Virgin Seeks Bad Boy (Bliss River 3)

“Nick, I’m your brother, and I love you,” Nash says. “But I swear I—”

“Save it, bro,” I say, cutting him off. “Nothing’s going on with Melody and me. She’s a sweet girl, and I happened to be around when she needed help. That’s it. We’re friends.” I clench my jaw. It doesn’t feel great to lie to Nash, but better to lie than to have my shot with Melody ruined before we’ve even gone on our first real date.

Nash is quiet for a moment. “Okay. Good.”

“But thanks for the vote of confidence,” I snap, unable to resist the dig.

Nash sighs. “You haven’t given anyone much reason to have confidence in you when it comes to girls, Nick. When’s the last time you dated someone for more than a month?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I never told Nash about Sarah Beth. I never told anyone in my family about her. A part of me was so certain it was going to end badly that I didn’t want anyone to know that things were getting serious.

Am I already doing the same thing with Melody?

I banish the ugly thought with a shake of my head. Melody’s different, I’m different when I’m with her, and soon enough, Nash will see that.

“The bus is pulling up. I have to go,” I say, grateful for the roar of the approaching engine and a good excuse to end the call. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

I hang up without waiting for Nash to say goodbye or get around to all the other reasons I’m not good for a girl like Melody.

I don’t want to hear it.

Not from Nash or myself or anyone else.

Chapter 13

Melody

Monday seems to drag on forever.

Waiting for word on Seth’s whereabouts—he apparently skipped town after the attack, but Nash has a police car circling by his house every few hours—is hard.

Waiting for my Tuesday afternoon date with Nick is a hundred times harder.

Nick.

Every time I think his name, a dreamy smile stretches across my face and a fizzing sensation, like champagne bubbles floating from my toes to my head and back again, rushes through me. I can’t stop thinking about the way he called me baby, or the way we talked like old friends at the diner, or the way his soft, warm lips teased down my neck, making my blood run lava hot.

By the time he pulls up in front of my apartment building on Tuesday afternoon, I’m so eager to see him that I’m waiting by the window, hiding behind the curtains, and let out a giddy yip of excitement as he steps out of his car.

He’s wearing black and silver swim trunks and a white T-shirt with an owl sketched on the front that are way more casual than anything I’ve seen him wear before and emphasize the powerful lines of his body. His spiky hair is even spikier, and the smile on his face as I rush out the front door of the building to meet him makes me grin so hard my cheeks start to hurt.

“Hey, hot mama,” he says, scooping me up as I bound into his arms and spinning me around with a laugh. “You look amazing.”

He sets me down and pulls away to take in my lake outfit—a nearly transparent black coverup with my 1940s Ethel Merman-style one-piece underneath—of which he obviously approves.

“Thanks, you look pretty good yourself,” I say, reaching out to pinch his stomach through his shirt, needing to touch him after almost forty-eight torturous hours apart. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” His grin stretches wide. “But I’m glad you said it first.”

“Why?” I follow him around to the passenger’s side of his car and wait while he opens the door, the unexpected chivalry not escaping my notice.

He shrugs and laughs. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t sure if it was weird to miss you so much after only a couple of days apart.”

“I don’t care if it’s weird.” I lean in to brush a kiss to his lips. The second we touch my already light head feels airy enough to float right off my body.

“I missed this, too,” Nick mumbles against my mouth, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth, swirling in hungry circles that make my pulse pound, and my body ache to get closer to him. Really close. All-the-way close.

Waiting five dates is going to be torture—hot, heavenly torture.

“We’d better get going,” he says, his voice as rough as the hint of stubble on his cheeks. “Nash has a car coming by your place every few hours, too. With my luck, he’ll be tagging along with the patrol car and catch me making a liar of myself.”

“Oh, okay. Gotcha.” I pull away with a sigh and slide into the passenger’s seat, my knees trembling as I move. I never understood the phrase “weak in the knees” was a literal thing before I kissed Nick. Now I’m not sure I ever want sturdy knees again.