"Why is it always like this?" I groaned, burying my face in my hands, as if that would somehow erase the last few minutes from existence. What had my stars crossed with to make everything fall apart like this?
"Every time I meet you, I'm a complete disaster," I muttered. My hatred for this month kept piling up—I was convinced I'd been jinxed.
A low chuckle sounded across from me. I cracked my fingers apart just enough to peek at the face of my unexpected savior. In what universe—what possibility—would I have guessed I'd run into Nick, outside of campus?
When strong arms had stopped my fall earlier, I found myself pressed against a solid chest. His scent—sweet, like chocolate laced with smoke and leather—had wrapped around me, grounding me instantly. Calming me. And the moment he spoke, I'd known exactly who he was.
For the second time in a single day, he saved me. No questions asked, he guided me to a nearby café, as if this was just... something he did.
"Does this happen often?" Nick's voice brought me back to the present. I didn't have to look to know the teasing glint in his eyes was gone.
My hands tightened around the melting chocolate ice cream as I debated how to answer without humiliating myself further. I had to be the unluckiest girl alive to meet my crush in these circumstances.
"No," I mumbled. "It's been ages."
When he didn't respond, I finally looked up. His eyes said it all. So many questions sitting right at the edge of his lips. But when he finally opened his mouth, the words that came out weren't "why."
"You're going to be okay, right?" he asked softly. "You look exhausted." a strangled breath of relief escaped my lips, feeling grateful for him not prying.
He just sat there, patient and understanding. And honestly? I wasn't ready to unpack everything. Not yet. How was I supposed to explain that just seeing that person had almost sent me back to the worm hole?
"Thanks for being here… for everything today," I said, feeling a rush of warmth flooding through me. If Nick hadn't been around, I didn't even want to imagine how things might have gone.
My reign as the university's darling might be over, but I still had a reputation to uphold—one that didn't involve dramatic public breakdowns.
"And I'll be fine," I assured him with a small smile. "Just the heat and a day of running around campus filming and helping with a friend's project. Nothing a little ice cream can't fix." I raised my cup.
Nick studied me for a moment before casually reaching for his drink. "You guys gearing up for an event or something? Feels like the whole campus is buzzing."
I opened my mouth, ready to answer, but a different question slipped out instead.
"What were you doing at the university, anyway? Do you know someone there?"
The timing of our encounter still felt surreal. I'd only just left campus when I ran into him, and my memory of that moment was still a little foggy around the edges.
"I was just wandering around," he said, taking a sip through his straw. "Looking for a barbershop, actually—then I bumped into you."
"Oh."My gaze instinctively flicked to his hair. His short, slightly curled afro suited him way too well. Why on earth would he want to shave it off?
My brow furrowed—and that's when I noticed his raised eyebrow and amused expression. Only then did I realize that I said voice my thoughts aloud.
I scooped a huge spoonful of ice cream and stuffed it into my mouth, hoping the cold would cool off more than just my tongue. Maybe it would freeze time. Or at least my embarrassment.
Nick, of course, took full advantage.
"No worries, kitten. I'll keep it if that's what you're into," he teased, his grin utterly self-satisfied.
My cheeks were probably glowing like brake lights. "Wait...what...I have to be attracted to you to care," I shot back, desperately ignoring the butterflies having a full-blown festival in my stomach.
"Oh? You're not?" His smirk widened. He then leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze locked onto mine. "That's a pity," he mused, leaning back with a casual shrug. "I was actually just thinking about getting a trim, anyway."
"Huh? Oh—yeah, a trim sounds good. Not that it's any of my business. It's your hair, your choice," I rambled, trying to reel in the absolute chaos going on inside me.
Nick raised an eyebrow, his knowing smile making it very clear that he was enjoying this far too much.
"You know what? I'll show you the best barbershop around," I announced with sudden determination, tapping the table for emphasis. "I promised to show you around the neighborhood, didn't I?"
I pushed back my chair, ready to stand before I could continue embarrassing myself only for a sharp pang to shoot through my shoulder blade. The pain was so sudden, it buckled my knees and sent me right back into the seat with a grimace.
Nick was up in an instant, his hand resting gently on my good shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asked.
I wanted to nod, to tell him that I was fine. But my body had other plans. My neck felt completely frozen, and even the thought of moving sent a fresh wave of panic through me. I had never experienced pain quite like this before.
"Nick," I managed to whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.
"I'm here," he said immediately, his warmth grounding me. "Just tell me what to do."
I swallowed, my throat tight. "I think I'm going to die," I croaked dramatically, just as a single, perfectly timed tear slipped down my cheek.
…
"Wh...wait...what are you doing?" I tried to turn my head but only ended up hissing from the pain.
Instead of walking me home, Nick brought me to his place—insisting that no one was around to take care of me otherwise.
So here I was: awkwardly perched on his couch, head tilted stiffly to one side like a broken mannequin, while he rummaged through drawers in the next room.
Apparently, I was dealing with a neck muscle pull. And let me just say, this thing hurt. And not just hurt, but the kind of pain that made you wonder if you'll die if you try to move.
"Just sit tight and let me take care of you," Nick called out. I bit my lip, feeling a strange mix of warmth and embarrassment bloom in my chest. "You don't have to, you know."
He reappeared a moment later, towel slung over his shoulder and something in his hands. Was that an oil?
"Yeah," he said, smirking slightly, "but I want to."
"I'm going to place this towel on your neck to warm it, then massage the stiffness out," he added, setting a small bottle—massage oil, maybe? —on the stool beside the couch.
"You don't have to say it all out loud, you know," I muttered, trying to sound unaffected but failing miserably.
"No, that's not necessary," I protested weakly. I was not a massage person. Even when we went to spa with my friends, I never allowed to be massaged. It's because I've never liked the idea of a stranger touching my skin.
However, this situation was different. I wanted his touch, I dreamed of it. So, you can see why it definitely wasn't a good idea at the moment, right?
Except, it didn't feel like nothing when he eased the towel off and his fingers pressed gently into the curve of my shoulder. His hands were warm, deliberate. It's just a massage. I kept chanting in my head.
"Damn," he muttered, kneading deeper. "You're really tense."
"Yeah, well," I breathed out, as his hands kept working it's magic.
"Then relax and let take care of everything," his voice was above a whisper and with every slow movement, the tension I didn't even know I was carrying began to melt—shoulder by shoulder, inch by inch as I gave in to the feeling.
But as minutes went by, what started as relief began to stir something else entirely. My breath hitched, barely audible. Every pass of his hands sent tiny sparks beneath my skin, and despite myself, I leaned further into his touch. Not out of pain. Not even comfort anymore. It was something more now.
A soft, involuntary sigh slipped from my lips, and I felt him still for a second. I almost whined out a protest but bit my lip wondering if he too felt the change.
"Better?" he asked, his voice next to my ear.
I swallowed hard before answering. "Yeah. A lot better. You are sooo good at this."
I meant it as a compliment. But the words slipped out softer than I intended, carried on a breath that was far too close to a moan.
Oh, heavens.
Nick's hands froze for half a second at the sides of my neck, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. The ghost of his palms lingered, and I didn't dare open my eyes.
He said nothing. Just breathed. Close. Controlled.
Then, his fingers moved again slower this time. They trailed up just beneath my jaw, featherlight, until my pulse practically stuttered beneath his touch.
He stayed close, his breath warm against my ear. "Vanilla, fresh, sweet… and just a little bit dangerous."
A shiver traced down my spine, and I couldn't stop the restless shift of my thighs beneath the loose fabric of my jeans.
Oh, goodness. What were we doing? Was this how a normal massage felt? Or better yet… could someone actually get turned on by a massage?
Because if not, I was definitely in serious trouble.