13

Britta

Note to my future self: Do not, under any circumstances, agree to work with or for a man you once kissed, a man who—for one unflattering reason or another—refuses to acknowledge said kissing ever happened.

Should I move on? Absolutely.

And I did…or, at least, I thought I did. I was even sort of enjoying the little truce we had for a total of five minutes. All until he said the exact same phrase he uttered the night we met. Almost like he was taunting me, forcing me to go back to that night.

Well, if he doesn’t have to revisit it, why should I?

Nope. I refuse. So instead of enjoying the camaraderie we did last night, I’m holed up in Cash’s office with a singular focus: finishing this job in the next two—max three—days.

I blow a stray piece of hair out of my eyes and go back to rolling the paint over the wall. I chose a neutral color that will allow the wall art I purchased yesterday to really pop in the small space. Cash didn’t say anything about wanting a new desk, but I found one on sale at a local furniture store that will exude the modern vibe we’re going for. And I don’t think it’ll look too shabby with the giant leather chair he refuses to get rid of.

I step back when the wall is adequately covered, then lower the paint roller to the pan. An audible “knock, knock,” sounds behind me and I turn. I can barely make out Cash’s large outline through the plastic cover I extended over the doorway, but the deep timbre of his voice gives him away.

“Yes?”

“Um.” He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

My shoes crunch against the plastic-covered floor as I swipe my hands on my yoga pants. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

A deep sigh follows. “Okay, well. I’m buying some lunch. Wondered if you wanted any.”

I purse my lips, thinking over the offer. I am hungry, probably even bordering on hangry , if I’m being honest. But to accept feels…sticky. If I do, am I required to eat lunch with him? Like the other day? That was mildly uncomfortable at best, precarious at worst. I’m not exactly looking to repeat that.

“I’m getting some for Randy too…” Cash trails off, still waiting for a reply.

I guess if it’s not just him and me eating together, there’s no real reason for me to turn him down. And, I mean…food. The single word makes my mouth water.

“Lunch sounds good,” I say, pulling the plastic cover back from the doorway to reveal muscled, tattooed forearms crossed over a way-too-chiseled chest. No one should be able to get away with that kind of definition in a T-shirt. It’s just…disgusting…ly attractive.

Slowly dragging my eyes up to meet Cash’s, it’s impossible to miss the confusion lining his brow.

“You okay today?” he asks without a hint of amusement. He’s not mocking me; he’s genuinely asking, which for… reasons …only infuriates me more.

“I’m fine,” I clip. “Just ready to eat.” I step forward, shutting the curtain closed behind me. “Where are we ordering from?”

His gaze skates over me as if he’s checking to make sure what I said is true before he responds. “We’re getting tacos from the food truck parked around the corner.”

Mmm. Tacos. “Great. Should I write down my order or…”

“I’ll remember it,” he says, dropping his arms.

Narrowing my eyes, I decide to test him. It’s rare a man gets my order right due to my self-imposed dietary restrictions, even when I’ve explicitly stated them. So here goes.

“I’ll have two shredded beef tacos in corn tortillas, topped with guac, pico, lettuce, pinto beans, and spicy sauce on the side. No cheese. Unsweetened raspberry tea with light ice to drink.”

He nods as if he was miraculously able to remember all that. Doubtful. The man can’t even remember that I’m the woman who sucked his face off in a parking lot.

“Do you want chips and salsa or guac with it?”

Hm. Interesting. “Chips and guac, please.”

“All right, I’ll get it ordered.”

Approximately twenty-five minutes later, I’m seated at a small table off to the side of the training area with every single thing I ordered neatly laid out in front of me.

Unwilling to admit defeat, I raise the plastic container of unsweetened raspberry iced tea and give it a shake, hoping there’s either too little ice or an overabundance. Much to my dismay, the light ice clinks against the plastic, mocking me.

It is the perfect amount.

Darn him.

“I know you said no cheese,” Cash says, handing me a small plastic container. “But I got extra cheese on the side just in case you changed your mind.”

Ah ha! So he did get it wrong and ordered cheese…to be thoughtful? Blast .

“I won’t change my mind. I limit my dairy intake.”

He gives me a slow nod. “Are you lactose intolerant?”

“No.” I unwrap my taco and close my eyes at the delicious scent wafting up to greet me.

“Does it constipate you?”

That has me blinking up at him. “Are you always this blunt?”

He shrugs. “Usually.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Randy finishing up his set, then turn back to Cash. “No, it doesn’t constipate me. I have—” The explanation dies on my tongue.

Why should I divulge something so personal to a guy who kissed me during one of my life’s particularly low points? When we met, I had no idea what was wrong with me, only that I kept gaining weight at an alarming rate. So much so that I couldn’t continue doing what I loved most…

I swallow down a strangled moan at the inferior thought that insists my previous size must have been the reason he kept ignoring our previous connection. It’s because I was…fat. Not that I’m “skinny” now, but I’ve at least shed some of the weight I gained before my diagnosis, thanks to taking my meds regularly and watching what I eat.

“Listen, I’m not interested in accidentally poisoning you, so—"

“It’s nothing.” Biting my lip, I shake my head.

His body goes completely still. “You don’t have to tell me, but if it’s something you’re allergic to, It’s best if—”

“I’m not allergic to dairy!” My voice is too high-pitched, too forceful. “I’m sorry.” I splay my hands out in front of me. “I just…”

Releasing a pent-up breath, I decide to explain with as little detail as possible. “I have hypothyroidism. I’ve done a lot of research and came to the conclusion that I feel better when I don’t have a lot of dairy or gluten. I’m not allergic or intolerant or anything like that, but my thyroid functions best when I carefully watch what I eat.” I take another deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Now can we eat?”

Cash blinks down at me. There’s no visible reaction. Nothing other than the lightest hitch of his eyebrows. “Sure.”

Randy takes that moment to saunter up to us. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you guys wait on me.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” I direct my attention to him and can’t help but return his dazzling smile. “We were just chatting.”

“Yeah?” Randy lowers himself beside me, the scent of man-sweat still clinging to his skin. I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose.

At that moment, my subconscious reminds me that Cash doesn’t smell like that when he sweats. No, he smells like a light, misting rain on the beach.

Whatever the heck that means.

“What are you guys chatting about?” Randy asks as he unwraps his own taco, his gaze bouncing between us.

“Just about how cheese constipates me,” Cash says, refusing to meet my eyes.

I bite my lip to keep in a cackle of laughter when Randy rears back, horrified.

“Dude,” he says, laying a hand on Cash’s arm. “Not appropriate table talk.” He tips his head in my direction. “Especially not with a lady present.”

I just shake my head and take a bite of my taco, ignoring the small swell of gratitude that washes over me from Cash’s discretion. Or…perhaps lack thereof.

When he finally raises his gaze, I offer him the slightest dip of my chin. Just enough to let him know I’m thankful he didn’t blab about my personal life to someone I barely know.

He doesn’t respond except to change the subject with Randy. The two talk about what’s next in Randy’s training schedule, and how he can get himself into peak condition for his next event.

“Have you ever watched a cross-country skiing event before?” Randy pauses the conversation to ask me the question.

I use a napkin to wipe my mouth of any lingering guacamole. “Ah, no. I haven’t.” And nothing sounds less appealing. Flying down a mountain in skis, I can understand. It’s fun and thrilling. But strapping those bad boys to your feet just to walk across freshly fallen snow for what feels like hours on end? No thanks.

“You should come to my next event,” he says, undeterred by my less than enthusiastic response. “I could even get you some VIP passes.” The barest hint of pink blooms on Randy’s cheeks, making him look even younger than he is.

I have to admit it’s adorable how hard he’s trying to impress me. Still, I need to be honest. And honestly, I’d rather endure a hundred uncomfortable lunches with Cash than watch a cross-country skiing event.

“I’m not really sure cross-country skiing is my thing.”

He nods like he gets it. “That’s okay. Maybe we could do something else sometime, then? Grab dinner, maybe?”

Growing increasingly aware that Cash’s gaze is plastered to the side of my face, I hedge. “Um. I’m not really dating right now.” Todd’s smiling face comes to mind, along with the fact that I’ve been avoiding his texts.

I feel it necessary to amend my statement. “I mean, I guess I kind of am. There’s this one guy I see sometimes, but we’re more friends than anything.”

Randy’s brow knits like he doesn’t get it this time, and Cash scoffs. “Please don’t tell me you’re talking about that guy you brought to the wedding.”

I lift my chin. “There’s nothing wrong with Todd.”

“Except that you’re not attracted to him.”

A humorless laugh slips out of me. “And you’d know that…how, exactly?” I silently hold my breath and pray he’s not thinking back to when we kissed, when my body responded to him in ridiculously romantic ways.

“I know because of how you acted with him.”

My facial features twist in what I know is the most condescending face I can make. “And you were somehow hyper-focused on my reactions to my date that night because….?” Go on, Cash. Say it. Say it’s because you were comparing my encounter with Todd to ours .

“I wasn’t hyper-focused. It was just…noticeable.”

Mmhm. Uh huh. Sure.

“Have you two dated or something?” Randy gestures between us, earning him a loud scoff from none other than moi .

“Uh, no,” I say with finality. “Never. Nor would we ever.”

I don’t risk a glance at Cash. No need to witness the rejection for myself. Except he doesn’t say anything to confirm or deny my bold declaration. And when I subtly shift my gaze up to determine what he thinks about what I said, he’s too focused on his food for me to gauge his reaction.

“Well, if you and that guy stop seeing each other,” Randy says, “I’d love to take you out sometime.” He smiles at me so sweetly that all I can do is smile back.

I don’t have the heart to tell him that he’s too young for me or even that I doubt we’d have much in common. And I definitely don’t mention the things Cash said to me the other day that, still to this very second, make my cheeks flood with warmth.