Chapter 7 #2
My thoughts flee as my lungs decide to stop working. I mean completely. They throw in the towel or whatever. I suck in a breath, encouraging them to get on with it, so I can tell Brad this is a bad idea. But all that comes out is a squeaky, “Valentine’s Day?”
“The party?” A line appears on his forehead. “For your parents’ anniversary? Any of this ringing a bell?”
I start to pull my hands back, but he’s got a good grip. And it’s not horrible. I clear my throat. “Yes. Of course I remember. What about it?”
“I made a list of places that cater. Want to go taste-testing with me?”
My eyes dart to the door. In theory, Raja could come back any moment. I don’t want them to think I’m goofing off. “Um, when?”
“I was thinking we could go Friday night. Check some of the places—”
“Really?” I pull my hands away. “You want me to go out to eat with you on a Friday night? Sounds like a date.”
“It’s not.”
“But if we’re seen together on a Friday night, people will assume we’re on a date.”
“So what?”
I gape at him. “So what? We can’t date—not that you’d want to date me, but we can’t have—”
He grabs my hands again and it stops my rambling. His eyes capture mine. “You think I wouldn’t date you? That I don’t want you?”
“Oh. Um.” My face is so hot it feels like it’s been welded on. And seriously, I need to stop watching power tool videos. And the ones where the hot guy chops wood. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Why…? I mean, look at me.”
His voice has a rough edge. “I thought we cleared this up. That text was about you.”
“Text?” I ask, shrugging one shoulder. But pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about is stupid.
And a huge mistake.
“Let me refresh your memory.” His voice drops even lower. “Gorgeous. Long blond hair. Tight jeans. Hot ass I’d like to tap.”
Desire, hot and pointed, hits me like a target, and Brad’s words are his weapons. Not just his words. The way his eyes burn into me is the perfect accelerant.
He cups my face, and I lean into his touch.
His callused hand is rough and exciting against my skin.
“I meant every word, Charlie.” His eyes drop to my mouth, and he brushes his thumb over my lower lip.
When he presses down, my mouth opens at his unspoken request. My heart pounds erratically.
I want to suck his thumb into my mouth. More.
I want more. “I’d drop to my knees for this guy.
For you, Charlie.” His fingers twist in my hair, and he pulls me closer.
My body burns with a need to have his mouth on mine.
Briiiinnnnng.
I jump away from Brad so fast that my chair rolls and stops with a thud against the wall. Brad has a dazed expression, and I want to kiss him more than ever—but the phone is still ringing.
“Chas,” Raja says from the doorway. “We just talked about this.” They nod at Brad. “Coach Rathborn.”
As I grab the phone, I take a few quick breaths to calm down. Thankfully, it’s a business call, so I focus on the information the caller needs and not Brad standing less than two feet away. I search through my papers, and Brad taps the desk.
“See you Friday,” His voice is low. And amused.
I ignore the happy bubbles in my chest and the caller. “It’s not a date.”
He grins, and I forget what I was doing as I watch him walk away, until my eyes land on Raja.
Right. Focus. I have work to do.
Back to adulting.
Friday, January 9th
“This is a stupid idea,” I say, glaring at Brad. We’re walking down Main Street in the biggest town in Dundy County. My parents’ party is only four weeks away, and I’m trying not to panic at all the things we still need to finalize.
“You agreed to it, sweetheart.”
I dart in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Don’t call me that.”
His cheeks are red. Is that from the cold or something else? “It slipped out,” he says. “Won’t happen again.”
The wind blows my hair in my face, and I push it back. The thing proving the most difficult to shove away? The memory of Brad almost kissing me. And how much I wanted it. I don’t let any of that show. “I agreed to taste-testing at a few places. This is dinner.”
His eyes crinkle, and damn, why do I want to trace each one of those lines with my lips? This is why it’s such a bad idea. “Don’t worry, Chas,” he says, emphasizing my name. “This isn’t me trying to trick you into a date.”
“No?” I lift a brow.
His fingers brush my hair out of my face, and I barely stop myself from sighing. My body heats at his gentle, almost teasing, touch. “I wouldn’t rely on tricks,” he says softly, tucking a strand behind my ear. “If I wanted a date, I’d ask.”
“Oh.”
We’re standing so close I can feel his breath on my face.
I can still feel the heat from his fingers, even though he’s no longer touching me.
I bite my lip, and his eyes zero in on my mouth.
Why is this a bad idea again? We’re both adults.
But then he blinks and side nods at the building next to us.
“We’re here.”
The inside of Mae’s Diner is decorated with a farmhouse theme. Which is perfect for my parents. But the food is what matters.
They’ve prepared a variety of options specifically for Valentine’s Day. The pizza roses are good but messy, and I lick the sauce off my lips.
Brad groans and hands me a napkin. “Stop teasing me.”
Oh gosh. Is that what he thinks? “I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists with a grin. “Just not intentionally.”
My face heats, but I don’t apologize.
“Try the fried buffalo artichoke hearts.” He holds a piece close to my mouth. Does he want me to eat it from his fingers?
I shouldn’t. But I take a bite, and it’s good. The tangy buffalo sauce bursts on my tongue, and I moan. His fingers are right there. His eyes darken. “Charlie.”
I pull back, shaking my head as I swallow the bite. “You did that to yourself.”
“I did.”
But he doesn’t look sorry at all.
“Are you still teaching shop?” I ask because if he’s talking, he’s not staring at me like he wants me for dessert instead of the tiramisu truffles.
“Industrial Arts, but yes. I love working with the kids. And building things. Oh, I have something for you.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
Brad flattens it and turns it so I can see. It’s a drawing of a heart bench with Minni and Chuck and their wedding date engraved on it.
I trace the drawing with my finger. “Did you design this?”
“I thought I could make it for their garden.” He taps his fingers on the table as if his hands need to be doing something. There’s a catch in his voice when he asks, “What do you think?”
I squeeze his hand until he looks up. “It’s amazing.”
“Yeah?” He gives me a crooked smile. “You might want to wait until it’s finished to say that.”
Why am I continually surprised by this man?
Things are easier after that. We talk about Harper. He confirms that she lives with him right now, and that she’s one of the reasons he signed up to help renovate homes. “I just want to help people like Harper, who can’t seem to catch a break.”
“I’m glad you’re part of our team.”
“Are you?” But I can tell he’s teasing.
Brad asks about my life in Kansas City. I talk about my work and getting used to life in the big city.
I briefly mention Syd, only saying that it didn’t work out.
As I talk, Brad listens with zero judgment.
Well, except when I tell him about my short stay with the nuns.
That head shake has plenty of judgment attached.
But then he smiles. “You never cease to amaze me, Charlie.”
I could easily get addicted to the fondness in his eyes. I want more of that. More of him.
We test different samples and pick our favorites. The mood is light, but the air is charged with awareness. Every accidental brush of our fingers. Every time our eyes meet and neither of us looks away.
As Brad takes another drink of his water, I can’t look away. How have I never noticed how sexy it is to watch him drink water? He sets his glass down. “I think we need to clarify some things.”
My body tenses. “Oh? What’s that?”
He leans over the table and says in a low voice, “This is not a date.”
“Right. I know.”
“Then stop looking at me like that,” he says. I don’t ask what he means. But that doesn’t stop him. “Like you want to devour me.”
I jerk my hand, almost knocking over my water. I grab it and take a drink, hoping it will help me cool off. “The buffalo artichoke hearts were surprisingly good.”
He responds with a grin. This man knows exactly what he’s doing.
It’s even windier after we leave the restaurant, and I redo the bun in my hair. It’s only a short walk to the car, but I hate it when my hair gets tangled.
“What do you think?” Brad asks once we’re settled in his truck. “Should we meet up again and try the other places on my list?”
I almost say yes. But not for the right reason. Instead, I shake my head. “This place is great. Mom and Dad will love the food. And their prices are good.”
“Agreed. What’s next, boss?”
There are so many things I could say. But I focus on the task at hand. Planning this party. On the way back to Dixon Hills, we discuss venues, music, and how much of the town to invite. And how to keep this party a surprise.
Brad drops me off at home with nothing more than a friendly squeeze of my shoulder. I ignore the disappointment churning in my stomach. Instead, I prepare for the next day. I don’t want to be late, or I’ll get that look from Raja.
After everything is set, I snuggle in my warm, comfy bed and ignore the mountains of boxes surrounding me.
Sleeping is impossible. My mind tortures me by replaying Brad’s every smile. Every touch. What would it be like to kiss Brad Rathborn?
To touch him?
And is his cock really that big?
I’m aching and desperate when I finally give in.
“You’re the boss, Charlie. Tell me what to do.”
“On your knees, Brad.”
He drops without hesitation, his eyes on mine, waiting for orders. Fuck. I’m already too close. I order him to take off my pants. My boxer briefs. And he does it all torturously slow. Awkwardness prickles my skin as I imagine telling Brad what I want. And try to keep Syd’s words out of my head.
“Tell me what you want, Charlie?” my imaginary Brad asks.
“Suck my cock.”
I imagine Brad’s mouth on me, and thinking goes out the window as I jack myself off to thoughts of fucking Brad’s mouth.
It doesn’t take long after that, but the high from getting off is short.
After I clean up, I slip back under my warm blankets, knowing it’s a fantasy. One that can never actually happen.
Friday, January 16th
My welcome-home dinner takes almost two weeks to schedule due to my work schedule and Mom’s commitments. It’s been a week since the taste-testing. Brad’s been friendly but professional. Exactly what I want, right?
Then why am I so upset with him?
Mom’s made my favorite, pot roast and potatoes, and it’s as good as I remember. But it’s difficult to enjoy my food with everything so awkward.
My parents share looks like they’re plotting something. But the most confusing thing of all is Brad.
As Dad points out, Brad and Harper are family. Which doesn’t sit right in my gut. Brad’s eyes meet mine across the table, but the playful teasing from a few days ago is gone.
“Are you all moved in?” Dad asks, although I’m sure he knows the answer.
“Everything’s in the apartment. Unpacked? Not so much.”
I glance at Brad. He’s poking the potatoes like they personally did something to him. Normally, he’d make some crack about me not unpacking my boxes. It was a joke when I moved to college and then came back home.
What’s his problem? But I know the answer. It’s fine to flirt with me, touch my hair, and feed me food as long as no one sees. Especially not my parents.
Why does that upset me? It’s not like I want anyone to know what almost happened between us.
But with the way he’s been aloof at work, the shift back to family friend is hard to take.
It frustrates me so much that I want to grab his fork and stab him with it.
Every now and then, I catch him looking at me. And then pretending he isn’t.
I ignore Brad and his moods and focus on my parents.
“I put my bed together, so that’s a huge accomplishment.
” I laugh. “When I moved to KC, I slept on a mattress on the floor for a week. And the first place I lived had mice, so I made quite a few friends before I moved into an apartment building that had more people than rodents. Oh, sorry, Harper.” Stop rambling, Charlie.
She waves her hand. “It’s fine.” Brad’s sister is not a fan of mice. Snakes? Sure. No problem. But no rodents.
“Boxes attract mice, so you should get those boxes unpacked,” Mom says. Her smile dims. “Unless you’re planning on moving again.” Something in her voice reminds me of a live wire you don’t want to touch.
I smile and squeeze her hand. “Not moving anytime soon, Mom. No worries about that.” When I glance back, Brad is staring at me. Does he look relieved, or am I imagining it?
And that irks me. One minute, he’s sweet and adoring, and the next, he’s ignoring me. I’m being unreasonable. What did I expect? But that stupid part of my brain tells me Brad was flirting with me because that’s what he does. He flirts. He hooks up. Has he ever seriously dated someone?
And the way he was this week and how he’s being now, around my family, is what I have to look forward to. But I can’t deal with those thoughts, so instead, I wait for the perfect opportunity.
Brad needs to answer for this torture he’s putting me through.
But first, I need to ask the question.