Chapter 7 Lilly
SEVEN
LILLY
Kat bursts through the store’s back door. “Oh my god, my phone won’t stop chiming. It’s blowing up with notifications!”
“You’re back,” I squeal, finishing quickly adding the ingredients to the juicer, and we clash in a big hug. “Show me the ring. Tell me everything.”
“It can wait.”
What can be more important? She must read my confusion because she shows me our Instagram page pinging incessantly with notifications as we get one like and follower after the other and various emails with new inquiries.
What’s happening here?
She clicks on Ian’s Instagram page, and I see a pic of him in his training gear, looking mouthwatering. No, don’t go there. We’re friends.
“His post went viral!”
I cup my mouth in utter disbelief. “Holy shit.”
Gratitude floods me. I am aware of how much these guys make from advertising. Why would he do that for free?
Her eyes shine. “This will be huge for us.”
I nod, incapable of forming words.
“Ian is your freaking angel. I swear,” she says dreamily.
Emotions overwhelm me. I’m at a loss for words.
“I’m in the office for the rest of the day. But tonight, we’re going to celebrate.” She shows me her engagement ring that sparkles with a round center diamond and tiny ones surrounding the platinum band.
Outside the shop, it’s madness. A queue lines the sidewalk for several blocks. We can barely handle all the customers. By the end of the day, I am beat but so freaking ecstatic.
Side by side, we walk into our usual bar and order a round of cocktails.
Kat sips from her straw and waggles her brows at me. “So, how will you thank him?”
I fidget with my fingers in my lap. “We decided to be friends.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Ugh, you’re no fun.”
I place my elbow on the bar, my cheek resting in my palm. “I don’t even have his phone number.”
“You’re neighbors and as you’re not offering yourself as a gift to him, maybe think of something else.”
I exhale deeply, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “I just can’t ask for his number.”
“Why? What sort of friends are you if you don’t have each other’s numbers?” She looks at me, gobsmacked.
I quickly change the topic, not wanting to face the improbability of us. “Now, tell me how Theo proposed.”
A dreamy expression softens her face as she recounts how her fiancé went down on one knee and asked her on the same bridge where they made up.
Taking a small sip from the fruity cocktail, I smile, fully riveted as I listen to her story, enjoying spending time with my best friend.
The moon is high in the sky when we part with a hug, and I hop in an Uber.
On the ride home, thoughts of Ian hijack my brain, short-circuiting every bit of reason. Like in a trance, I walk out of the elevator and stop in front of his door. My hand lifts and falls three times before I gather the courage to knock, jitters getting the best of me.
Ian opens it. “Don’t be mad. Are you mad? I just wanted to help because I believe in you and your products.” He looks so adorably sweet, all flustered and innocent eyes pleading for understanding.
I jump into his arms and hug him tightly, wishing to hold on to him and never let him go.
He sighs in relief, his arms coming around me, cocooning me in warmth and safety. In his strong embrace, I close my eyes, savoring the press of his body against me. I could live in this heavenly feeling forever.
Before I forget we can’t be more, I kiss his cheek, my lips pressing there for a second more. “Thank you. Though you didn’t have to. I’m sure you’re over my advertising budget.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and raspy. “We’re friends, and friends support each other.”
Longing spreads through my chest, leaving hollowness behind. Ignoring that, I focus on wanting to repay his kind gesture somehow.
“Did you eat?” Fabulous idea. Give him food poisoning as a thank you.
He places me down, and I miss the feeling of being wrapped in him instantly.
“No, not yet.”
“Come over. I will cook something.” I guess I am set to repay him by preparing a meal that will taste terrible. I am the worst cook I know. Too late to retract my invitation. He’s so going to regret this.
He accompanies me inside my apartment, and in my small kitchen, he props himself against the counter, watching me get everything out.
I put the chicken and vegetables on the table, trying to season them as best as I can. Maybe I should follow a recipe, but how difficult can it be? While the food simmers in the oven, I offer him a glass of water.
He fills the small space with his magnetic presence and heady scent, intoxicating me. He’s a gravitational pull I can’t help but drift toward. Oh, physics, you have it out for me, don’t you?
“We’ll have to hire more people if this continues,” I say, excitement ringing in my voice.
“I might have created some hype, but people will return for your products. I know I want to drink them daily.”
His belief humbles me while strengthening my confidence. Ian Weston is not only physically perfect. He’s the perfect man. Period.
“Good for you that you’re friends with the owner,” I say in a playful tone.
“Yes, the perks.” His lips thin, mentally crossing the forbidden line.
I go there too, to that place where dreams can’t materialize if you don’t chase them.
“Should we exchange numbers?” I blurt out.
He waggles his brows at me. “We’re taking the next step in our friendship?”
“Do you think we’re moving too quickly?” I ask, not wanting to make it awkward.
He silences my concern with a stare and plucks the phone from his jeans pocket. Unlocking his phone, he hands it to me.
I press my digits in and when I give it back to him, he calls me.
His number flashes on my phone, giving me butterflies. If he weren’t here, I would have probably hugged the phone like a giddy girl with a crush.
I save his number, and he asks, “What are your plans for the week?”
“Not much,” I answer with a smile. “Going out with my best friend. Kat just got engaged to her high school sweetheart.”
His eyes widen, looking surprised. “So those exist, huh?”
“That’s why I was in Seattle that weekend.”
He swallows hard. “It’s how we met.”
A heavy pause follows, suffocating with all the implications of that unforgettable night. The memory is stamped on the forefront of my mind, raising my body temperature and kicking my heartbeat up.
He scratches his neck. “My best friend plans to ask my sister soon too.”
“We’re getting to that age, aren’t we?”
Ian shrugs. “I think if you know, you know.”
The need to know more about him pushes me to ask, “So, how was their relationship for you?”
His face scrunches up. “They both give me shit for keeping them apart, which frankly, I didn’t even know about their relationship they had behind my back. Still…”
I giggle. “You’re the possessive type, aren’t you?”
“I am. I don’t share.” His voice deepens, sending a jolt through me.
At the innuendo, my thighs clench. I remember the sex with him too well—all in, delivering the ultimate pleasure. Think other thoughts, I urge myself, not knowing what to reply when he opens his mouth. I am so grateful I could kiss him. Damn. I am screwed.
“But with them it stemmed more from wanting to protect them and myself from potential fallout.”
“Understandable.”
He jerks his chin to me. “So, what did relationship two do?”
He wasn’t you.
“He was nice and all on paper…”
“Sounds like a dick.”
I smack him playfully with a towel, and he looks me right in the eyes with a heated expression that burns me up. “You don’t want just nice, Lilly.”
“What do I want then?” I ask breathlessly.
He pushes himself off the counter, erasing every inch of space between us. I gulp hard, the closeness sending my senses in a tizzy.
His eyes burn with a sheer intensity that dizzies me. “To feel coveted. To feel as if you’re everything to someone. Passion, love, adoration. You want a man who treats you right outside the bedroom and fucks you senseless behind closed doors.”
He’s speaking to the part of me where I keep all my hidden desires and wishes.
“You want a guy to look at you and forget the world around him. So no, you don’t want nice because it’s implied. You want smitten.”
He resumes his position, gripping the edges of the counter so hard that it wouldn’t surprise me if it cracked under the pressure.
The bit of space does nothing to quench my sudden thirst. I raise the glass, and the water sloshes with the slight tremble of my hand.
I am all hot, but that’s nothing new in his presence.
“And what do you want from a woman?” I murmur.
He closes his eyes for a second and says, “To see and love me for who I am.”
The air crackles between us. The unapologetic desire mixed with delicious tension swirls around us in tendrils of temptation, wrapping around my senses, drugging me. I take a step toward him, and he spreads his legs in invitation when the oven goes off.
I escape the trance, turning around too quickly. I slam my hip into the table’s corner, hissing.
He groans in the back of his throat and stands up. Placing his hand on the throbbing pain, he rubs gently, making other types of ache flare to life.
“You okay? Does it hurt?”
“I’m good.” My voice sounds meek, and he takes his hand away as if scorched.
I slide a mitt on, and bending from my waist, I retrieve the food. Plating it, I hope for the best as I take the first bite.
Bile rises when I chew on the bland and barely cooked meat. It’s not even edible, because good would taste differently.
“This is delicious,” he says through a big swallow, rinsing with a gulp of water.
I spit the rest in the napkin, pushing the plate aside. “If it were, you would chew it. It’s atrocious.”
We burst into laughter, and I apologize when he places his hand on mine. “This is so thoughtful. Thank you for preparing dinner for me.”
Just push your hand into my chest and take my heart out already, will you? It feels foreign in my chest. It wants to follow its rightful owner.