“Sprinkles?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. That it?”
When I agree, he begins backing away, but he doesn’t turn around. It’s as if he already knows I’m going to add more.
He’s almost at the front door when another thought hits me.
“Everett?” I call.
“Yeah.”
“Could you get a pastry? I missed mine yesterday morning.”
He chuckles. “Leave it to me.”
I can’t help it, the biggest smile spreads across my face. I really shouldn’t love being here with him as much as I do.
48
EVERETT
Ishould hate this.
Everything about it should make me anxious and uncomfortable and want to run away. But as I stand at the counter, waiting for the world’s slowest cashier to put everything through the register, all I can think about is getting back to Bea. To make her the best hot chocolate I can and spend more time with her. Hell, there are plenty of other things I really want to do with her as well, but until we’ve talked, I’ll settle for just hanging out. Only just, though.
The memory of her sitting on my counter is burned into my mind. The way her long, bare legs swung over the edge, her pretty pink toes, or at least, nine of them. One was looking a little worse for wear.
She’s unbelievably tempting, and she has no idea.
Listening to her talk about not standing up to the women of my past…I’m not sure I’ve ever heard such bullshit. She’s…fuck, she’s all of them rolled into one and then some.
She’s unapologetically her. She doesn’t care who I am or what I do, and it’s the most incredible experience. With Bea, I’m just me. She isn’t focused on what a life connected to me can give her. She just…she wants to know me, and that hasn’t happenedsince…well, honestly, I have no idea the last time that happened outside of my teammates.
Listening to her opening up about her parents earlier, all I wanted to do was hold her and spill all my own secrets.
I trust her in a way I don’t think I’ve ever trusted anyone, and that’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating.
Finally, the half-asleep guy passes me my bag of groceries, and I hightail it out of there. I’ve got a hot-as-hell, half-dressed woman on my couch waiting for hot chocolate and a pastry.
The second I march into the apartment, her eyes are on me, or more so, the box in my hand.
“You went to a bakery?” She balks when I lower the box full of pastries to the coffee table in front of her.
“You wanted a pastry,” I reason.
“Only if they had some. I didn’t expect y-you t-to g-g-go?—”
“Oh shit, no. Not again,” I say, staring at her with wide eyes as her tears freefall.
“I can’t help it,” she wails, angrily wiping at her cheeks.
A smile finds its way onto my lips as I watch her huff in frustration.
“Did you remember the sprinkles?”
I chuckle. “Enjoy your pastry,” I say before spinning on my heels and marching toward the kitchen.
