152. Sterling
Chapter 152
Sterling
I feel like an asshole as I stand from the table, not saying anything to Courtney.
But what can I say?
Thank you for making me the best birthday cake ever?
Thank you for being so fucking sweet while also not making a big deal of it?
Thank you for being alive and unharmed and the best thing that’s possibly ever happened to me?
I carry my plates over to the dishwasher and wonder how I can take some of that cake back home with me.
I stare at my knuckles as I set my plates in the rack.
How could I have forgotten about my hands?
I left Courtney’s cabin while it was still dark, so even though I started my day with my hands all over her delectable body, she didn’t get a chance to see the damage.
Though it’s hardly as bad as it looks. Just a handful of cuts.
I don’t get in fights. It’s probably been fifteen years since I’ve taken a swing at anyone. But I’ve never walked away from one with so little to show for it.
I’ve also never beaten a man quite so badly.
As I stand from the dishwasher, I put a hand on the counter, then twist, just a bit, side to side, to stretch out my back.
Okay, so maybe I have more aches and pains than just my hands. But that’s from exerting myself in ways I usually don’t.
The image of Courtney pinned below me flashes in my mind.
I’ve been exerting myself in all sorts of ways recently.
When I look back to the tables, I see Courtney scooping out more slices of cake for guys who want seconds.
Considerate of her.
I wait until she sets down the spatula, then I stride over to the table.
Courtney didn’t take a second piece for herself, so I scoop one up for her, then set it and the serving utensil on her plate.
“I have a call this afternoon,” I say loudly enough to catch everyone’s attention. “I’m talking to that tech company about booking a trip for their whole team this spring. So I’ll be unavailable for a bit.”
“This that software company you were talking about last month?” Simpson asks.
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “I’m quoting them an extra fifteen percent since we’d be filling literally every bed with nerds, so we’ll see.”
There’s a round of groans as the guys remember some of the past guests we’ve had who were simply not suited for the outdoors. But we don’t discriminate.
We just charge more.
I lift the cake pan. “Everyone who wanted a second piece got one?” I ask the crowd.
There’s a rumble of affirmative noises.
“Good.” I nod.
Then with a third of the pan still full, I carry it out the door.