As soon as we’re out in the hall, I glance at her. “What’s up?”
“Let’s get to the storage closet.”
Chapter 15
NOVA
He opens the door to the closet, the big one from the first day, and we slip inside. Our bodies brush against each other in the dark as I fumble on the wall for the light switch. It clicks on.
He leans on the door. “What’s going on?”
I reach up and take his cap off.
“I’m running out of hats, babe.”
I huff. “Do you seriously call your girlfriends babe?”
He laughs, a full, deep sound. “No.”
“What do you call them?”
His eyes brush over me. “For you? Princess. What would you call me if it was real?”
“Beast—but only when we’re alone.”
“Why?”
I chew my bottom lip. Might as well say it . . . “Because you fuck like an animal.”
There’s nothing but silence; then a long shuddering breath comes from him. “Nova . . . the things you say . . .”
I glance away. I should be embarrassed to be so blunt, but it’s true; he devoured me that night, and when it comes to him, I have zero inhibitions. My head tells me to keep the walls up around us, but the other side of me—my stupid, weak heart—clamors to tell him things. You know how it is when you’ve gone through a friend drought, and you get a new one, and all signs point to a wonderful comradery, and you want them to know your secrets? Yeah. It’s like that with him. “I have the types of sex categorized.”
“And they are . . . ,” he says softly.
I shiver, aware of the tension between us. It’s always present—in the staff lounge, in the field house. Here. We’re two people who know how good the sex was between us, yet we’re pretending it never happened . . .
“Nova?”
I hold his gaze. “There’s the holy-shit-I-can’t-believe-he-put-that-there sex. There’s makeup sex, which can be slow or fast. Next is sweet I’m-so-in-love-with-you sex. There’s lazy I’m-so-tired-from-work-I-can-barely-have-sex-but-let’s-knock-one-out. There’s act-like-a-crazy-person sex, where you break the bed, knock lamps over, maybe roll around on the ground. There’s sad-goodbye I’m-leaving-you sex—not a fan of that one. There’s the anal-beads-and-whips, which can also be combined with holy-shit sex. Literally. There’s you-just-lay-there-and-let-me-do-all-the-work sex. Then there’s vicious I-can’t-get-enough-of-you sex. Beast mode from start to finish. You.”
His hand touches my shoulder, his fingers stroking my skin. “Nova—”
A bell rings, making us both start. He pulls back, and I push out a laugh.
“Anyway, moving on from that word vomit.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Ronan . . . you have lice.”
He flinches. “What the . . . no fucking way.”
I nudge my head at his cap in my hands. “There’s a little critter in your hat. He’s about the size of a seed, tan, and very fast. Here, look.”
“Those things are in my hair?” he calls as he scratches his scalp.
“I thought I saw something crawling in your hair in the lounge, and that’s why I wanted to leave and get you away from Skeeter. He’s going to freak. He’s going to hose down your office, the entire field house.”
“We can’t tell him. What do we do?”
We.
I laugh. “Darling, this is all you.”
“It’s not funny,” he mutters, shaking his hair out as he paces around the room.
“Don’t throw them around!”
He stops and puts his hands on his hips and glares at me. It’s what he does when he’s on the sideline. I could catalog many things about him: the way he raises his eyebrow—just one—the way his full lips twitch, the texture of his scars under my mouth. Most of all, I like how protective he is of me around Andrew . . .
“Nova! Are you listening? What’s the plan?”
I chuckle.
“I repeat, this is not funny,” he grouses.
“It kinda is.”
“Yeah, what if you have it? You like to wear my hats.”
“That was weeks ago. All right . . . a plan. First, you’re going to get my empty water bottle . . . the one I set on that shelf when we walked in. Then, we’ll catch the one in your hat and give it to Sonia.”
“No way in hell. Skeeter was right. Dump it on the floor, and I’ll stomp on it.”
“Normally, I’d be behind you one hundred percent, but Sonia is my only chick friend—besides Lois—and she desperately wants one under her microscope . . .” I smile tentatively. “Please.”
“No.”
I ignore him, my gaze on the louse. He’s crawling up the side of the cap, and I shake him back down. “He’s a feisty little bugger.”
“Look, the water bottle has a narrow opening. It was a decent idea—”
“I was working with what I had, thank you.”
He pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“If Sonia wants a damn louse, she can come get it herself. I’m not a procurer of menacing rodents.”
“It’s a bug.”
“It’s a pest, and I’m texting her now.”