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Jan 29

closest to heaven pt. 2

part 2/?. masterlist.

summary: you and nick orbit each other for far too long—both choosing celibacy, both pretending the tension isn’t eating you alive. a small fallout cracks the illusion, and one wrong date with someone else makes it painfully clear who owns your heart. when you and nick finally collide, it’s not impulsive—it’s inevitable.

nick parked the car before your apartment complex; it’s intimidating height barely visible due to the darkened night if it weren’t for the lights on in some windows.

“i’ll walk you up,” he insists, exiting the vehicle swiftly to open your door once more, you knew, because he was quick to circle the car. you giggled as he nearly jogged, the wine doing you favors for your nerves enough at this point, and nick was slowly turning more into an excited boy on christmas morning.

“you don’t have to,” you assure as he opens the door, once more offering his hand that you take. this time he doesn’t let go.

“i want to,” he says casually, confident. his hand was warm, holding onto yours, pulling your body closer to him as you walked. you shivered, convinced it was from the breeze again but dismissing the fact that — thanks to wine! — you were warm all over. he opens the door for you, “why don’t you give me your number, too, so i can delete this god forsaken app.”

you giggle, guiding the way towards the elevators, nick following whilst pulling out his phone, handing it to you.

you get in the elevator, at which nick looks to you with a quizzical expression, “seventh floor.”

he presses the button with the number seven on it and the elevator shifts after a brief moment. you type your number into his contacts, adding your full name and ‘(tinder)’ after it with a victorious giggle. you add a contact photo, suddenly aware that the night was about to end. you angle the camera to show the both of you, turning your head to plant a gentle kiss against nick’s cheek while he stared, unamused at first, at the camera.

after retreating, you notice his smile and save the photo as your contact picture before returning his phone to him. he puts it in his pocket, and the elevator stops on the seventh floor.

you both step out, and nick follows you to your door as you fumble with the key you slipped in your handbag.

“so, we’re on for saturday?” he asks, despite never solidifying a plan before. you turn, and he’s close. you feel your back against the wall, leaning against it for support as you nod, smiling.

“yeah. just let me know the plans,” you say, finally securing the key, but you don’t move. you’d never done it before, but you were excited to kiss him — you were excited for him to kiss you. “thank you for dinner. i had a really good time.”

“it’s my pleasure,” he says, leaning in ever-so-slightly before you meet him halfway, hopeful you didn’t seem as eager as you truly were. he kisses you; soft, sweet and you feel his warm hands at your sides. your head goes dizzy, and you feel powerless in the comfort of his lips. fireworks, you thought. your stomach turns in desire when you feel his fingertips dig into you, the vice grip only ceasing when you pull away slightly.

you felt like you might scream or faint or throw up or kiss him again and again. your face was certainly a deep red, now, and you felt so hot you were beginning to sweat. your legs were becoming useless, too.

“goodnight,” you finally say, parting before you could embarrass yourself in front of him. you unlock your door, slipping inside with a wild grin and rosy cheeks.

“goodnight,” he says and you close the door, shameless as you lean in towards the peephole, watching as nick walked back towards the elevator, something continuously drawing his attention upwards before he was out of view.

you stomp quietly, a scream teasing your lungs out of sheer giddiness. you undo the straps of your shoes, stepping out of them with urgency as you finally skip towards the bathroom. looking in the mirror, you see the wild blush and sigh, relieved and dazed.

by the time you remove your makeup, undo your hair and change back into pajamas, you were still floating. you couldn’t possibly go to sleep like this, deciding to sit at the couch, just as you did before, and turning on the television for netflix.

your phone vibrates and you check it before opening netflix, eager for nick to contact you again. you hoped he would open up more through text, now, but you tried not to keep your hopes up.

the notification was from caleb, asking if the time was good because he matched with another girl, too, and she was available saturday.

you decided there was no harm done on him if that were the case; deleting the app with a few taps of your finger, confident in the connection with nick after kissing him.

as if on queue — like an achievement simply came across your screen — an unknown number texts you.

‘made it home. deleted tinder. any ideas on how to entertain myself for the next few hours?’

you smile, saving the contact as nick fuentes without introduction.

‘i’ll let you know when i find out’

you respond and he reads it immediately. your chest warms and you mindlessly put on a show netflix expected you to continue watching. you didn’t watch, but instead put all your attention to nick even in text.

‘a few ideas come to mind. i send you a link to my show, you send me a link to your onlyfans’

you laughed, having heard from him that his content was just about as raunchy; that you probably wouldn’t enjoy it, which you hesitated to believe until he began to discuss politics, simply to see how quickly you’d grow bored.

‘im not that type of girl’

‘i send the link after the second dates only.’

the television catches your attention for a brief moment as nick typed a response, indicated by the dots appearing. you change the television to youtube, simply searching his name out of curiosity and because you wanted to see him again.

‘i should’ve known better. why’d you put (tinder) next to your name?’

you smile, selecting the first video you saw with a clip of nick’s face; a commentary over his actual show, because apparently it wasn’t allowed on youtube.

or anywhere, really.

‘wasn’t sure how many girls there were. wouldn’t want any confusion of course’

the message was lighthearted but nick reacts to the text with a thumbs down emoticon, and the video begins playing on the television.

nick’s in the midst of ranting about the republican party, his frustration making him seem like another person but it intrigued you nonetheless.

‘i’m what they call a lone wolf’

you snap a photo of your television, your feet kicked up on the ottoman comfortably as nick’s show paused behind commentary overlapping it. you send it to him.

‘i can tell’

you smile after, watching as the dots appear and disappear, and again. an image of a computer screen in a dimly lit room, onlyfans pulled onto the tab, nick’s free hand resting across the keyboard in preparation for a search. you laugh aloud, only finding comfort in nick’s voice playing in the background; the content never piqued your interests enough to follow along outside of him.

‘give me something. what firm do you work for?’

you respond with the firm name; with little difficulty he would search for it, find it’s website and find my page in the staff tab.

he does, and he sends a photo of his computer again, your professional photo and short bio and contact information littered the screen.

you text nick for hours, until eventually your texts begin to space by minutes and he accuses you of being half asleep. you fall asleep watching the videos youtube plays, even after the initial one was long gone, and a text coming to your phone of a simple goodnight.

the days pass on, each morning spent texting nick between meetings, appointments, and other work things and again every night. he was a fire cracker; the conversations came endlessly and with ease, and you never knew what his response would be.

on thursday, he’d requested a picture while you were at work, researching for a brief, the deadline of which approached quickly. you spent any spare time texting him.

‘send me a picture’

you smiled, knowing what he meant but finding humor in teasing him anyways.

‘you’re naughty’

you take a photo of yourself, smiling softly at the camera but just for nick. just as you send the photo, he responded.

‘you have no idea’

after a few moments, he texts again.

‘i want to see you again before saturday’

when you offer the idea of your apartment on friday, it’s mainly for the fact that you wouldn’t have to dress out of pajamas after work. nick had certainly picked up on this by now, making occasional observations that you were quick to change into comfortable clothes whenever the opportunity arose.

‘you won’t take advantage of me?’

you read his text with a giggle but don’t respond yet, continuing with your work before the deadline could pass without your knowledge. you had felt like you were living on a different plane of existence pretty much all week; time’s passage only exciting you more until you saw him again. work chatter turned to a bore becaue nobody could make you feel like nick does.

that night, he would call you as you prepared cookie dough. you hoped he liked chocolate chip and he calls after a few minutes of no texts from your end. when you tease him about missing you, he says that he does and by the time friday night comes, you were too focused on kissing him again that you nearly forget to put the cookies into the oven to bake upon getting home from work.

you don’t know what time he would arrive because he doesn’t text ahead, but instead appears at your door with a gentle, swift knock. you begin the timer on the oven before rushing to the door, going on your toes to peek through the hole to see nick — so deliciously handsome in casual clothes — holding a small bouquet of flowers you hadn’t expected. you fight the urge to squeal and kick your feet as you unlock the door for him, surprised to see him again without the door in the way.

“hi,” he says, sweetly and shyly. judging by his expression, it was as though he wasn’t expecting to see you there, pleasantly surprised nonetheless.

“come in,” you say quicky, stepping aside to invite him inside. he moves, and by the time you close the door, you’re turning towards a bouquet of flowers and him — so close again.

you’re busy with the scent of flowers and the euphoria of him there that you hardly realize he’s coming closer again, his free hand gentle against your neck to steady your unexpected movement. he kisses you again; shut out from the rest of the world behind your closed door. it felt good and exciting, like you were doing something you shouldn’t be but loved it anyway.

he’s pulling away, bringing the flowers closer to present them but you don’t let him; you can’t let him. you’re pushing back against him, kissing him again and again. he fumbles back, arm wrapping around you as he sets the bouquet down on the countertop. you feel the smile he was trying to fight away; perhaps it was another laugh, but you didn’t care. you’d waited for what had seemed like an eternity since last you saw him. you felt misplaced without it ever since.

“you’re —” he breaks out briefly, “taking advantage of me.”

you stop finally, smiling bashfully as the weight of your actions hit you. despite his satisfaction, the overwhelming feelings you had were becoming an embarrassment to act upon.

nick’s smiling and pulls you close again, this time one arm wrapped around you, pulling your waist close to his and the other gently cradled your neck, kissing you again as if to say it was okay.

the timer goes off and you nearly jump out of your own skin and nick’s grip. he’s hesitant to release you, but does anyway whilst you scurry to the oven, inspecting the cookies on the baking sheet.

nick watches you as you pull the sheet from the oven, allowing the cookies to cool on the stove top. nick’s close again while you turn off the oven, and rather than kissing you again, he steals a cookie, breaking the soft treat in half until gooey chocolate ran from the inside. you say nothing while he eats one half, holding the other out for you to eat. it’s still hot, but he’s holding it so it must not be scalding; you bite the cookie and the feeling of nick’s fingertips brushing against your lower lip make you look at him. he’s smiling and you’re trying not to giggle hard enough to spit cookie all over him whilst your tongue gently cleans melted chocolate from his fingertip.

“we should probably do something else,” nick says, his tone sincere but betraying him as he ogles at you. you giggle and laugh and he’s struggling to keep his composure, his cheeks turning a bright red. he started it.

you find yourselves on the couch instead. nick wants to watch a movie about desert storm, and you relinquish the remote to him as you had no better ideas. you weren’t intending on giving a movie all of your attention tonight anyways.

he’s leaning back into the couch, legs spread whilst he searches for a movie and his free hand is mindlessly grazing against your shoulder as you curl beside him, legs pulled to your chest and basking in his warmth, breathing in his scent. you’d never been so infatuated with another person before; the feelings unnerved you completely, the only remedy was moving closer to him.

he’s focused on the film, but his touch still lingers against you — your shoulder, your knee, — you try to watch the movie, always being drawn back by his touch, a small sigh or even a short rant about the politics behind it. you’re stealing touches whenever the opportunity comes along and he doesn’t mind. you ask questions when he rants, so he can talk for longer. you’d like to say you were learning from the experience, but you were deep down only desperately attempting to get through the evening without making out with him again, despite how much you’d like to. you couldn’t retain any of the information he was saying even if you wanted to.

“that was completely inaccurate,” he says with a sigh once the movie was over, music played whilst the credits rolled and he finally meets your gaze. you’re almost falling asleep by now, lulled only by his presence, and you blink at him. “do i bore you?” he laughs.

“kind of,” you stretch your arms, a grin of satisfaction plastered on your face. he doesn’t respond, so you change the subject and indulge ever so slightly in your sinful ideas; you sit on his lap, straddling him. he’s blushing and smiling and everything you are right now, too. his hands relax at your hips, occasionally reaching to wrap his arms around you as you spoke to him again. “i like having you here, though.”

“i like being here,” he says, a hint of overwhelming relief in his tone.

“really?” you ask, pride swells in your chest. he nods, and you can’t help but let your hands feel and explore his shoulders, his neck. his eyes roll back slightly before he releases a breath. “why?”

“psychotic feminists and their fleet of middle-aged baristas have been harassing me; they found out where i live, been showing up at my door…” his eyes are closed as he speaks, the troubles rolling from his tongue as you gently massage his shoulders. you’re convinced you could ask him anything right now and he’d answer with complete honesty without hesitation.

he looked like a man at peace.

“have you called the police?” you ask, pausing slightly to gather his attention once more. he nods again, unbothered.

“yes. they leave and nothing happens after,” he explains, a small shrug.

when your hands massage his neck and your fingers massage his ear lobes, he opens his eyes again slowly and pulls you impossibly closer simultaneously. you blush and pretend not to notice the erection growing in his pants as it presses against you. you don’t notice the way you’re pulling at the hair on the back of his head and he smiles again.

“wait ‘til they find out,” he starts, and you can barely keep eye contact, “all that stress they’re giving me gets rubbed out by you.”

you smile and he laughs at the double entendre. you’re struggling to focus at all and he seems to know exactly what he’s doing, “you want them to harrass me, too?”

“no,” he sighs, his amusement finally fading but his arousal doing the opposite, “you’ll be my little secret for as long as i can help it.” you listen and don’t respond; you’re so close together he’s nearly buried between your breasts.

your phone vibrates on the couch beside you two and for the first time you were so thankful of modern technology for putting a pin in this position. you move to answer the phone, reaching for your cell; you barely see it’s your mother calling before leaping to the opportunity of a break before putting it to your ear.

“hello?” you ask, and you see nick stand. your eyes follow him to the window, his interest piqued by the bookshelf lining the wall just beside it, full of books that were dusting, now, but required for paralegal schooling.

“hey, honey, it’s me. you sound confused, you told me to call tonight,” she says, the interference from the phone proof enough that she was rechecking the day of the week. “you’re so into your work, your own mother has to reach you by appointment only.”

if nick heard that he would have laughed at you. you roll your eyes at your mother’s scolding and that nick was still your first thought. he’s flipping through one of the books from your shelf.

“sorry, i just was watching a movie.” you explain, not technically lying. his eyes glance to meet yours for a brief moment before he continues inspecting the book.

“really?” she sounds genuinely surprised, “remember we used to watch movies together all the time?”

you did remember. the last one was about a princess and a frog, many moons ago. still, you smile and nick looks at you for a couple of seconds before moving on to another book.

“yeah, i remember,” you say anyways, nostalgia runs through you and you almost forget about the handsome man before you as he plucks out a book about government structures.

“i’m just glad you’re doing other things, too… this semester off should do you some good, huh?” she asks, concern laced in her tone. you look at nick, worried for a moment that he’d heard the conversation, but he continues on undisturbed.

thanks to the attorney’s at work who offered to put you through law school, seeing you as an asset rather than an employee, you were attempting to get through law school full time while also working the same amount.

you managed your time perfectly, but your mother was convinced you would die alone at the rate you were going. a couple of calls made by your mother to the attorneys you worked for later and you were forced to take the semester off by the hands holding the money.

“i hope you’re not still spending every night alone,” she says, “lucy’s daughter lives in the west loop, i can see if her girlfriends can tag you along when they go out.”

you swallow, your throat suddenly runs dry.

“no, no, no, i don’t need you to do that,” you say, and nick looks at you again. you realize just how hard you try to avoid interaction outside of work. on top of that, the idea of being accompanied at a bar by a bunch of women forced to bring you seemed like hell on earth. you had to save face, “i actually met someone. a guy.”

nick looks away, hiding a grin before walking closer to the window, his gaze averted downwards toward the parking lot.

“what?” she’s shocked; you hear something metal clack in the background as though she’s just dropped something. “a guy? send me a picture. what’s his name? is he from the area — would i maybe know his parents?”

“mom…” you try your best to bring her attention to the amount of questions she blurted out in a minimal time frame without tipping nick off. he turns to reapproach you, seemingly becoming bored.

“what!? i can’t be worried about some shmuck dating my baby girl?” you close your eyes for a brief moment, suppressing your bubbling irritation and when you open them again, nick’s leaned over, head close enough to your phone to hear your mother chirp your name before starting up again, “send me a picture and i won’t ask anymore questions for now.”

you push nick away, earning a silenced giggle before you take the phone from your ear, swiftly sending her the picture from the elevator without nick seeing you do so. you hear your mom continue to talk though you don’t listen, and nick is back at you again.

“i just sent it,” you say, using one hand to steer nick elsewhere, but he was resilient and easily bypassing your attempts at privacy.

a brief moment of silence passes before your mom exclaims, “oh, he’s cute!”

nick does something similar to a dramatized fist pump, overhearing the approval of your mother.

“don’t send it to anybody, mom,” you say quickly, as it wouldn’t be surprising to know she sends the picture to all her girlfriends, asking if they know who’s son he is. god, hopefully none of them knew who he was just by looking at him. “we just met.”

“okay, i won’t,” she murmurs, barely listening as she’s likely inspecting the picture still.

“i gotta go, i have a conference call tonight and the client’s in another time zone,” you lie now to exit this painfully interrogative conversation, “love you, mom.”

“i love you too, sweetheart. we’ll talk soon,” she promises and you hang up before she can start again and go against her own word.

“you had me worried,” nick says, drawing your attention up as he stood at the edge of the couch, just beside you, “by how fast you jumped out of my lap, i thought it was a boyfriend calling.”

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as nick toys with your misery. still, your cheeks turn red and you can’t look at him directly anymore, recalling the compromising position from before.

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