Chapter 12

Tripp

His invitation to dinner? She’s going on a date with Oliver Moore? What the fuck?

My skin burns with angry jealousy as I stare into her eyes. She looks like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Shocked and nervous.

I shake my head and turn around, walking out of the book store. That damn bell alerting everyone to my departure.

Fucking Oliver Moore. The guy is the equivalent to Callum with his success, but Oliver is outgoing and fun. He’s older than I am, hell older than Brock.

Fucking Brock. He probably introduced them since Oliver is Willow’s oldest brother. Brock used to date Millie and now he’s dating Willow. Knowing my brother, he probably felt like he owed Millie something and figured he’d get her a man.

Asshole.

I head straight to Atta Boy, ready to rip into Brock. He had Millie and let her go. I’m like the dog waiting for scraps who keeps getting denied over and over. It’s fucking unreal.

Once at Atta Boy, I push through the door and walk straight to the kitchen to ask Griffin where Brock is. My anger and jealousy at a level I’ve never experienced before.

“Where’s Brock?”

Griffin spins around and stares at me like I’ve got three heads.

“Griffin, seriously, where is Brock?”

He pulls the towel off his shoulder and wipes his hands on it as he walks toward me. “As far as I know he had the day off. Him and Willow were going on a day trip or something. Why? What’s up?”

Of course he’s with his girlfriend. Happy and in love, while I’m here aching over a woman who never was and never will be mine.

Fuck, what am I doing?

Millie isn’t mine. Can I really get pissed at her for accepting an invitation to dinner from Oliver Moore?

I lean against the counter, feeling the fight leave me.

“Tripp, what the hell is wrong?” Griffin asks, standing in front of me.

I shake my head, running my hands down my face. My eyes lift to his and I sigh. “I’m a goddamn mess.”

He nods and leans against the counter next to me. “Talk to me.”

What can I say? I can’t tell him the truth, but I’m ready to explode from keeping everything inside.

“Pretty sure that girl is into someone else,” I admit.

“Why do you say that?”

I shrug, keeping my gaze on the floor. “I heard someone invite her to dinner.”

He chuckles and I snap my head toward him. “I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up. “But, you heard someone invite her to dinner, so what. Did she accept?”

“I don’t know, I walked away,” I say.

“You really are a fucking idiot sometimes, Tripp.”

“Thanks, that helps a lot.”

“I’m not saying I don’t get it. I do. I totally understand what it’s like to want someone so badly that you feel like burning down the world when it doesn’t feel like it’s going to work out,” he says.

“Yeah, grab me a match.”

“Hell no, and listen, you don’t even know what the outcome of that invitation was. I told you this once, but I’m going to remind you. If you want this girl, fight for her. Show her who you really are. Don’t act defeated when you aren’t.” He looks over at me and smiles. “Fight for her, Tripp.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” he says, pushing off the counter. “Relationships and love are fucking hard, but not impossible. Does she know how you feel? Have you told her?”

“No.”

“Stop thinking you aren’t good enough. Man up and tell her how you feel.”

If only it was that easy. He thinks I don’t understand love and relationships and maybe the fictional romance I read leads me to believe things that aren’t true. Maybe the hero isn’t always the hero. But it’s not how I see things. It’s not what I’ve read and it's definitely not what I’m writing. Romance is something far more profound than grand gestures or fleeting passions. Romance is woven into the fabric of everyday life, found in the smallest of details and the most subtle of moments. I believe that true romance is about connection—two souls recognizing something in each other that feels both familiar and entirely new. I see beauty in the way two people grow together, learning to navigate each other's strengths and weaknesses, and finding joy in the simplest acts of kindness.

Romance isn’t just about the fireworks; it’s about the quiet moments that linger in the heart—the touch of a hand, a shared glance across a crowded room, or the comfort of knowing someone is there, even in silence. Love is a journey, not a destination, where the most meaningful parts are often the challenges that test the strength of a relationship and the resilience of the heart.

In my writing, I strive to capture the essence of what it means to truly love someone—to be willing to sacrifice, to be patient, and to embrace the imperfections that make love real and lasting.

To me, romance is not a fantasy but a reflection of the potential for deep, transformative love that exists within every human connection.

Griffin is right about one thing though. I need to fight for her. I’ve never read a book where the hero doesn’t fight a bloody battle of fists, witts, or emotions to get his girl.

Millie might never be mine, but what kind of hero would I be if I didn’t at least try?

I grin as I nod. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks Griff.”

“I’m always right,” he says, laughing.

“I call bullshit on that, but I appreciate you listening and not saying anything.”

“It’s not my story to tell,” he says, plating some food. “But you wanna tell me why you came in here pissed off looking for Brock?”

Shit.

“He borrowed something of mine and I wanted it back. I might have overreacted.”

Griffin chuckles as he shakes his head. “You think? What the hell did he borrow?”

Millie.

“My portable charger.”

“Christ, give your damn phone a rest.”

“Yeah, good advice. All right, listen I’m gonna sneak out the back so Callum doesn’t spot me. It’s my day off and I’m not getting stuck here.”

“Stuck here? You don’t want to work here?” he asks.

I’m just digging myself in deeper and deeper. I’ve confided in him about Millie, sort of, but no way will I tell him this.

“Stuck here as in I have a fight to win.”

“Hell yes! Go, hurry.”

I rush out the back door, thankful he let it go.

Millie turns the sign on the door to "Closed," and I push it open just before she can lock it, the bell above the door tinkling softly. She jumps slightly, startled, and places a hand over her chest, her wide eyes meeting mine.

“Tripp? You scared me,” she says, her voice trembling slightly as she tries to steady her breath.

Ignoring her unease, I reach back and lock the door behind me, the sound of the click echoing through the now-silent bookstore. The warm, dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, highlighting the rows of bookshelves that seem too close in around us as I step closer.

“Oliver Moore?” I say, my tone low and probing, eyes narrowing as I watch her reaction.

Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear or maybe guilt crossing her face before she quickly lowers her gaze to the floor. “What about him?” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

I smirk, a dark amusement curling at the edges of my lips. “That’s how you wanna play it? Okay.”

I take another step toward her, and she instinctively backs up until her body presses against a bookshelf, the spines of the books digging into her back. The smell of old paper and leather fills the air, mixing with the scent of her perfume—something light and floral. The tension between us is electric, crackling in the small space.

Reaching out, I sink my fingers into her silky hair, pulling her head back just enough to expose her throat. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t resist. My knee pushes between her legs, parting them slightly, and I can feel the heat of her body even through the layers of our clothes. Without a word, I lower my mouth to hers, claiming her lips with a fierce, possessive hunger.

The moment our tongues meet, a shiver runs through both of us, and we let out simultaneous moans that seem impossibly loud in the quiet, intimate atmosphere of the bookstore. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us, lost in the intensity of the moment.

She’s wearing a blue sundress and when I rub my knee against her center, I know damn well she can feel it. Another moan, louder and deeper, escapes her as I push my knee harder against her.

I break the kiss, keeping my hold on her hair as I search her eyes. “I promised to help you and no one will stand in my way of doing that.”

“Tripp,” she whispers.

I remove my hands from her hair and slide them down her body, grabbing the bottom of her dress. “I’m going to take this off of you. I’m going to touch you with my hands and taste you with my mouth. I’m going to make you come again, understood, little bunny?”

She nods and I grin as I lift her dress over her head, tossing it behind me. I take a moment to study her incredible body. Her tits nearly spill out of her white-lacy bra, which does nothing to hide her hard nipples poking through the thin fabric. Her tiny waist and curvy hips turn me on. Her slender legs have me begging to be between them. Her skin is like porcelain and damn if I don’t want to break it.

“Fucking beautiful,” I say, leaning forward and tugging her nipple between my teeth.

“Oh God!”

I pull the cups of her bra down and her tits spill out. Fuck, they’re the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen. Perfect hard pink nipples and more than a handful for me to enjoy. I give them the attention they deserve. Sucking, biting, licking, kissing. She’s moaning above me, holding onto my shoulders as I continue.

“Tripp,” she whispers.

A grin hits my lips as I look up at her. “Your tits are flawless, pure perfection. Does it feel good, little bunny? Do you like what I’m doing to you?”

She swallows nervously, biting her plump bottom lip. “Yes.”

I pinch her nipples while staring at her. “Are you dripping wet for me?”

“Tripp, please,” she moans, dropping her head back and hitting the bookshelf.

“Oh little bunny, hearing you beg me might just be the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.” I pinch her nipples again and grin. “Tell me what you’re begging for.”

She lifts her head and locks her eyes with mine before dropping her gaze. “I can’t,” she whispers.

I stand to full height and lift her chin with my fingers, getting her attention back on me. “This is part of letting go. Your shyness is fucking sexy, but I know you’re a bad girl, Millie. I know you want to be able to say the thoughts that are swirling in your head. Those dirty, naughty thoughts. You want me to make you come, right? That’s what you’re begging for, isn’t it?”

Her eyes search mine as she pokes out her tongue to wet her lips. “Yes,” she whispers.

“Say it. Tell me to make you come.” She needs to relax in order to orgasm and she can’t relax if she’s nervous about asking for what she wants. “You need to be able to voice your thoughts without worry and judgment. With me you’re safe, Millie. With me you never need to worry about being judged. Hearing you beg me to make you come, it only makes me want it even more. It’s a turn on. It’s fucking sexy as hell. So do it, be the naughty girl you want to be.”

Her breathing is rapid as she stares into my soul unlike anyone has ever done. It’s almost my undoing, but I won’t break her rule, as much as I want to right now.

“Make me come, Tripp,” she whispers.

“Fuck, that’s it, you dirty girl.”

I slide down her body, hooking my fingers into her panties as I get to my knees. I pull her panties off and her bare, wet pussy is right in my face.

“Watch me,” I demand, pushing her legs wide apart. Her eyes lock on mine and I grin. “Good girl.”

Let’s see how much this little bunny can take.