Ch43

NOVA

The sun is scorching, shimmering, but that is the last thing on my mind.

My palms are slick with sweat. My stomach is doing dangerous, acrobatic flips. And my brain? My brain has left me completely, leaving behind a mess.

Yeah, I'm a mess. I'm a panicking mess.

We haven't spoken since last night. Not a text. Not a glance across the hall at school. Nothing.

I wouldn't even be standing here right now if Noah hadn't literally cornered me against my locker during fourth period, pinning me with his protective older brother glare and telling me, “Go see Enzo after school.”

Easy for him to say. He didn't make a life-altering, utterly terrifying deal with his best friend to pretend to be a couple while secretly harboring feelings.

I stand on the front porch of Enzo’s house, staring at the brass doorbell as if it's a venomous snake. I've been standing here for approximately five full minutes, my inner monologue screaming every possible worst-case scenario.

What if his parents are home? They don't like me. They never have.

What if he's not alone? I mean... Enzo is Enzo. He's a hockey captain, a flirt, a temptation with a reputation that precedes him by a mile. What if there's a girl in there? What if he forgot about me? What if he regrets last night and is going to open the door, look at me like I'm an idiot, and laugh?

My hand trembles as I finally lift it, squeezing my eyes shut. Just knock. Just press the damn button, Nova.

Before my knuckle can even make contact with the wood, the door clicks and swings open.

I freeze, my hand hovering mid-air.

I open my eyes. And instantly, I forget how oxygen works.

Standing right in front of me is Enzo. Or, more accurately, about ninety percent of a shirtless, carved Enzo. He’s wearing gray joggers slung low on his narrow hips.

He blinks down at me, his gaze dropping to my frozen hand before rising back to my face with a confused frown.

"How long have you been standing out there?" he asks.

My mouth opens. No sound comes out. I try again. "I—um—well, you see—" I start stammering. "I just... I got here. Like, a second ago. Not five minutes."

Enzo tilts his head. He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "Right. Because your face is the exact shade of a ripe tomato, Nova. I saw you on the security camera like three minutes ago just standing there."

My soul nearly leaves my body. "You... you have a camera?"

"Front porch view streams straight to my phone," he says. "I was wondering when you were going to stop having a staring contest with the brass."

I want the porch to open up and swallow me whole. Right now.

He shifts his weight, stepping back from the doorway. "Come in, Nova."

As I step past him into the foyer, my nostrils immediately catch a whiff of his signature coconut-scented body wash, mixed with something else warm and sweet that I can't quite place. I glance around nervously. Everything is exactly the same as the last time I was here.

I turn back to watch him walk in. He casually reaches for the wall panel to adjust the AC.

"Did I... did I disturb you?" I ask, clutching the straps of my backpack. "Were you busy?"

Enzo pauses, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "I was baking."

I blink. I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "You? Baking? What, pre-packaged cookie dough?"

"Hey, don't underestimate my culinary skills," he says. "Anyway, you should probably go freshen up. Upstairs, second door on the left. Use my bathroom. I'll be finished down here in a minute."

I stare at him. "Your bathroom?"

"Unless you want to walk all the way back to your house to change out of your sweat-drenched clothes in this heat," he points out reasonably. "Go on. Shoo."

I nod, mutter something unintelligible, and sprint up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, I am standing in Enzo's bathroom, wrapped in a plush, gray towel that smells overwhelmingly like him. I lather myself in his coconut soap, stepping out feeling like I'm literally wearing his aura. I pull on the oversized cotton t-shirt he left draped over the counter... it hangs down past my mid-thigh, swallowing me whole... and carefully fold my sweaty clothes, placing them neatly on the edge of his king-sized bed.

When I walk back downstairs, the house is quiet, save for the low hum of the television.

Enzo is standing by the entertainment center. He's pulled on a plain black t-shirt now, though it's untucked. He glances over, and the moment his eyes land on me, my heart does that erratic thud thing right against my ribs.

He looks at me, an unreadable expression flashes across his face before a soft smile breaks through. "You look good in my clothes," he murmurs.

My cheeks burn all over again. I offer a small, shy smile back, clutching the hem of the shirt. "It's a little big."

"I like it," he says simply, turning to the coffee table. "Come here. We'll watch a movie first, talk after."

I walk over, my pulse racing, and sit beside him on the deep, plush couch. The space between us is small. Within seconds, a massive spread appears... a bowl of freshly popped popcorn, a plate of warm, surprisingly professional-looking chocolate chip cookies, and a tub of ice cream.

"You actually baked," I whisper, staring at the cookies in awe.

"I told you," he replies, picking up the remote. "Don't underestimate me."

He hits play on a movie... some psychological thriller I'm not going to retain a single second of... and the room dims. We sit side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

For the first twenty minutes, we're quiet. But as the tension in the movie builds, I feel a shift beside me.

Enzo's hand starts drifting. Little by little. Inch by inch.

First, his knuckles brush against my knee. Then, his warm palm settles flat against my bare thigh, just beneath the hem of the oversized shirt. A chill races up my spine, though my skin feels on fire where he touches me.

I glance sideways at him.

Sensing my gaze, Enzo turns his head. His eyes meet mine.

"I don't know how to do this," he says quietly, the movie playing on completely ignored.

I blink. "What?"

"Be nice," he admits, his thumb brushing a slow, hypnotic circle against my skin. "You can literally look at me and see that I'm not a nice person, Nova."

I swallow hard. "You're trying."

"Well, you don't want trying, do you?" He lets out a dry, self-deprecating huff. "You want someone who actually knows how to treat a woman. Who knows how to make you blush."

My face floods with heat, a deep crimson creeping down my neck. "You... you make me blush."

Enzo's gaze locks onto mine. Without breaking eye contact, he shifts closer, closing the distance between us until we are chest-to-chest on the cushions.

He cups my face, his large hand spanning my cheek and jaw. Slowly, he brings his face down, burying his nose right against the crook of my neck.

I gasp softly as his lips brush the skin beneath my ear.

He inhales deeply. "You smell so good," he mutters against my pulse point.

My hands move to grip his forearms. "Th-thank you."

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. He drops his hand from my face, leaning back with a heavy sigh. "Bullshit. I can't do this."

"What?"

"I'm going to be me," he says, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Come on, Nova. Get up."

I stare at him. "Enzo, what are you talking about? Did I do something wrong?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out, grabbing my hand and giving it a firm tug, pulling me off the couch.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong," he says, his tone softening as he looks up at me from where he's sitting. "I just... I really want to make this experience good for you, Nova. I want to do it right. And clearly, my grand romantic gestures are currently sitting on a plate burning sugar." He gestures toward the kitchen with a wry grin. "So we're going to pivot. Come on. We'll go browse the internet together, figure out what actual couples do, and see..."

He stops.

I freeze, my hand still locked in his.

From the front hallway, the sound of a door unlocking echoes through the quiet house. Followed by the click of heels. And a voice calling out.

"Enzo? Are you home? Why is the front door unlocked?"

Color drains entirely from my face.

Enzo and I whip our heads toward the entryway at the exact same moment.

Standing in the archway, dropping her designer handbag onto the console table with a sharp clatter, is his mother.

And she is staring right at us.