skin, but I don’t care, because my other hand is under his shirt and his skin is so warm and soft, and I really want to know if he has freckles on the small of his back.
Nick slides his hands under my shirt as well, and then he grips the hem and tugs twice, pulling back to look at me. He’s asking permission, and I nod so quickly I give myself a head rush. Instead of just wrenching it off, Nick pushes it up slowly, trailing his fingers over my stomach and dipping his head to kiss my chest and then tongue at my nipple piercing, at which point my brain basically goes offline for a moment, and completely without my brain’s permission, my mouth is letting out breathy little cries that just get louder as he slowly pulls the shirt up my arms. His lips follow the shirt along the skin of my underarm and up the sensitive skin of my inner arm to my elbow, and then my arms are pinned above my head as the shirt sleeves tangle around my wrists.
Once my arms are free, I wrap them back around Nick and we kiss again. God, I never kiss anyone this much, but I just want to keep kissing Nick forever. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth and he crushes me against the door, his weight falling deliciously against me. I roll my hips against him and he moans against my mouth, then starts kissing his way down my jaw and neck and chest. I grab at the fabric of his shirt so that it peels off him as he drops down, and yes, the lights in here are pretty dim, but there appears to be a smattering of freckles absolutely everywhere on his back. I want to kiss each one. However, I am somewhat distracted by the fact that Nick has squatted down and is untying the laces of my hightops , an act that I did not expect to find inexplicably erotic, but here we are, and the way he lifts my foot out of my shoe, I mean…. The gentle grip on my ankle and the intense looks Nick gives me as he switches sides…. I am going to pass out from the blood rushing into my cock before we even get our clothes off. He stands up and we kiss again, some more, naked chests pressing together this time, and he bumps against me as he maneuvers to toe off his Vans.
“Charlie.” His fingers trace the skin just above my jeans and I shiver.
“Take them off,” I blurt, like the absolute disaster that I am.
“What do you want tonight, Charlie?” Nick asks.
“Whatever you want.”
“You don’t know what I want though, Charlie.”
I can’t imagine there’s anything Nick would want that I wouldn’t. “Nick, I know you’re not going to hurt me,” I say quietly. He looks a little stunned and just shakes his head, like the entire notion of hurting me is absurd. Which is why I know I don’t need to worry. Because it’s Nick. And I can’t tell him what I want, because the answer is everything, all of it, forever and all at once. So instead I just say, “Right, so whatever you want.”
Nick holds my gaze as he unfastens my Levis. Thank god, I wore the loose pair tonight and he doesn’t have to peel them off me. Instead, they slide cooperatively down my legs, and I slip my socks off as well. Nick’s fingertips are still pressed to my hips. “I want you to get on the bed,” he says quietly.
It almost sounds like an order, and some part of my brain fizzes at this. I swallow back the urge to say ‘yes, sir’ as I slide out from between the door and Nick to drop myself onto his mattress, sitting back a bit, using my hands to prop myself up. Now that we aren’t pressed together, I have a glorious view of his chest and stomach and arms, and Jesus, I want him to just get over here already so I can touch all of it. Nick stands in front of me, and I hear myself whimper a bit as he undoes his belt and his button fly. This is actually, really, for real, happening. Nick Nelson just told me to get on his bed, and now he’s standing in front of me in just his boxers.
I’m expecting him to kiss me again, but instead he sinks down to his knees on the carpet, reaches for the waistband of my boxer briefs, and looks up at me as he starts to pull them off. I give him a nod, as I have absolutely zero interest in stopping whatever he’s about to do, which is almost certainly what I think he is about to do, and Jesus Christ please, please, please let me be right. So I cooperatively lift my hips up to make it easier for him to get them off and then his mouth is on me. I grab his shoulders and try not to jerk up against him as Nick very enthusiastically sucks my cock. I fall back onto my elbows and I can hear the gasps juddering out of me. I am vaguely aware that Nick has reached into his nightstand; a tube of lube and a condom hit the quilt near me, but I can’t really focus on anything except Nick’s tongue and lips and the hot, wet slide of him over me. He pauses for a moment and looks up at me, clearly wanting me to get a good view of him smiling at me around my dick. “Jesus Christ, Nick.” He laughs, and the sensation of that with me inside his mouth about pushes me over. I grab his hair and think that this is where I would tell myself to think about baseball, if I actually knew anything about baseball. Nick pulls off gently and kisses the crease of my thigh. I take a deep breath and manage to crawl down from the edge. At least until Nick slides a slickened finger over my hole, and I have to grab the bedding under me.
“Turn over, Charlie,” Nick whispers, and I admit that I’m a little disappointed that he doesn’t want to look at me as we do this, but then his tongue runs lightly over me, and I just shout into the quilt and steel myself against the urge to press my ass back into him. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, and the obvious amusement in his voice makes me whine.
“Don’t you dare,” I tell him, and Nick wraps his arms under my legs and around to pull me gently apart. His tongue glides over me again and I feel, I don’t know, powerless, but also safe. No one has done this before, and I don’t think I would ever have let anyone else, but if this is what Nick wants—and my god it feels good—and then he’s got one finger inside me and, just, I know I’m babbling and I am barely cogent, but I’m not coherent right now. I’m just a mass of firing synapses with fireworks bursting over my skin and an urgent need for him to give me more and also to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.
“You like that?” he purrs against my skin.
“Yes, so good,” I pant.
“I’m a little angry with you, Charlie,” he tells me as he gently slides in a second finger. He sits up slightly and takes a swig of water from a cup on the table, then spits into a tissue.
“Why?” I gasp. His fingers feel good, but it’s not enough, and I’m wantonly pushing back against him now.
“You made me wait a long time, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t know,” I moan. God, this possessive side of Nick is not something I was expecting, and I like it a lot more than I thought I would. “I’m yours now,” I whisper, hoping that doesn’t sound stupid to him.
Given the way he groans and kisses my shoulders, I’m thinking not. He creates a little space between us, and I think he’s taking his boxers off. I really want to see him, but he’s got a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. “Yeah? Say that again, Charlie.”
Fuck. “I’m yours, Nick. Please.”
“Charlie.” He pulls his fingers out and lays the whole of his weight against me, including his cock, which I would really like to get a look at, but he feels so good pressed against me like this. “My Charlie.”
“Yes,” I gasp out. He kisses my neck and then I turn my head so I can see him as he lifts off and reaches for the condom. “Wait!” I cry out as he starts to rip open the foil. He looks startled and worried, so I sit up and reach out an arm. “No, just, I want to touch you first,” I tell him.
Nick immediately sits down next to me, back against the headboard, and nods, his eyes fixed on my hand as I slide it up his thigh and then over the silky heft of him. I glide my fingers over him down to the root, and then wrap my fist around him on the way back up. He grunts and presses into my grip. I hold my other hand out for the condom and he keeps his eyes on my fingers as I sheathe him in the latex. I climb up over him and squeeze some lube onto his hand and then wrap both of our hands around his cock and stroke him a bit faster until his eyes lift to mine and his mouth falls open a bit. I feel myself grinning; I’m in charge now and the prickle of that feeling relaxes my shoulders. His open admiration of me as I shift to hover over him is the biggest turn-on of all time.
“You’re mine too,” I whisper as I guide myself down onto him. The stretch hurts for a moment, and I close my eyes and ignore his groan as I adjust. Then I look directly into his eyes as I sink down fully onto him.
“Oh my god, Charlie,” he moans, his head falling back, eyes closing against the sensation.
“No,” I chide. “Look at me.”
“Fuck,” he gasps, but he listens, eyes clapped to mine as I slowly move up and down on him a few times. “Oh my god, Charlie.” His hands move to my hips, helping me to move and speeding me up just slightly. It feels so good, and somehow still not quite real, that Nick Nelson is inside me, that I’m here in his bed, that he dragged me up here and kissed me against his door and pulled my clothes off. But then his hands drift up my back and one grasps the back of my head and pulls me in for another kiss as he frantically strokes my hair, and it begins to feel a lot more real. I’m fucking Nick and he’s fucking me back and swallowing every desperate, pathetic noise I make as his cock drills up into me and mine slides against his stomach.
Suddenly, he grabs my thigh and rolls, tumbling us across the mattress with me under him. It pushes a sob out of my chest, and he kisses my neck and my jaw and my shoulders as he thrusts into me, pushing my knee up over his shoulder. “Oh my god, that’s so good, do that again,” I order him. He does. Again and again and again. I reach over my head to grip the quilt with one hand, the other running over his back.
Nick licks my knee and kneads the muscles in my thigh, looking absolutely enraptured. I think maybe Nick is a leg man, and being able to string any sort of complete thought together right now makes me giggle. He looks at me and smiles. “Are you laughing at me, Charlie?”
I shake my head urgently. “Absolutely not. Just happy.”
That makes him beam at me, and then he wraps a hand around my prick. “Well, let’s make you even happier, Charlie.” He starts to stroke me in rhythm with his thrusts, and I do my best to move with him as I become increasingly overwhelmed by all the sensation. “You’re so beautiful, Charlie,” he whispers.
“Gonna come,” I announce. “Oh my god, Nick!”
“Yeah, come for me, Charlie. I want that so much. Want to make you feel good.”
“You are, you are, you are!” He’s moving faster, and I want to watch his face, want to see how he looks when he climaxes, but it’s too much, and I can’t, I can’t. There’s just the wet slide of him inside of me and the pulse of his cock buried in me and his warm palm on me and his voice in my ear and the violet starfield behind my eyelids as I let go. “Nick, Nick, Nick, please.” I feel the shudder of him against me and knowing he’s coming too…. It’s so much, it’s almost too much, and then I finish, and he collapses against me, his breath cooling the sweat on my neck.
After a moment of silence, his lips brush my skin again, and his hand moves to gently dislodge mine, where it’s still clutching the quilt. Nick lifts up slightly on his elbow to look me in the eye. “Hi,” he whispers nonsensically.
“Hi,” I laugh back. He laughs too, and holds my face for another kiss. There’s the slightly awkward beat when he rises up and slides out and tosses the condom in the bin, but then he’s back resting on my chest. I kiss his forehead and tap my index finger against the skin of his shoulder, counting the dusting of gingery brown dots there. I lose track and have to start over, especially as he starts kissing my neck again.
I’m aware that there is music playing and there are muffled voices outside the door. Someone knocks and calls Nick’s name loudly, but we both ignore it. “I’m glad you came to my party.”
“I’m glad you invited me.” I decide to just forget that anyone else invited me and to not waste time wondering how many people Nick invited. He smiles at me again and carefully sits up. He grabs a few baby wipes from a packet in the drawer and gently cleans the mess from my belly, then his, and cleans the excess lube off his fingers before using a fresh one to gently wipe me down.
This should be weird, right, the whole aftercare part, considering I just had sex with my best friend. Watching him pull his underwear back on, having him toss me mine, having him grab a couple of beers out of his mini-fridge…. Instead, it just feels oddly normal. Nick grabs us each a pair of joggers and tosses me a hoodie. He offers to order us a pizza, and I ask what the odds are it would reach us through the throng of party people downstairs. It’s like he suddenly remembers that there is an entire party going on in his house, and he looks a little sheepish, says he supposes he could go down and forage for food.
“Text one of the noobs to bring you a platter,” I tease. Nick seems to actually contemplate that for a moment, but then shakes his head and unfortunately puts a shirt on. While he’s gone, I sneak to the bathroom down the hall. It’s blessedly unoccupied, but my hair is absolutely a lost cause. Worth it. I can’t stop smiling at myself in the glass. Imogen is waiting outside the bathroom door, and she and a brunette, who refuses to meet my gaze, quickly shuffle past me. What is it with girls going to the bathroom together? Then, suddenly, a lightbulb goes off and I get why Nick has always insisted there was absolutely nothing going on between him and Imogen.
Nick comes back with a plate laden with various fried snack foods, and we turn on a movie. Resting against his shoulder like this is really familiar. Except now I can do things like squeeze his hand or turn and kiss his cheek. “The catering isn’t too bad,” I tell him. “Maybe I should come to more of these things.”
“I hope you will,” he tells me. “I mean, now that we’re together. Like, I am required to show up at these things. They’d be a lot better if you were here.”
Now that we’re together, now that we’re together, now that we’re together.
“Sure, Nick, now that we’re together . What’s the theme of the next one?” I ask.
By way of answer, he sets the food aside and pulls me onto his lap, and apparently we are not waiting until tomorrow to do this again, and I’ll go to as many stupid frat parties as he wants, as long as they all end this way.
~~~~~~~~~~
AN: Nick only invited one person, but a whole lotta people though Nick invited them. Was it Logan inviting people Nick had banged in the past, looking to keep Nick busy and away from Charlie (since everyone except Charlie had clocked Nick's interest). Was it Otis or maybe Imogen just being a pest? What's your theory?