“Marcus!” I screech. “Seriously. Tell me. What should I say back?”
“Ev, just the fact that you’re calling Vi about what you should say shows me that you’re already a total goner for this dude.” I sit there silently as I hear Violet mumble something in the background. Then she’s back on the line. “Marcus is right. He wants to see you. I say, just walk up to the house and knock on his door. Wear your sexy lingerie,” she whispers.
Exasperated, I hang up on them.
They are not helping right now.
I take a few steadying breaths and reply.
Yes. Why?
I wait. It feels like eternity, but he replies within two minutes.
Couldn’t sleep. Figured you couldn’t, either. I made cupcakes. I thought you promised me cupcakes when I hired you? I feel like maybe I was swindled into hiring you since I had to do it myself.:) Meet me in the kitchen.
I stare at my phone for a good five minutes. He wants me to meet him in the kitchen? He didn’t even ask. And… is he flirting with me?
I can’t even get up the courage to text Violet. It’s pretty damn clear. Nick Wilder wants me to meet him in the kitchen to eat cupcakes at almost midnight. I’m not surprised when I find myself leaping off of the bed and checking my reflection in the mirror, because of course I’m going. This is going to totally ruin the whole Nick embargo, but I can’t turn down cupcakes.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
I’m wearing pajamas, but I decide to keep them on because they’re semi-cute.
Oh my god, Evi, it doesn’t matter if they’re cute.
I scowl at my makeup-less reflection.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Nick is just being nice by offering me some cupcakes. If I take too long, he’s going to think I was getting ready.
Fuck. Now I care about what he’s going to think about what I think about all of this.
I grab my keys and go before I change my mind.
And I really don’t want to change my mind.
Seventeen.
Evianna
I see Nick through the sliding glass door before I open it. I watch him for a few seconds before interrupting him. He is wearing flannel pajama pants and a plain black T-shirt that fits snugly around his biceps. I gleefully notice that he is also wearing slippers—almost exactly like the pair I have on. In fact, we almost match, unintentionally. I look down at my plain black long-sleeved shirt and patterned pants. My slippers are blue. His are red.
Now I’m analyzing our matching slippers?
I fumble with the door, but I almost don’t want him to see me yet. He’s dancing around, probably to music, and he’s frosting a batch of cupcakes.
Ugh.
The Nick embargo clearly didn’t work. It only seemed to make my feelings so much stronger. Before I decide my next move, his face whips up and he catches me looking at him through the glass.
Damn it.
I open the door quickly and enter, keeping my eyes down as I close it behind me. Music is playing loudly, but not too loudly because of Bria.
“Who is this?” I ask, pointing into the air, referring to the catchy song currently playing.
“The Strokes,” he says, grinning. “My favorite.”
“I like them, too,” I say, and suddenly, I’m so nervous.
What am I even doing here? What are we doing? Is there even a we, or is it all in my head?
“Show me how you make these magical cupcakes you spoke of in your first email to me,” he suggests, holding a mixing bowl out to me.
I glance into it.
“Holy shit, are these homemade?” I say.
He laughs. “Yes. Why?”
I don’t say anything at first. I just stare at him. “Nothing,” I say, laughing. But I can’t believe a man made cupcakes from scratch. That’s probably sexist, but still… one more point for Team Nick.
He looks me up and down. “Hey, we match.”