“Zurich,” she said, his name a plea and a warning all at once.
“Yes, you do.” He stood up, the careful distance between them collapsing as he crossed the room in three easy strides. He didn’t sit beside her. Instead, he knelt in front of the window seat, his knees on the floor, so they were eye to eye. “You look at me like you’re afraid of me. And I don’t think it’s fear, Nic.”
Zurich didn’t flinch. “You’re not reading.” SexMex 24 10 11 Nicole Zurich Step-Siblings Mee...
“Now,” she said, pulling him back down to her, “we stop pretending.”
“So,” he said, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “What do we do now?” “Zurich,” she said, his name a plea and
He smiled then—not the cocky, public smile, but the real, vulnerable one she’d only seen twice before. “Because for three years, I’ve watched you paint in the garage with your tongue poking out when you’re concentrating. I’ve memorized the way you say ‘good morning’ when you’re still half-asleep and your voice cracks. I’ve fought the urge to pull you into my room every single night you’ve walked past my door to get a glass of water.”
She should. Every rational part of her brain screamed it. But rationality had left the building the moment he’d knelt before her like she was something sacred. Instead, he knelt in front of the window
His use of her nickname, the one only he used, undid something in her chest. “This is a bad idea,” she breathed.
At first, it had been stiff and polite. Nicole, an artist, saw Zurich as a jock—all lacrosse and easy, cocky smiles. Zurich saw Nicole as a moody, unattainable ice queen. But over the months, the stiffness had melted into a sharp, wired tension. They’d become experts at not-touching: handing the salt shaker without brushing fingers, sitting on opposite ends of the couch with a pillow barrier that felt more symbolic than effective.
“Liar.” He set down the lens and the cloth. “You’re thinking about what your mom would say if she saw the way you looked at me at dinner last night.”