Seducing Mr. Grumpy

19. No one has to know. [Part 3]

This damn hand.

I try to undress using my good hand, but I’ve clearly overestimated my ability to be self-sufficient, because this injury is making everything difficult. I push my corduroy pants down, first on one side, then the other, managing to get them just past my hips. In the end, I stumble and bump into my dresser, knocking several of my creams onto the floor with a loud clatter.

Holy hell.

“What happened?” Nic walks in while I’m picking things up.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

I hear his tired sigh, then his steps approaching me.

I glance over my shoulder and frown at him.

“I said I’m fine. Go away.”

He ignores me and lifts me gently by the arms. His eyes drop to my half-undressed state, and his frown deepens.

“You can’t get undressed?”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, gritting my teeth.

His hands go to my pants, but I recoil, growling to keep him from helping me. His foul mood has put me in a bad mood too, but in the end, I just trip again and fall backward onto the bed.

“Why are you so stubborn, Summer?”

I stare at the ceiling, defeated.

Apparently, today I can’t do a single thing right.

I hold my tongue and stay silent as he proceeds to undress me. His hands tug at my pants, pulling the fabric down and leaving me in my underwear. There’s nothing s****l about this, nothing tender or affectionate. The atmosphere is as cold as the city’s weather.

I keep staring at the ceiling while I hear him rummaging through my drawers, until he dresses me in a pair of cotton shorts.

“Do you need help with your top too?”

I don’t answer because I could sleep in it; it’s better than—

“Damn it, Summer, why are you so hard-headed?”

Looking off to the side, I sit up on the bed and lift my arms, waiting. He pulls the top over my head. Luckily, I’m wearing a bra, so I don’t show more than I would in a bikini. Then, he slips a comfortable t-shirt over my torso, slides his hands under the fabric, unclasps my bra, pulls it through a sleeve, and turns to leave.

“Why do you have that stick up your ass again?” I snap at him, angry.

“Not today, Summer.”

“I don’t get it…”

“There’s nothing to get.”

“How can there not be? You can’t even look me in the face.”

At my words, he does—Nic turns to look at me—but it might as well not count. I feel like he’s looking right through me… and it hurts.

“What did I do wrong?” I ask, swallowing hard. “Because one moment, you and I… and then the next moment, you and I…”

I know none of what I’m saying makes sense. Ever since that moment on the couch, I’ve been trying to figure out if the friendship line we drew is starting to blur. I’ve been trying to understand day by day what’s happening inside me, trying to grasp my feelings, his feelings, if we’re building something real, if it’s worth risking our friendship for… whatever this is between us.

And now this crap.

It’s driving me insane.

“Is it because of my injury? You know I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Because you’re not reckless, right?”

I flinch as if his words physically hit me. He notices, so he quickly adds, “I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”

“Are you trying to start a fight with me?”

“You’re the one who started arguing.”

“Because you’re acting like a jerk!” I shout, losing my temper, then calm down and ask more softly, “Is it because of what happened on the couch? Because I…”

“No,” he says tiredly, “that was a nothing moment. We were both turned on, that’s all. You know those things happen. It’s normal.”

A nothing moment?

Normal?

What?

It’s not normal for me, not at all.

What I’m starting to feel for him isn’t normal, I’ve never felt it before, and now he wants to brush it off like it means nothing?

I think we’ve avoided this long enough.

I remember my mother’s words, how Nic was the first to reach me and acted so fast. Then I remember his fear when he walked into my hospital room, that lost and frightened expression on his face. I remember these past few days we’ve spent together, his help in my recovery process. I remember it all; every day, every night, every moment we’ve built. And because of those memories, I gather the courage to try.

Slowly, I settle back on the bed and look at him, trying to understand, understand him, understand us, because nothing lately makes sense.

“Will you sit with me?” I ask very softly, not wanting to argue anymore.

He doesn’t move a muscle, so I add, “Please, Nic.”

And there it is—a flicker of pain passes through his eyes before he blinks and it’s gone. Maybe I imagined it, because he still looks hesitant to give in. I fear he’ll turn away and leave, but in the end, he nods and sits beside me, stiff and silent.

I open my hand and quietly examine my stitches, still not daring to look at him. I gather my courage and search for the right words to take that leap of faith I’ve been struggling with these past few days.

“I… I know I’ve also been a little distant and I’m sorry for that, but I… Do you know I can’t stay in one place for more than a month? After that, I get this urge, this need to explore somewhere new. And I’ve always loved what I do, but also, I think… I don’t know… maybe I feel like I haven’t found my place yet, and all this time, unconsciously, I’ve been searching for a safe place.”

I know I’m rambling, stumbling through my words, but I’m so nervous.

“Summer…”

“And I think I found it, I found my safe place.” With fear, I slowly lift my eyes to meet his. “Do you understand me?”

Please don’t make me say it any clearer.

Because I know, deep down, that he’s the reason I haven’t made a decision about my future yet. Because I’m waiting for him to give me a reason to stay, because I’m hoping that whatever this is I’m feeling is mutual… because I want him in my future.

Nic looks away and nods, but says nothing.

I lick my lips and prepare to say the hardest words I’ve ever spoken, the ones that scare me the most and that could cost me everything. Because I know we’ve built something together these past few days and I’m afraid that if I’m not the one who takes the risk, everything we’ve created will fade into nothing.

So I just say it.

“Remember when I told you that loving you and being in love with you weren’t the same thing? Well, I think I’ve crossed that line.”

I’m trembling; even my voice is a little broken with fear, and I wait and wait and wait for his response. My heart beats erratically, but I also feel it stop as I stay there, waiting.

It’s such a strange feeling, this desire to be with someone, to think about my future based on him too, because I want him to be part of that future.

“Nic?” I say very softly, looking at him while hanging from a thread only he can cut.

“You’re right,” he whispers, fueling my hope, “I’ve been off all day.”

“Yeah?” I nod, smiling a little.

“But it has nothing to do with you.”

I place a hand on my stomach, trying to steady my breathing… I’m so nervous.

“What do you mean?”

“While they were treating you at the hospital, I got a call from someone.”

I don’t understand—why is he bringing this up?

“Nic?”

“It was Paige, Archie’s cousin.”

I nod in acknowledgment, because I know her. She’s a stunning model—physically, the complete opposite of me. Where she’s tall, I’m short. Paige has curves where I don’t have that many. Her black hair and dark eyes are nothing like my light brown hair and blue eyes. She’s also older than us, more mature, and so put-together.

I remember that, as a teenager, I once felt insecure because of her. The feeling was fleeting—I only felt it that one time. Back then, I was still trailing behind Nic like his shadow, and his indifference toward her helped ease those insecurities a little.

So why now…?

“I don’t get it, Nic.”

“We…” I see him swallow hard, “we had a fling that lasted a few months… it was the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

Oh.

“I thought you’d never had a girlfriend.”

“She was the closest I ever got to one.”

I still don’t understand, or maybe I do, but my mind refuses to accept it for fear of breaking my heart beyond repair.

“Nic?” I ask again, feeling so foolish saying his name over and over in this weak, trembling voice, but I can’t stop.

“She’s back in London,” he says, rubbing the space between his thumb and index finger, his eyes on his hands. “And suddenly, everything came back to me.”

“Everything?”

“I…”

I lean closer, trying to hear him better. Everything is still so confusing.

“You…?”

“I feel the same thing you’re telling me,” he whispers, and a bolt of joy runs through my soul, until he adds, “But I feel it for her… not for you.”

Oh, my heart.

I go silent, frozen, because I feel that if I move, I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps whispering so softly, as if that could make the blow hurt less. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood things between us, but I was just… just being your friend, Summer, I never meant anything else.”

Maybe the most painful part is the gentleness with which he rejects me, as if he’s trying to make it easier, when really, it only makes everything worse.

But what can I even say to that?

I shake my head, pull myself together, and force a smile I don’t feel.

“It’s fine, Nic,” I laugh a little. “So you’re in love with her?”

“Mm.” He nods, looking away from me.

“That’s… good.”

We sit in silence for several awkward seconds, so I add, “That’s what I always wanted for you, to experience love.”

“It’s not certain, but I… um… I’d like to try… with her.”

I nod several times, understanding, fighting so hard to hold back my tears.

“Then forget this conversation ever happened.”

Not knowing what to do with my hands, I clasp them together, accidentally pulling at my stitches, but the pain is the perfect distraction from the bigger one.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I nod, smiling at him. “Forget it. I’ll be fine.”

I see how his features harden at my words, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but I stand up before the compassion starts pouring in. I would hate to feel his pity. This rejection disguised as kindness is more than enough.

“I think it’s been a long day. For both of us… so…”

“Yeah,” he gets it instantly and stands up. “I’ll go to bed. You should rest too and… you know, I’ll be right out front if you need anything.”

Everything between us is so uncomfortable—his words, his stance, his expression.

He wants to get out of here.

And I want him to go.

I lift my face and smile at him again.

“Goodnight, Nic.”

He pauses at the door, nods to himself, and mumbles softly, “Goodnight, Sum.”

Once I’m alone in the room, I stare at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. And maybe I’m just too numb from the pain, but it works. Not a single tear escapes. Feeling a little like a zombie, I walk over to the nearest mirror, look into my eyes, and tell myself with as much certainty as I can muster,

“I’m fine.”

And I’m not… but no one needs to know that.

[3/3]