Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
brADLEY
“He won’t even talk to a woman because he’s love struck on someone else,” Noah says, taking a long pull of his beer.
I glance sideways at my younger brother. “I don’t remember inviting you, why are you even here?”
“He’s got a point,” my friend Mitch agrees. “You have been a little grumpier than usual.”
Like a child, I flip them both the bird. “Fuck the two of you.”
“That someone being… Chelsea.” Noah drags her name out when I don’t bite.
“Would you grow up?” I mutter.
My other friend, Isaac, slaps me on the back. “Hold up, you’ve got the hots for Chelsea?”
I roll my eyes. “No. My brother is just trying to get a rise out of me because his own love life is a disaster and he wants to take the heat off himself.”
Noah yawns loudly. “When did you get so old and boring?”
“Old? You’re two years younger than me, asshat.”
Noah isn’t done yet, though. “Funny how whenever Chelsea is around, that chip on your shoulder gets a little less noticeable, and the ice around your stone cold heart melts away like someone left the freezer door open.”
“You’re ridiculous. I vote we ditch your ass and go to Brewski’s.”
Noah doesn’t look affronted. Nothing much fazes him. We’re nothing alike in personality, but we’ve had this back-and-forth banter since we were little kids.
“A dive bar?” Mitch almost chokes on his beer. “Maybe Noah’s right, are you feeling okay?” He reaches to press his hand against my forehead and I swat him away.
“Clearly, you’re all gonna be asshats today,” I sigh. “I might take my beer to the bar and ditch all of you.”
“What would be so bad about Chelsea anyway?” Isaac goes on. “She’s hot.”
I punch him in the arm. “Quit it.”
“What?” he sputters. “You’re that sensitive about Chelsea and you’re not boning her? Seems fishy to me.”
“It is possible for a man to be friends with a woman and not bone her,” I retort.
A few seconds pass, then all three of them burst out laughing.
Mitch thumps me on the back. “Good one.” He continues laughing even when I shrug him off.
“Laugh all you want, but clearly the realms of an actual adult friendship between a man and a woman are beyond all of your pea-sized brains,” I say, taking another pull of my beer.
“But Chelsea is a fox,” Mitch adds. “You can’t deny it. I mean, haven’t you ever wondered?”
Of course I’ve wondered. Ever since the sponge incident the other day at the office, I’ve been keeping my distance.
I fucking touched her, and kept my hand on her face.
She was gracious enough to laugh it off, but she did look at me weird.
Like ‘what the hell are you doing?’ kinda weird, but she’s too nice to tell me to keep my paws to myself.
I hope she doesn’t let other guys just touch her whenever the fancy takes them.
“No,” I lie. “I haven’t.”
“Not once?” Isaac presses. “She rocks that Sweet Confetti apron like nobody’s business.”
I don’t like that he’s noticed, and when he sees my nostrils flare, he waves his hands in a surrendering motion. “How about we change the subject. Chelsea and Deaton are off limits.”
“Touchy,” Mitch whispers.
Noah taps his nose. “It’s okay, your secrets are safe with us, bro.”
I end up ditching my brother and my friends shortly after, not because I’m that annoyed with them — even though they’re being dicks — but because I get a frantic message from the woman herself.
Chelsea
Hey, Brad. I’m sorry for the late text, but I need a favor
Me
Anything
Chelsea
I have to close up tomorrow because one of my staff is sick and I can’t get to Deat’s soccer game
Me
Did you need me to take him?
Chelsea
I hate to ask, but that would be amazing if you could
Me
Perfectly fine. Don’t stress. We’ve got this
Chelsea
Thank you. Usually my mom does it if I can’t make it, but she’s out of town
Me
Like I said, don’t stress
Me
Have you eaten?
Chelsea
Not yet. Deat did, I just haven’t had a chance to sit down while I’m going through the new bakery menu
Me
I’ll bring you something
Me
And if you tell me I don’t have to do that, I’ll be highly disappointed
Chelsea
How can I argue with that?
Half an hour later, I’m at Chelsea’s door with her favorite pizza pie, and she’s letting me up into her apartment.
I do not think about what my friends or brother said earlier tonight because they’re childish idiots, but I also don’t miss the way Chelsea’s long, dark hair hangs down her back — usually it’s tied up for work.
Or how she fills out the jeans she’s wearing, making my eyes dip to her ass.
Or how pretty her skin is with no makeup on. She doesn’t need it — she’s a natural beauty.
“I stopped by the pizzeria.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“That’s very sweet of you, thank you,” she says, letting me in the door. “I just put Deaton to bed, but come up.”
Seeing no reason not to, I do just that, following her up the stairs that lead to the apartment. It’s neat and tidy, just like everything Chelsea does; it’s to perfection. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
I want to broach the subject of the sale of the bakery building again, but last time I merely mentioned it, I made her cry. I’ve also done some research, and the property will go up for auction. Great. So there could be a bidding war.
Chelsea has to live with the fear that she may or may not be out of this building; ready to move, uproot her life when her lease runs out and the building is sold — and Deaton’s — and that’s killing me.
Her kitchen is compact and nothing like the one downstairs, but she’s made the place her own with throw rugs, a comfy couch, a round dining table where we’ve shared many a meal, and even a small balcony.
“Listen, about the other day,” I begin, wanting to get the awkward conversation out of the way.
“I’m really sorry that I upset you, and I know you said it was you being sensitive, but that isn’t true.
I’ve run the comps, and done some research, and you’re right, the price tag is looking at over one point two million. ”
Her face falls and I kick myself for even saying it, but she brightens quickly. “It’s totally fine, like I said, I was having a day, and it all just came out in one outburst.”
“Well, I meant what I said; you can tell me anything, anytime.”
“You’re a great friend, B.” She does that thing where she squeezes my forearm and I feel it right between my legs. “I know I’m dropping all of this stuff on your lap, but Bea is away as well, and my other friend Morgan—”
“That’s what friends are for.” I clear my throat. There’s that word again. Friends.
We share a moment of hesitation before she says, “Would you like a slice?”
I grin. “You didn’t think you were just gonna eat that in front of me, did you?”
She laughs, turning to grab some plates because Chelsea doesn’t eat pizza out of a box, oh no. “I didn’t think men like you ate junk food.”
I chuckle, leaning on the kitchen counter. “Men like me?”
“Gym junkies.”
“I’m not a gym junkie,” I scoff. “And trust me, I eat plenty of junk food.”
“Right, but you work it off.”
Has she noticed? I fucking hope so…
“I’m not quite the saint you paint me as, Baby Girl.”
She hands me the plate and our fingers brush. Our fingers have brushed several times over the years, but all of a sudden, I’m astonished to see that she’s looking back at me the same way I’m looking at her. Her breath hitches in her chest, enough for me to notice, anyway.
“Um, one slice or two?” she asks, breaking the reverie.
“One.” I pat my stomach. “Watching my weight.”
She rolls her eyes, flipping the lid on the box. “Mmm, pepperoni and cheese, you know your way around a woman’s favorite pie.”
She says it and the meaning is all wrong, even though I know she means fucking pizza.
And why does my cock jerk in my pants? It’s because I went out tonight — a week night — and I didn’t pick up.
I didn’t go out intending to pick up; I went to hang out with my friends since they’re always calling me a pill.
But now I’m thinking about sex — and her — and how fucking good she smells.
“The one thing I can do is order a mean takeout.” I grin, taking a bite and hope to god her eyes don’t travel south.