Page 8 of Best Things in Life

“What a coincidence,” he says, and I want to smack the smirk off his face almost as much as I want to kiss it away. Shit. “Looks like we have the same major—hospitality management.”

“You don’t say.” Fuck. I turn away from him and pay attention to the professor, who’s giving us an overview of the course. Nate a hospitality management major? Why couldn’t he stick to some kind of jock major like sports management or anything else. I sigh as I tap at my tablet and try not to breathe too deeply because his scent always drives me crazy.

Why not? That dream of owning and running a restaurant together was his too, wasn’t it? We worked together at my Uncle Joe’s Italian restaurant every summer from when I was fourteen and he was fifteen—until he left.

By the time the professor winds down to the end of class, I’m exhausted from the tension of holding back.

“Before you go, I’m going to assign your teams for the mid-term project so you can get started.” He points at me and Nate, sitting right there in the front row. “You two are on a team. Names?”

“Nate Garino and Sarina Torini,” Nate volunteers, and I barely hold back punching him in the arm as if I’m twelve. He doesn’t look at me, probably fearing I’ll fry with my glare. The professor goes through the class of about thirty students and pairs everyone up and as soon as he’s finished and dismisses us, I shoot to my feet and go to talk to him.

“Professor Villier, I have a request. I was hoping we could change my project partner.”

He looks at me and then down at some paperwork. “Looks like you were a late entry to this class, Ms. Torini.” He purses his lips and I’m no Einstein but I know code when I hear it. He’s not a fan of the fact that I got strings pulled to land in his class. “Asking for favors when you’re lucky to be in this class at all is bad form.” Shit.

“You don’t pull punches, do you?” I say because I’m impressed as much as irritated and vaguely guilty. I should have put up more of a fight with Bigsby senior about all the string pulling, but he’s worse than city hall. There are a few other students gathering around to talk to the professor, and I feel Nate’s presence behind me without looking.

“She’s paying tuition like everyone else,” Nate says to the prof in a voice that’s a little past casual. The professor looks at him and keeps his mouth shut and I’m impressed. This time with Nate. But I don’t want to be impressed with him. No one asked him to stick up for me.

The girl next to me waiting to talk to the professor says, “Are you saying you don’t want to partner with Nate Garino?” She flashes a speculative smile at Nate. “Because I’ll take that partnership all day long—all night too.” She laughs and I know she’s serious.

“Forget it.” My words come out a little harsher than they should, so I paste on a smile. “I mean, you heard the professor.” I grab Nate’s arm and walk him away from the small crowd before any more girls volunteer for Nate duty. Before Nate has a chance to argue with me in front of the professor. He chuckles under his breath and I pinch his forearm. That makes him laugh out loud as we exit the class and then the building.

“Pinching me like old times—you haven’t lost your touch.” He smirks and I glare into those dark sensual eyes, keeping my eyes off his mouth because his mouth is too close, too magnetic, too filled with the kind of sizzling memories I’m desperate to relive—but not with him. Never with him again. I need to have those kind of kisses with Bigs.

I don’t know what he sees on my face, maybe the chaotic, jumbled-up emotions, because his teasing glint softens and he puts an arm around me. I yield for a second, for one glorious beat of time where the flood of memories about how it used to be fill me, overwhelm me with that sense of bliss that I’ve all but forgotten. Fuck. I yank myself from his hold.

“Stop it. You can’t put your arm around me. You lost that right when you—” He puts his hands up.

“Okay, damn it. I get it. I fucked up.”

“You did. Because you’re a fuck head and no woman in their right mind would ever look at you again after what you did.”

“Then why didn’t you let that girl partner with me?” His words are soft and all the more accusing for it, hitting me in the solar plexus of my heart and soul. Why did I do that? Fuck. Maybe I should drop this class. I can take it next year when Nate is gone.

That idea causes my heart to turn into a lead ball that drops into my gut and I feel nauseous.

“Never mind—forget it. You heard the professor. I’m stuck with you.” I wave my hand wildly until I get it and my heart under control, until I can lift it from despair and feel it beating again. Why do I care if I never see Nate again after this year? I hadn’t planned to see him ever again starting three years ago, right? I hadn’t planned to apply to the program here, but my advisor from Community College encouraging me, insisting it was the best program within a hundred miles—my parameter so I could get home to see my parents and especially my Zia Rosaria who isn’t getting any younger, I took the chance.

Once I got the scholarship and my parents found out, it was hard not to enroll. Bigs coming along was the icing on the cake. Him being here made me feel more comfortable, like there would be less danger to my heart if and when I ran into Nate.

Except he hadn’t totally disappeared. He was always around in the background, coming home to the neighborhood for holidays, dropping in at my uncle’s restaurant now and then, in the distance at Thanksgiving high school football games, on the other side of the parking lot at the grocery store. I’d see him and hear about him at home and know he was still part of my life like a distant echo.

But after this year when he leaves for the NHL—because that’s where he’s headed—all bets are off. He could end up anywhere. He’ll have lots of money then and will travel in a different dimension, go through life on a different level. With someone else at his side—like that girl from class.

Fuck no. Not on my watch.

Did I ever really let him go? The voice of my heart answers me with the truth and a resounding fuck no.

But I need to do it now, to finally let him go, let go of all the resentment. I need to keep my eyes on the prize—namely Alan Bigsby—and my career—namely my own restaurant. My chest squeezes at the acknowledgment that I’ll never have that restaurant together with Nate like we dreamed of when we were young and clueless.

I walk with him back toward BMOC House because that’s where I’m going, not because I want to walk with him. Bigs texted me this morning insisting that I eat lunch with him there, claiming he has the best cook on the planet. No shit, Sherlock, and he’s just now mentioning this? We walk in tense silence until we get close and I know I need to say something.

“We need to behave civilly with each other,” I say as we turn down our street and pass by my house.

“Where are you going?” The wariness in his voice comes through loud and clear.

“I’m having lunch with you at BMOC House. I… need to meet Majik.” His eyebrows lift and I look away, unsure why I didn’t want to admit that I’m meeting Bigs for lunch. It’s not like me to spare the jerk’s feelings. I should be grinding in the fact that I belong to Bigs now and not him.