Romantically Entangled

Chapter 23

Nicki

I can still feel her lips all over me.

I can feel the heat from the fire on my bare skin. And the weight of Bey's body, pressing into mine.

I can still feel her inside me.

"Nicki?"

I jerk to attention, the Daily newsroom coming back into focus. Everyone is looking at me.

Dear God. Were my eyes closed? Did I actually moan?

"Nicki?" the editor, Jason, says again. He's obviously asked me a question. But I have no idea what it was.

I sit up straighter and open my mouth to answer, a deep blush burning my cheeks. I have to clear my throat before I can speak.

"Sorry, what?"

When I first woke up in the cave and saw Bey slumbering next to me, I'd stretched luxuriously, enjoying the feel of our naked bodies pressed together and the warmth of the still glowing embers from the fire.

And then I remembered the editorial meeting that started at five o'clock.

I shrieked and jumped to my feet, throwing on my clothes. Bey and I had raced back through the woods to her car. "I can't believe we fell asleep," I kept saying frantically as we ran.

I was sure my journalism career was going to end before it even began. Getting fired from the student newspaper sure wouldn't help me get my first job.

Bey drove like a crazy man, trying to get me back on time. But I still scrambled into the newsroom twenty minutes late.

Now, a sweaty, itchy mess, I can feel myself blushing all over. I swallow, hard. "I...I'm sorry, could you repeat what you said?"

Jason pushes a hand through his curly brown hair and pins me with an impatient look. "I said," he repeats, "how's the Sorenson piece going?"

I clock the disgusted eye roll that passes between two others on the paper's staff. One's a general assignment reporter and the other is assigned to cover Ikana's administration.

I get it. They don't think I should be on staff. I'm only a freshman. I'm the only freshman on staff. And I didn't exactly get here on my own merits. They probably know that.

And yet, Jason assigned to me the profile of the college's new provost, John Sorenson.

"It's going well," I respond, forcing confidence into my voice. "I was finally able to pin down a specific day for the interview. It's this Friday. In the meantime, I have a lot of research and some great quotes about him from other people."

Assuming Sorenson actually goes through with it, the story will be a feather in my journalistic cap.

Jason looks surprised at my update. "Good!" He sounds pleased. "I'm looking forward to reading it."

I've been wondering why Jason gave me—a total newbie—this assignment. Does he want me to fail? Is he looking for an excuse to get rid of me?

Or did he want to see if I'd use my grandmother's name to get Sorenson to sit down with me?

Which is exactly what I did when I called his office.

I know I'm a damn hypocrite. But I'm determined to make the most of this opportunity.

The editorial meeting goes on, and I do my best to pay attention. But it's hard not to let my thoughts drift back to Bey.

When the meeting ends, I follow Jason into his office. I want to try to smooth things over, apologize again for being late.

Jason just stands there, running his fingers along a bookshelf that holds bound copies of the campus paper all the way back to its founding in the 1960s.

I study the profile of his long, pointy face. One of the other staffers told me my first day at the paper that Jason's grandmother was the Daily's first female reporter. And that the Parkers were one of Hickory Flat's founding families.

Apparently, Jason still lives with his parents in the sprawling family home on Main Street.

"Not a problem, Nicki," he finally says in response to my apology. He's still staring at the binders.

Then he shifts his gaze to me, one eyebrow lifted. "But don't let it happen again."

I nod and then blush as I wonder if he can tell what I've been doing. If my hair is sticking up in the back. If I smell like the woods and the cave and the fire. If I smell like sex.

Like really good sex.

"So, how'd you get Sorenson to agree to an interview?" Jason asks, a cold smile on his face. "I heard a bunch of different outlets have been asking. I've called at least three times about it."

He lets out a short laugh, adding, "I guess you got it the same way you got the job here."

I can hear the edge in his voice, the vague hint of venom. It's not the first time I've noticed it when he's talking to me.

I lift my chin and level a defiant look at him. "Yeah," I acknowledge. "I did drop my grandmother's name. And it worked, obviously. I'm the one who's getting the interview."

I notice the flash of resentment that crosses his face. "Whatever it takes, I guess," he smirks.

He rounds the corner of his desk and sits heavily in the chair. "See you tomorrow," he dismisses me, starting to type on his laptop. "Don't be late."

I'm fuming over Jason's words and tone as I leave the newsroom.

I guess I should have kept my mouth shut, just let him get in his digs. But I couldn't help pushing back.

I head for the back door of the building; it's a shorter walk to the house this way. Pushing open the door, I step into the parking lot, squinting into the setting sun. The warm night air is a relief after the overly air-conditioned newsroom.

And then I see Bey, leaning against her car. Smiling at me.

"Your chariot awaits, Madame," she quips, gesturing toward the Coupe with a chivalrous grin.

I forget all about Jason and his passive aggressive bullshit. My answering grin is so wide and possibly ridiculous that it feels like my face is going to split.

It's only been a couple of hours since I was with Bey. But seeing her still feels kind of like a homecoming.

"You didn't need to come get me," I say, twisting my hands together, suddenly shy. "It's only a couple of miles. I was going to walk."

Bey is already shaking her head, and I realize I don't mean it. I was hoping, I think, that she would be here, waiting for me.

She scoops me into her arms and pulls me against the car. Then she gives me a long, deep kiss. Just like in the cave.

My whole body starts to tingle.

"No way I'm letting you walk," she murmurs as she leans her forehead against mine. "I want to get you home as soon as possible."

Home. How can a place I've only been living in a couple of weeks, with people I barely know, feel like home?

And yet, because of Bey, it does.

"Because I can't wait to make love to you again, Nicki," she whispers as I'm thinking the crinkling at the corners of her eyes should be illegal. The breath of her words on my face feels almost more intimate than the kissing.

I think of a line from Top Gun, the movie my parents saw on their first date. I used to groan every time they told the story of that date. I used to pretend to vomit every time my mother quoted from it.

But now, I smile into another of Bey's kisses, the mellow throbbing between my legs leaving me weak-kneed.

"Then take me to bed, you big stud," I respond, getting the Top Gun quote slightly out of order, "or lose me forever."

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