19

Cash

An unreasonable amount of excitement hums through me as I pull up to Britta’s apartment building. Just the knowledge that I get to spend time with her and see her in action makes my heartrate jump. But there’s also an ugly mass of dread forming in my stomach.

Because I shouldn’t crave time with her like this.

She’s made it abundantly clear that I’m not the kind of guy she wants. Aside from that, she may be leaving California for another job opportunity. And what if she does? I’m certainly not going to stand in her way or beg her not to go. She’d likely ignore my pleas, anyway.

Still, the stubborn, hope-filled part of me whispers that maybe Britta herself doesn’t even know what she wants. Maybe she’s been so burned by bad-for-her guys in the past that she can’t see the right thing when it’s staring her in the face. She may think we’re wrong for each other, but she also thinks a guy like Todd is fine .

And he very well may be. But not for her.

Britta is too passionate, too full of life, to be dimmed by someone who can’t meet her where she’s at. I can’t bear the thought of her settling. And I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least show her what we could be before she makes her mind up about leaving.

I may not be willing to beg, but I can at least shoot my shot.

Which is why I’m stepping it up, despite my reservations. If I can make her see how she should be treated by a man, then at least when she goes looking for another one, her standard will be set where it should be. She’s constantly questioning my motives, always determined to find the cracks in my character. Maybe it’s just me she’s skeptical of, but something tells me it’s all men.

She’s been hurt. More than once. But I’m determined to prove that not all guys are jerks. Even if I’m not the guy she wants, she needs to know she’s worth so much more than what she’s willing to settle for.

I don’t care if I have to drive her from here to Denver for those party decorations, I’ll do it.

For her.

Because she’s worth that kind of effort.

As soon as Britta spots me in the parking lot, she ambles over on her crutches. I shake my head, wishing she would’ve let me meet her at her door and help her down, but she was adamant that she could do it herself.

I hop out of my truck and run around to the passenger side, holding open the door for her.

“Good morning,” she says brightly. “And thanks.”

“Morning. And you’re welcome.” I take the crutches when she hands them to me and lean on the door as she slides into the passenger seat. “How’s the ankle today?”

“Meh. It feels okay. I did have to take a pain med this morning.”

“Have you been elevating it?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Dad , I’m elevating it.”

My smirk starts no matter how hard I try to hold it back. “Good girl.” After shutting the door, I head over to the driver’s side and slide in.

“So, where to today?”

“Um. The—the cake shop.” Britta clears her throat, pulling her top away from her chest like she’s hot.

“Are you okay? Do you want the air on or something?”

“Ah, no, no. I’m fine.” Her tight-lipped smile isn’t at all convincing, but I decide to let it go. Maybe she’s on her period or something and doesn’t want to draw attention to it. Jules always complains of hot flashes during that time of month. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know so much about women’s cycles.

“Do we get to taste test?” I ask as I back out of the parking space.

“We do. I ordered a black forest chocolate cake with a raspberry filling, and then the plain vanilla with a strawberry filling. Today is the deadline to change my flavors, so I wanted to stop in and do a quick taste test before our order is locked in.”

“Gotcha.” I pull onto the road, already salivating at the flavors she mentioned. They sound amazing. “Anywhere else?”

“Yes, actually.” She sighs. “I’m hoping to grab the rest of the decorations, and I’ll also need to pick up the party favors.”

“Party favors?”

“Mmhm,” she hums, glancing over at me. “Since this is a retro party, I had a playlist curated and CDs burned with all Elyse’s favorite songs.”

My smile grows. “No way.”

“Way.” Looking pleased with herself, Britta shifts to face me. Warmth floods me at her attention. It’s a ridiculous but also addicting sensation. “We’ll also be playing the playlist at the party, so I wanted to ask—do you have a decent sound system at your house?”

“Of course. Music is life.”

She huffs a little laugh. “Right? Same.” At that, I turn up the dial on the radio. After a few minutes where we sit in silence and listen to music, she asks, “Do you think we could stop for coffee?”

There’s zero chance I’m not smiling like the kid who nailed an olly last night. Still, I try to play it cool. “Sure.”

“Can I pay this time, though? It would make me feel better about using you as my chauffeur today.”

I want to tell her she can use me like this anytime, but I don’t want to scare her away. She seems so comfortable, so relaxed. There’s nothing I would do to ruin that. “All right. Just this time, though.”

Her full lips curve slightly, just enough to snag my attention. I tear my eyes away from her and focus back on the road before any crazy thoughts have a chance to take root in my brain. Thoughts that convince me that she could see as more than her chauffeur, more than…whatever the heck I am to her.

We grab coffee and on the way to the cake shop, she goes into detail about what all she intends to pick up from the store. I listen intently, enjoying hearing her talk. It’s weird, but just having someone to be with, to listen to, fills deep divots inside me I didn’t even know I had.

If being with Britta has taught me anything, it’s that I’m way lonelier than I realized. After Meredith, I convinced myself that I didn’t need a woman to complete my life. And maybe need is too strong a word. But…the way it feels right now, to sit side by side with someone who’s feminine, edgy, and interesting, someone who is so different from me in most ways but similar enough in others…the word crave comes to mind. Just like the salivating desire I felt when she described those cake flavors, that same type of yearning pulses within my battered heart.

“Oh, you missed the turn.”

I blink away my thoughts and tighten my grip on the wheel. “Sorry, I’ll make a U-turn.”

“Were you even listening to my directions?” Her side-long glance is reprimanding.

“I was.” I was also daydreaming about listening to you talk about nothing forever. I shake the thought loose and focus on driving before any more crop up to replace it.

A few minutes later, we’re parked in front of the cake shop and heading inside. “Welcome!” a woman calls from the back. “I’ll be right with you!”

Britta points to the display case, and we meander toward it. “Look at how pretty these cakes are,” she whispers. “If I ever get married, I’m coming here for a wedding cake.” Her wide hazel eyes are glued to the decadently decorated displays.

I can almost envision the type of wedding she’d want. It’d be colorful and vibrant, just like her. And she’d wear a white dress that accentuated every one of her perfect curves. The groom…

Good night. The groom is me.

I scrub both hands down my face with a silent groan just as a tiny woman with large, black-framed glasses appears in front of us. “Hi there! What can I do for you?”

Britta replies with a bright smile. “We’re here to taste test a couple of cakes I ordered. Today is the last day to change the flavors, so I want to make sure we chose right.” She says we like I had any say in the matter.

“Okay, we can make that happen. What’s the name on the order?”

“Gracen.”

The woman nods and gestures to a small table in the corner of the shop. “Why don’t you two have a seat and I’ll bring the samples out to you.”

We do as she suggests, and I fold myself into one of the little rod-iron chairs.

“Uncomfortable?” Britta’s eyes crinkle at the corners. She’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Nope. It’s just been a while since I’ve sat in something made for a doll house.”

Her laugh gives way as she swipes a brochure out of the metal rack on the table. “Not man enough for a place like this, huh?”

I push the brochure down with my finger and level her with a hard stare. “I’m very secure in my masculinity.”

“Are you?” She raises one eyebrow, a sassy smile teasing at one corner of her mouth.

I lean toward her, some sort of invisible tether pulling taut between us. “Do I need to prove something to you, Britta?” Letting my eyes sweep over her every feature, then finally settling on her mouth, I ask, “Do you want me to?”

She blinks rapidly as the muscles in her neck constrict on a swallow.

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest couple to walk in here this week!” The woman behind the counter appears at our sides with a tray full of cake slices.

“Oh!” Britta squeaks, leaning back in her chair. “We’re not—we’re actually just—um.” She flings her hand between us, as if searching for an explanation.

Her inability to put a label on us does way more for me than it should. I’m smiling like an idiot when I wink at the woman holding the cake, then turn my attention to Britta.

“We are cute, aren’t we, babe ?” I reach for her flailing hand and grasp it tightly. “Can’t wait to try this cake with you.”

The woman beams as she sets four small plates in front of us. “And I can’t wait to see which flavor is your favorite, though the raspberry filling has been very popular this season.”

Britta drags a plate toward her, shooting me an annoyed look.

“Well, I’ll just be at the counter if you need any help,” the woman says. “If neither of these are to your liking, or you’d like to change just one of the flavors, let me know. I’d be happy to bring more out.”

“Thank you so much,” I say before digging into the first piece of cake. Instead of putting the fork to my mouth, though, I offer it to Britta. “You first. Wifey.”

She shakes her head, fighting back a smile. Her eyes dance as her lips twist to the side. She’s trying so hard not to have fun with me it’s almost comical. I tap the fork lightly against her bottom lip when she doesn’t open just to tease her.

“Aw, come on, babe. You know you want to try it. Just a taste?” I drag the fork along her lips, lightly grazing them.

Her gaze instantly drops to my mouth, and I suck in a breath, unprepared for the weight of that stare, the meaning behind it. Meeting my eyes again, she parts her lips, so slowly, so deliberately , it physically aches to hold my hand aloft long enough for her to take a bite.

I slip the cake past her parted lips, my eyes glued to each muscle of her jaw, her mouth. That dark pink hue of her obviously tender lips. My mouth is completely dry. If I tried to eat a piece of cake right now, I’d choke.

“Mm,” she hums, then puts a hand up to cover her mouth. “This is delicious.”

So is she .

“I’m definitely keeping this one,” she adds.

I blink myself out of my dumb-struck haze as she picks up her fork and cuts off a small piece of cake from her own plate.

“All right.” Her smile widens. “Your turn, big guy.” Like I’m a toddler refusing to eat, she swoops the fork in my direction and makes some kind of sorry airplane noise.

“Airplanes don’t sound like that.”

“They do to me.”

I scoff, grip her wrist, and take control. As slowly and seductively as I can, I bring the fork she’d holding to my mouth and drag the cake off with my teeth. I tug her the slightest bit closer and lick the fork clean, watching the attraction flicker in her golden-brown eyes.

She watches every move I make, and finally, finally , I feel like I’ve garnered more than just her ire. The cake tastes amazing, but her heavy gaze and half-lidded eyes are more tantalizing than anything I’ve ever tasted. The sight of her like this gives me all the motivation I need to do what I’ve been putting off for weeks.

I skate my thumb along the underside of her wrist, still holding onto her. “Britta.” My voice comes out rough and deep. “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

As if waking from a dream, she blinks and narrows her eyes. “What?”

I expected her skepticism. But feeling it roll off her is more nerve-wracking than I anticipated. Inhaling what feels like a shaky breath, I put myself out there again.

“Would you like to go out with me sometime?” I swallow. “Like on a date?”

Her mouth pops open. Then she bites her lip.

“How are we doing over here?” The cake shop worker joins us at the worst possible moment.

“Good.” Britta’s voice squeaks. “Um. I think I’m going to keep my order as is. Both flavors were delicious.” She offers the woman a tight smile.

“But you didn’t even try the second one yet.” I slice off a piece and hold it out to her.

“I’m good.” She holds up her hands like twin stop signs. “You tasted it and like it, right?” I nod, feeling my small vestiges of hope shrivel to withering bits. “Okay, we’re good, then. Thanks so much!”

She waves to the woman as she books it out the door as fast as her crutches will take her, and I’m once again left alone, wondering if I’ll ever be able to catch her.