Chapter 4
Take A Chill Pill Fangirl
Charlie
I feel like I just mainlined Sudafed. No joke.
I am so amped up right now, I’m practically vibrating, and my heart is pumping so fast, I’m liable to have a coronary before Ryan even arrives.
Emma, Stella and I are sitting in one of the big circular booths at the Burger Shack, waiting for the guys to show up and I’m kind of, sort of, freaking out.
I don’t even realize that I’m nervously tapping my foot until Emma sets a hand on my leg to stop me. “You need to chill, Charlie.”
Stella, who’s sitting on Emma’s other side, gives me a sympathetic look and says, “You have nothing to be worried about. I’m telling you, he likes you. Tell her Emma.”
“He likes you.”
I don’t believe them, but I nod anyway. Emma removes her hand from my leg, and my foot resumes tapping.
Emma blows out an exacerbated breath, places her hands on either side of my face and turns my head, so I’m forced to meet her eyes.
“Listen to me,” she says. “You look freaking fabulous and he’s going to lose his shit when he sees you.
What you don’t want to do is start fangirling on him, okay?
Just be yourself. If he isn’t blown away by how smart and amazing you are, he doesn’t deserve you, got it? ”
I nod, more emphatically this time. She’s right.
I know she’s right, but I can’t help but feel like I’m at some pivotal point here.
Like, how tonight goes will determine whether or not anything happens with us.
And I really want things to happen with us—sexy things.
Lots and lots of sexy things. Simply thinking about it sets my lady parts a tingling.
I take a deep breath. I’ve got this. I think.
“They’re here,” Stella says only loud enough for me and Emma to hear.
I glance up, and my stomach drops into my feet.
That is one sexy trio of men. And we’re not the only women who’ve noticed.
Pretty much every warm-blooded female, and a few of the males, in the restaurant are watching their approach with barely contained lust. I can’t blame them.
The guys are about as different as can be, but each super-hot in their own way.
With his copper skin, dark hair and eyes, Jacob’s got that whole smoldering Latino thing going on.
You know? The look that makes women want to throw their panties at him.
Malcolm’s got a face that could have stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, if he wasn’t wearing his football jersey with basketball shorts.
Then there’s Ryan, who’s like every bad boy fantasy I’ve ever had all rolled into what seems to be an incredibly nice guy.
He’s got his hair pulled back tonight, making his gorgeous blue eyes pop even more.
He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt that fit’s his lean muscular body like a fucking glove and shows off the spectacular tattoos that run from his wrist, and up his arms, before disappearing under his sleeves.
Damn. I really want to see how far those tattoos go.
Emma swats my leg and whispers through a toothy smile. “You’re fangirling. Take it down a notch.”
Shit. She’s right. I’m smiling at the guy like he’s freaking Santa Claus. I clear my throat and try to act cool. Unfortunately, all of that goes straight out the window when Ryan slides in next to me. “Hey,” I say, nerves making me sound like Minnie Mouse.
Ryan doesn’t seem to notice. He gives me a warm smile and asks, “How are you doing?” His silky-smooth voice might as well be foreplay because my panties are immediately soaked.
My face heats with embarrassment, which is stupid because there’s absolutely no way he could know how my body reacts to him, but I can’t help it.
Wait, did I answer him? Shit.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I’m… uh… good. Good. How are you?” Ugh. He’s going to think I’m a moron if I keep this up.
His eyes dance with humor but he doesn’t call me out on my humiliating stupidity, simply replies that he’s good and opens the menu.
I follow suit and open my menu, patting myself on the back for picking out what I wanted before the boys arrived because there is no way I can think clearly enough right now to comprehend anything I’m reading. I mean, his leg is literally millimeters from mine.
MILLIMETERS!
All it would take is a tiny little shift and—
His thigh touches feather-light against mine, sending an electric charge zinging up my leg and into my stomach where it sets off about a billion very pissed-off butterflies.
My whole body stiffens. Shit. What do I do now?
Was it an accident or did he do it on purpose?
If he did it on purpose, that means he’ll want me to press my leg back against his.
But if it was an accident and I press my leg into his, and he shifts away, I very well may die of mortification.
But if he did it on purpose and I don’t do it back, he may think I’m not interested and—
“Ow,” I say, rubbing my rib where Emma jabbed her elbow into me. “What?”
She raises her brows and turns her head.
I follow her line of sight to the server, in her yellow Burger Barn T-shirt, standing at the opposite end of the table waiting for my order.
Everyone is staring at me with knowing looks on their faces, and I really wish I could melt into the vinyl seat cushions.
“I’ll have the teriyaki burger with fries and a diet Coke, please.
” Whew. At least I managed that part without looking like a complete dumbass.
The server nods and moves on to Ryan, then Malcolm, before leaving to place our orders.
Ryan leans into me a bit, pressing his leg more firmly against mine, but not touching anywhere else. “You ordered a teriyaki burger?” he asks wriggling his nose.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, feeling a bit more settled for having something to be snarky about. “It’s the best thing on the menu.”
“But it has pineapples on it.”
“That’s why it’s the best.”
He shakes his head. “That’s why it’s gross.”
I draw back as if slapped. “Do not tell me, you don’t like pineapples,” I say with mock indignation.
“Okay.” A sly smile spreads across his face. “I won’t tell you I don’t like pineapples.”
“That’s it.” I throw a hand in the air and turn so my body’s angled more toward his, and if my leg happens to press more firmly against his in the process, who’s to say it was intentional? “I’m sorry, Ryan, but I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”
“No?” He angles his body to mirror mine. The warm spicy scent of his cologne fills my nostrils, and that’s when it hits me how close we are. Way closer than friends would sit. My skin is buzzing. My fingers itch to reach out and touch him.
“At least tell me you’re not one of those crazy people who hates chocolate because that is just wrong on so many levels.”
He chuckles. “Oh, hell no! Those people are freaks. I mean, how can someone not like chocolate?”
“Whew,” I dramatically wipe my brow. “I was worried there for a minute.”
“Though, I have to be honest, I’m more of a dark chocolate kind of guy,” Ryan says, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
Holy shit. I think I’ve stopped breathing. Is it hot in here? I stifle the urge to fan myself. “Okay,” I say, my voice a breathy whisper. “We can be friends again.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.”
I shrug and glance down to where his hand rests on his thigh beside mine.
He held my hand the other night. I can almost feel it.
His rough, warm skin enveloping mine. I wonder what he’d do if I reached out right now and ran a fingertip across his knuckles.
Would he pull away? When I look up again, I find him watching me.
His eyes search my face as if he’s taking stock of every freckle.
When his gaze finds mine again, I hear his breath catch, and that’s when I know…
He wouldn’t pull away.
“I should probably warn you,” I say. “I have very strong opinions when it comes to chocolate.”
“Alright, lay it on me,” Ryan says, giving me another one of his beautiful smiles.
After we finished our burgers, Emma and Stella talked the others into walking to the ice cream shop a few blocks down.
While they all ran ahead, acting like a bunch of preschoolers, Ryan and I hung back to talk.
He is sweet and funny and so damn hot. The more we talk, the more I like him.
I keep racking my brain for a way to get him alone because I really need to kiss him—like my ovaries might mutiny if I don’t get my freak on with this guy like right the fuck now.
But my options, up to this point, have been mostly limited to dark alleys and stinky dumpsters, so my ovaries are probably going to have to wait.
“So,” I begin, clasping my hands behind my back and rotating my torso in a way I know makes my boobs stick out.
Hey, a girl’s got to use all the tools in her arsenal.
“In my opinion, there are really only three acceptable brands of dark chocolate.” I hold up my fingers to count them off.
“Lindt, Godiva, and Ghirardelli, in that order. Milk chocolate is allowable only in emergencies or when paired with peanut butter in a Reese’s cup.
Oh, and Hershey’s is bottom-of-the-barrel trash and unacceptable for human consumption or even canine consumption. ”
Ryan taps his perfect bottom lip. “I think dogs are allergic to chocolate so that’s probably a no-go, regardless.”
“Alright,” I say, feeling pretty on top of my game at the moment. “A man who knows his dogs and chocolate.” I give him a flirty smirk. “I approve.”
He smiles and ducks his head, almost shyly—which is quite the dichotomy for a tough-looking guy covered in tattoos. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye then back down again.
Wait. Holy shit. Am I making him nervous? I, ordinary little Charlotte Hayes, am making this sexy, badass guy nervous? Talk about a heady feeling. I almost want to grab him and kiss him right here and now just to keep him off balance.
We reach the shop and I wish we didn’t have to go in with the others, but though I am an accomplished flirt, I am a complete wuss when it comes to making the first move, or really any move for that matter.
I reach for the handle, but Ryan’s hand wraps around mine, stopping me.
All thought flies out of my head at the feeling of his big hand enveloping mine.
I sense, rather than see him draw closer, the electricity running between us as palpable as his warm skin against mine.
I release the doorknob but his grip on my hand only gets tighter as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away.
There’s a gravity around him drawing me in, and I don’t even realize I’ve moved closer until his hot breath ruffles the tendrils of hair sweeping my forehead.
I tip my head to look up at him, meeting those beautiful blue eyes.
The intensity of his gaze steals my breath away.
He leans down, slowly as if waiting for permission, and my entire body hums like a struck tuning fork in anticipation.
His lips brush mine, soft as silk, and it’s like someone set off fireworks in my chest. I gasp and he plunges his tongue between my parted lips.
The first stroke of his tongue against mine turns my legs to jelly.
As if sensing my battle with gravity, Ryan’s hand slips around my waist, holding me upright, while the splayed fingers of his other hand press into my back, crushing me against his hard chest. I let out a soft moan, and he responds by pressing me tighter against his body and deepening our kiss.
I run my hands up his chest and around his neck, reveling in the feel of his toned chest and broad shoulders.
There’s no awkward fumbling of a first kiss, here.
We are completely in sync, our lips and tongues dipping and stroking and releasing as if we’ve been kissing forever.
It’s so perfect. He’s so perfect. I never want this to end.
I don’t care that we’re standing in the doorway of the ice cream shop or that our friends and any passersby can see us.
All I care about right now is the way he’s kissing me—both tender and firm and so fucking intense it makes my toes curl.
With a gentle nip to my lower lip, he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine. Chests heaving, we remain like that for a while, holding each other, neither of us willing to move or speak for fear of breaking the spell.
Finally, Ryan says, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
I huff out a laugh. “Me too.”
He gives me a bright toothy smile and leans in for another kiss when a bang on the window behind me makes us both jump.
“Get a room,” Malcolm shouts through the glass, while the others, seated in a booth situated right up against the window we’d been basically making out in front of, avert their heads and palm their mouths in a lame attempt to hide their laughter.
Ryan gives Malcolm the finger while I bury my face in his chest. I can only imagine how red my cheeks are right now.
Malcolm spins around and wraps his arms around himself, hands moving up and down his back as if he was making out with someone.
Pulling back to arm’s length, Ryan smiles at me and says, “I really want to get your number.”
“Okay,” I reply, unable to stop myself from smiling back, even while Malcolm is acting like a jackass.
“But first,” he says, eyes dancing with mischief.
“I have to go kill my best friend.” He bolts for the door, swings it open and races after Malcolm who leaps over the back of the booth, laughing like a howler monkey.
He doesn’t get far before Stella and Emma have latched onto either arm.
Malcolm drags the girls through the shop, bumping into patrons and making general nuisances out of themselves, while Ryan threatens him with a half-eaten ice cream cone supplied by a chuckling Jacob.
If this is a dream, I hope to never wake up.