Page 83 of The Summer Show
“We have already decided that you two will be our final contestants.”
“That seems … rigged,” I said.
“What is rigged? I don’t know.”
Nick said something in Greek and the director beamed. She clapped once and shook her clasped hands at us. “Yes! It is rigged! And we do that when it makes for better television. Better television means more people watching, and that means more money. I like money, which is why I send most of it out of the country to take a permanent vacation where nobody can find it. Nobody means the Greek tax office. You two will be our final contestants because by the time this episode airs, the audience will be invested in your love story.”
I waited for Nick to object, but strangely he didn’t. Really, he should have. His silence was giving me hope, and that’s the last thing I wanted if there was none.
* * *
On the walk back to Ana and Thanos’s house, my spine threw up its hands and decided I was going to be a jellyfish from now on. I flopped down on the dirt road and just laid there like at least one of my ancestors was mud.
This was cause for concern in Nick’s book. He was at my side immediately. Before I could explain that I was going to spend the rest of my life drifting around a tank, stinging swimmers, he crouched down and covered my throat with his hand.
I opened my eyes. “This is a whole kink in romance novels, you know.”
He looked confused but also happy that I wasn’t dead. “Checking for a pulse?”
“The hand necklace.”
He didn’t move his hand. Maybe he wasn’t convinced yet that I was alive. “Which book is that in?”
“Are you asking for a friend?”
“No, I’m asking for me.”
He looked serious. Way too serious. The longer he kept his hand there, infusing my brain and body with hot, spicy thoughts, the more I wanted to stay down in the dirt. I would happily be one with the muck forever if it meant he’d keep touching me.
“I know a few books,” I said with a throat that was as dry as several of the hotter deserts.
“Read them to me.”
“For science?”
His gaze searched mine. “Because when you read to me, the whole world is good.” His words hung in the air, a dazzling explosion of magic crackling in the space between us. “At first I thought it was the books, but now I know it’s you.”
We both went still. Poised. Waiting, as the spell wove around us. Under his fingers, my pulse surged, barely a gap between each throb.
His confession took a can opener to my soul and cracked me open. The words poured inside, making themselves at home, dusting in the corners, sweeping out the old, intrusive thoughts, throwing the curtains wide to let the light disinfect the darkness.
Maybe it was the magic, or maybe it was gravity, but Nick leaned closer, so his mouth was inches away from mine. There was a smile on his lips, almost imperceptible, as he removed his hand from my throat and used it to pin my left hand to the ground. His fingers threaded between mine, stretching them apart with their thickness.
Before I could gasp, his mouth was on mine. I’d kissed and been kissed countless times before, but none of them were this kiss. Everything about Nick was hard and powerful, like the Earth itself or a piece of expensive construction equipment. But his lips were soft and searching.
Ever look at a man and assume he’s never heard “no” pass a woman’s lips?
That was Nick.
But in reality he was a man whose first kiss was a question: Are you sure you want this? He would remain constrained until he felt the yes.
I’d never felt safer.
Or more desired.
Fire ransacked my nerves as I gave him his yes, and in return there was this … surge. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The hand that wasn’t pinning mine he used to brace himself against the ground. His lips parted and mine followed the leader, swiping my tongue against his.
This was more than a kiss. It was possession.