Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
*KEN DOLL HAS CHANGED THE NAME OF THE GROUP TO ‘OPERATION GET EZRA AND SUTTON TOGETHER FOR REAL’*
WEBBY: That feels like a really long group chat name.
KEN DOLL: Do you have a better suggestion?
WEBBY: … No.
KEN DOLL: Thought so. Now. First order of business, gentlemen: Ezra is finally ready to make a move on the lovely Ms. Brady, and he needs our help because he has no game.
ME: HEY.
MACKEY: What changed?
CAP: I shouldn’t be taking part in this.
KEN DOLL: He finally pulled his head out of his ass and realized Sutton looks at him like she wants to eat him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
ME: She does not.
WEBBY: Yes, she does.
MACKEY: She does.
CAP: Yep.
CAP: Wait, what does Ken Doll mean by the ‘for real’ in the group chat name?
KEN DOLL: Ezra told Sutton’s ex he was her bf when the asshat cornered her after yoga. Now it’s time to make things REAL.
KEN DOLL: We need to come up with a plan to get them on a date.
ME: No we don’t. We’re going to dinner tonight, actually. Sutton promised she’d try sushi if I tried sweet potato fries.
KEN DOLL: You guys are disgustingly cute. Ugh.
KEN DOLL: BUT this is perfect. I know exactly what you should do after.
Two more pottery classes. Two more weeks of crawling out of my skin because being so close to Sutton for hours on end has my body tense.
I’ve gotten used to the guilt of picturing her when I wrap my hand around my aching dick every night.
Every. Single. Night.
Because not only do I have to sit with her for three hours on Wednesdays, I see her every day.
We’ve created a habit of having dinner every Monday and Tuesday, too.
She’ll make dinner or we’ll order in on Mondays, and on Tuesdays after her yoga class, if I don’t go, I have food waiting for her when she gets home.
She roped me into this reality dating show she likes to watch, and it’s grown on me.
I’ve learned all her preferences, and have been stocking up on her favorite snacks and drinks for when she comes over.
We had a game this past weekend, and she insisted on making me salmon and rice again since I joked about it making us win last time.
Things are… good. Easy. Comfortable.
Except for the fact I’m falling harder and faster for her every time we’re together. More than once, Kendall had to slap my shoulder to get my attention when Coach or Dr. Kipp was talking, because I’m too busy looking at Sutton.
In the afternoons when we’re out on the field, the sun hits her hair in a certain way, making it look like spun golden silk.
The golden yellow polo she usually wears on Thursdays always brings out the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
How am I supposed to keep my eyes off her when she’s literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, inside and out?
It’s an impossible feat.
Kendall teases me for it relentlessly when he’s actually home. He’s been staying away, and I can’t tell if it’s because he wants to give me space to make a move, or if it’s something else.
I want to make a move.
So badly.
And I think she might, too, but doesn't know how to tell me or do it herself. Every time her hand lingers a little too long, or she leans into me a bit closer at class, I want to push the bounds and see what happens.
Sometimes, I’ll sneak a glance at her, only to find her already looking at me. I swear, when our eyes connect I feel an invisible tug in my chest, begging me to get closer to her. Her cheeks flush whenever I complement her. The way we cuddle during movies feels like a step beyond friends.
One of my favorite things that’s come out of pottery classes—other than spending time with her—is how easy touching her has gotten. It’s second nature now to pull her in for a hug, or squeeze her shoulder when I have to sneak behind her when we’re cooking.
She does it too. She’ll grab my arm to get my attention or lean on my shoulder when we’re watching a show. Sometimes she’ll even put her feet on my lap if she’s sitting on the other side of the couch.
If she thought of us as just friends, would she have dressed up for our sushi tasting? I stressed for hours about what to wear because I didn’t want her to think I thought it was a date, even though I wished it were.
When I went to pick her up, she was wearing a red floral skirt with a white shirt tucked in and a denim jacket, looking absolutely stunning. It made me feel better about my nice jeans and the new white t-shirt I definitely didn’t buy specifically for today.
The air in the car felt heavier than usual, but not in a bad way. Things between us feel like they could be shifting.
God, I want them to shift.
Sutton’s nose scrunches as the waiter puts the platter of sushi between us on the table.
I brought her to this restaurant because they have a sampler platter where you can try pieces of twenty different sushi rolls of your choosing.
I figure she has to like at least one of them.
If she doesn’t, then I’ll stop and get her something she enjoys on the way home.
We played rock paper scissors to decide if we were getting sushi or sweet potato fries first, and I won, much to Sutton’s chagrin.
She’s being a good sport, though, and hasn’t complained. I think the gyoza we ordered as an appetizer helped sweeten the deal for her, because she loved them so much we ordered another plate.
Now we get to see if she likes any of these rolls.
I have her start with the raw fish first, knowing she’s less likely to enjoy those. Sure enough, she takes one bite of the albacore, yellow tail, and tuna nigiri and shakes her head, guzzling the water next to her half full glass of wine.
Her shoulders deflate when she sets her cup down. “I’m sorry I don’t like it. The texture—”
“Hey, it’s okay, Sutton. I’m not upset you don’t like those. I grew up getting sushi, so it’s something I’m used to. You may eventually grow to enjoy the raw fish, but it’s okay if you don’t. Here,” I slide her a roll, and she eyes it dubiously.
“This one has raw salmon, but the texture should be masked by the avocado and cucumber better than the nigiri. If not, there are plenty of cooked rolls to try.”
I chuckle when she takes a sip of her wine, like she needs the liquid courage, then shoves the whole piece in her mouth. She chews slowly, savoring the taste. While she does that, I eat a few of the pieces that she didn’t like to give myself something to do other than watch her like a creep.
If I thought I stared at her a lot before, the problem has only increased in the past two weeks. I watch her all the time, trying to catch a glimpse of what the guys were talking about, and reading into every minute action.
Has she always leaned into me at pottery class, or was her back hurting Wednesday and she needed a bit more support?
Am I just now noticing how often she presses her thigh against mine when we’re sitting next to each other?
Is she watching me more closely at practices because it’s her job and I tripped over the ball at practice?
I reread every text exchange we’ve had, trying to find a clue that she feels even a fraction of what I do, but I can’t fucking tell.
When she swallows, I wait for her verdict expectantly, feeling immense pride and satisfaction when she grabs the other piece of the roll and shoves it in her mouth with more gusto than the first time.
“I take it you like that one?”
She nods enthusiastically, sending strands of her golden hair over her shoulder.
It’s down today, in a sheet of glossy gold falling down her back.
I reach forward in time to stop one of the strands from landing in the soy sauce in front of her, tucking it behind her ear.
My fingers graze her cheek, our eyes clashing as goosebumps erupt down her arms.
God, I want to kiss her. Especially when she licks her lips to get the remnants of the miso sauce from the roll.
“What one should I try next?” She murmurs, her eyes fluttering as I lean back in my chair, already missing the feel of her soft skin against my fingertips.
“This one.” I point to a roll topped with a mango sauce and coconut. “It has tempura shrimp, mango, avocado, and cream cheese.”
Sutton eyes roll back and she moans quietly when the roll hits her tongue. “Damn, that’s good. I don’t think I’ve had mango and shrimp together before. I like how the sweetness balances out the salty.”
“Yeah,” I rasp, trying to get a handle on my body.
I should not be turned on watching her eat sushi, but dammit, I am.
As I shove another piece of sushi in my mouth, my phone buzzes. I ignore it, but it buzzes again.
Then again.
“Sorry, I need to make sure this isn’t an emergency,” I murmur, pulling it from my pocket.
“No need to apologize. I hope everything is okay.”
I roll my eyes when I see it’s Kendall texting me to tell me he won’t be home tonight, and to take advantage of the empty apartment.
“Everything is fine. Kendall’s just being Kendall.”
Before I slide my phone in my pocket, one last text comes through.
KEN DOLL: Stop overthinking things and just go for it!
As the sunlight hits Sutton through the window and I watch her swallow another sip of wine, I think I might just take his advice.
After we finished our platter of sushi, Sutton and I drove back to our apartment complex with the intent of sitting on the roof to watch the sunset. I made a pit stop at my apartment and grabbed a pack of sour gummy worms for our dessert before we made our way to the roof.
I don’t know who’s in charge of maintaining the roof, but it’s nice up here. There’s a patio set around a fire pit, covered by a cedar wood pavilion type structure. Tiny fairy lights are hung around the square top.
It’s… romantic.
“I think it’s safe to say I’m a fan of sushi now. Definitely wouldn’t mind another Honey Mango roll, or the… what was the spicy one with shrimp and tuna?”
“The playboy?”
“Yes, that one. Should have remembered, especially since you—” Sutton clamps her mouth shut, rolling her lips inward.
“Since I…” I press, desperate to know what she was going to say.
We turned the loveseat couch up here around so we could watch the sun fade behind the mountains to the west. I want to take a picture of Sutton and make it my lock screen.
The skyline fading into pastel pinks, blues, and purples create a dreamy backdrop that would be perfect in a photo, and the golden hour light makes her look ethereal.
“Don’t leave me hanging, Sutt. I need to know,” I tease, trying to hide my anticipation.
She covers her face with her hands, groaning as she tips her head back. “I don’t want to tell you,” she says, though it’s muffled by her palms.
I gently grip her wrists and try to pull them away from her face. She resists, and I let her, chuckling at her weak attempts. If I truly wanted to, it would take nothing for me to pull her hands away from her face, and she knows that.
Instead of doing that, I lean forward and rest my head on her shoulder. “Please?”
I feel more than hear her resigned exhale. “Playboy roll is spicy, and you… you’re a playboy, and obviously know what you’re doing in the spicy department. Ignore me. I’m not making any sense. The wine is going to my head.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” I sit up, turning toward her as my heart races.
“Oh, god, I should have kept my mouth shut. This is embarrassing.”
“No, please. What—what makes you think I know what I’m doing in the spicy department?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, repeating the action a few times as her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. Her delicate throat bobs on a harsh swallow as she takes another sip of her wine.
“Icanhearyouthroughthewalls.” She rushes out, avoiding eye contact.
My heart drops into my stomach at her confirmation.
“Come again?” My voice raises two octaves higher than it usually is, exposing my discomfort.
“The girls you brought home sure did. Over and over again,” she mumbles, slapping a hand over her mouth.
A shocked laugh bursts out of me at her loose tongue. Sutton is usually very careful about the things she says, but when she lets go and doesn’t think so hard about what she’s saying, she’s hilarious.
Amusement blends with my confusion, until I realize what—or rather who—she’s been hearing. “Honesty minute time.”
When my parents wanted us to tell the truth about something, but my siblings and I were hesitant, Mom would call for an honesty minute.
Whatever truths we spoke during the sixty second timer, we wouldn’t be punished for.
It worked a lot when we were younger, and helped us be more forthcoming when we were teenagers.
I expect her to be confused and ask for clarification, but she doesn't.
“Do we have to?” She pouts.
“Oh I think so, Sutt.”
With a heavy sigh, she holds out her pinky. “Promise once the minute is up we’ll forget all about this?”
I link my pinky with hers. “Promise.”