Make a Move by Meika Usher

Author:Meika Usher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, romcom, friends to lovers, contemporary
Publisher: Meika Usher
Published: 2020-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

29: Nate

The walk to a nearby sushi place was filled with silence. The only sound between us was Birdie’s high-heeled boots clicking against the sidewalk. Which was fine by me. Because I had no idea what to say.

Honestly, the shock that Birdie had agreed to talk was so intense, I’d be surprised if I could string together a complete sentence once we were settled into the restaurant.

No, but seriously. What was I going to say? Once we sorted out the Anya debacle, she’d have more questions. She’d pick up where she left off with her line of questions that night. About why she couldn’t touch me. Why I wouldn’t let her touch me. And I had no idea what I was going to tell her.

The truth? my mind filled in. That’d be a good place to start.

My stomach clenched at the thought. Flashback after flashback played in my mind, from every time before that I had uttered the words, I’m a virgin, and it resulted in harried excuses and hasty departures. Could I handle it if Birdie did the same?

I glanced her way. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her long hair like silk falling over her shoulders. My chest tightened. No, I thought. I could not handle it.

We reached the restaurant well before I had any sort of anything to say planned out. This was going to go well.

“So,” Birdie said as we settled into our seats. “What’s your go-to here?”

I picked up the menu and studied it. “I usually get the—”

“I think we should start with the miso soup,” she interrupted, and I looked up to find her studying her own menu, brow creased. “And then...we could split a shrimp tempura roll and the Screaming Mimi roll.” She looked up, the overhead light catching the blue in her eyes perfectly “How does that sound?”

Putting down my menu, I nodded. “Works for me.”

The waitress showed up then, and Birdie relayed our order, tossing in a pot of tea for good measure. Once we were alone again, I fiddled with my wrapped chopsticks and studied our fellow diners. In the far corner, a young couple sat, leaned toward each other, talking quietly. To their left, a suited-up older man talked into his phone while chopsticking his way through a bowl of something delicious-looking. At our table, silence reigned.

“So,” Birdie said finally, and my eyes shot back to her. She was leaned forward, arms folded on the table, fingertips drumming lightly against her forearms. “I’m gonna need you to tell me.”

My stomach lurched. “Tell you what?” I asked, hoping to buy time. To put her off. Because I knew the answer to her question would send her running. And I didn’t want her to leave.

“Tell me why I can’t touch you.” Her gaze was steady on me. She didn’t blink, didn’t waver. And, although panic was eating me from the inside out, I was impressed. I was always impressed by her tenacity. “Because if it’s the one-ball thing, seriously. Not an issue.

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