What it Takes to Fall

by Ellis, C. R.

  Damn.

  That definitely buttered my biscuit, struck my match, revved my engine, tickled my pickle, and whatever other dorky euphemism she wanted to use.

  Also…I actually believed her.

  Which only reminded me how much more there was to learn about my little Uno.

  BRYCE:I’d love nothing more than to hit you with a clever euphemism right now, but that was hotter than hell, and redirected all blood away from my brain. So, for the sake of all the dicks in your vicinity, quit. Biting. Your. Lip.

  BRYCE:And please, FOR THE LOVE OF SANITY, tell me you’re finished with work.

  Instead of answering, she plopped into the seat across from me seconds later.

  “I’m finished.”

  “But…?” I asked, knowing by her tone that a 'but' was coming.

  “But I was sort of hoping we could go over stuff for the inn, and maybe swap and brainstorm ideas about a reception hall?”

  The way she posed the question, somehow striking a balance of hesitancy and eagerness, was equal parts cute and admirable.

  That, combined with the way she nervously twirled a chunk of blonde hair around her fingers while her eyes studied mine with unmatched intensity, was heart-kryptonite. Right now, she could ask me to strip down to my birthday suit and recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and I’d oblige.

  Just to be the reason behind her smile.

  I started scanning her body, making a blatant show of it. “Hmm. You’ve gotta have an off button somewhere. ‘Hello. My name is Elliot Kincaid. I do not know how to relax’,” I mimicked in a robotic voice, continuing with my perusal until she leaned forward and smacked my arm.

  “That’s not true!”

  “Really? When was the last time you did something non-work-related for fun on a weekday?”

  “Last night.”

  I closed my laptop and arched a brow. “Uh, while it was fun, that’s called dinner, and it’s something most people do on a regular basis.”

  She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, making an equally dramatic show of annoyance. “Fine. But isn’t this like the pot calling the kettle black? Weren’t you a super-workaholic early in your career?”

  She had a point, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, I ran my fingers through my hair—knowing it would put that lust-filled look in her eyes—and said, “We can talk shop. On two conditions.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “One—this shop talk takes place at Sipology while we drink. And two, afterward, we do something fun, and you’re not allowed to talk or even think about work or the inn. Do we have a deal?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Caesar, but we’ve got a deal,” she said, extending her hand for a shake.

  I groaned, but took her hand all the same.

  “Sorry, would you prefer Princess Peach?”

  “Real cute, El.” I leaned in, bringing one hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear so she’d feel my lips brush her lobe. “You can give me a million different nicknames, as long as the name you scream in my bed is the real one.”

  I pulled back slowly, relishing the sight of her widened eyes.

  She continued to stare while I finished packing up.

  “If you’re going to keep staring at me like that, can you at least do it at the bar? I need a stiff drink right about now.”

  To go along with the part of me that El’s stare is steadily stiffening with each passing second.

  She blinked and shook her head, like she was just now coming back from a daydream. “Great! Yes, liquor. That’s a great idea.” She stood up but paused, narrowing her eyes at me and putting a hand on her hip. “You know, if I’m not allowed to bite my lip, then you’re not allowed to wear your Superman ‘sex-me-up’ glasses. It’s only fair.”

  My lips twitched. “I’m sorry, my what?”

  She made a sweeping gesture across my whole face. “The glasses, Bryce.”

  “You mean the things that allow me to see clearly?”

  “You know what else allows you to see clearly? Contacts. And they get the job done without making you look like freaking Clark Kent’s sexier, dirty blonde twin.”

  I leaned back in my chair and grinned.

  “What’re you…? Why are you looking at me like that?” she huffed.

  “Just letting myself savor the moment. This feels like a momentous occasion.”

  “What does?”

  “The discovery of what butters Elliot Kincaid’s biscuit.”

  * * *

  After Daryl, the newest Sipology bartender, made our drinks, we headed toward my usual booth in the corner.

  We slid into opposite sides of the booth, and the question I’d forgotten to ask El earlier resurfaced in my mind. “Hey, who was that guy you were with at the coffee shop?”

  “Uh, his name is Greg Adams. It’s kinda crazy; he was sitting across from me at the same coffee place a couple weeks ago, looking at Serenity’s website. We started talking about the hotel and my grandparents. Turns out he’s one of the people trying to buy it.”

  “And he just happened to run into you at the coffee shop again? That’s quite the coincidence, El.”

  She lifted a brow in question and shifted to free herself of the purse hanging across her body. “Why, because he likes your coffee shop too? Don’t worry, I did my due diligence and asked Nana and Pops about him after the first run-in. They had nothing but great things to say about him, and I think they’re probably going to sell Serenity to him.”

  “Okay, fair enough.” I didn’t want to press the issue, so I let it go and made a mental note to check into the guy later. “Gotta say, Uno, I’m a little surprised you’re a whiskey drinker,” I said, nodding my head toward the tumbler in her hand.

  “Why, because I don’t have a penis?”

  “Uh, no.” I laughed and shook my head. “Because whiskey is Satan’s beverage of choice. Then again, your taste buds are clearly confused; no other way to explain your love of pickles.”

  “Have you tried a pickle recently? Taste buds evolve over time, y’know.” She picked up a menu, tapping a finger against the card-stock where fried pickles were listed. Damn, she’s almost as hot when she smirks as she is when she blushes.

  But not even her sexy little pout was enough to make me want to try pickles. From texture to taste, everything about them repulsed me.

  “Don’t even ask, El. Not gonna happen.”

  “Okay, fine. Can we compromise with mozzarella sticks? I only had a protein bar for lunch, so it’s probably not a good idea to throw back the whiskey without eating. Unless you want a front row seat to the Drunk Elliot Show.”

  “I can always get on board with mozzarella sticks. Though the idea of seeing you relaxed and carefree is appealing.”

  Sipping the amber liquid in her glass, she shook her head and scoffed. “I can be carefree while sober!”

  “Prove it.”

  “Okay. How?”

  I hesitated, considering my proposal. I scanned her features, committing the shape of her lips and her high cheekbones to memory. She was holding her breath, tapping her fingers together and eagerly awaiting my response as if it was the most important answer she’d ever receive.

  “Nah, I don’t know. You’re not going to like it,” I said, carefully laying the groundwork for my plan.

  She crossed her arms, subtly shifting her breasts together in a way that was impossible not to notice thanks to the cleavage now viewable through her button-down shirt.

  “Try me.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but Xander’s voice cut me off.

  “An old-fashioned? Damn. Just my type of woman,” he called, sauntering up to our booth with his signature smirk that had melted panties on more than one occasion, according to him.

  El’s brows lifted as she turned to survey my cousin with a semi-annoyed look. Xander ran a hand along the back of his head, his smirk remaining in place—basically his default facial expression any time he met a female.

  �
�I thought breathing was your type of woman,” I countered. “Breathing and legal.”

  He rolled his eyes, but kept them locked on Elliot. Since she was with me, I wasn’t actually worried he’d hit on her. Then again, this was the same guy who'd once slept with his roommate’s girlfriend hours after they broke up. And he wonders why he doesn’t have any friends…

  “While it’s true that I don’t restrict myself to one specific type of woman, I actually have pretty fucking high standards, thank you very much. I’m Xander, by the way. Bryce's cousin. And you must be Elliot. It’s about time Bryce stopped hiding you from me,” he said, offering her his hand.

  Her expression softened when she learned Xander's connection to me. She nodded and placed her hand in his while further surveying his appearance. I wasn’t an idiot—I’d have to be blind not to notice the way women looked at Xander. But El didn’t give him the heart-eye emoji look when he smiled at her or seem interested in his sleeve of tattoos. “It’s nice to finally put a face with the name. Bryce has mentioned you a time or two.”

  “I assure you, whatever he told you was entirely false.”

  “Oh no,” she quickly asserted, smiling. “I have a feeling it was all true. If anything, his descriptions were probably a little lenient.”

  He chuckled, rubbing his jaw and looking at me with amusement. “That I don’t doubt. He fucking sugarcoats everything. Always looking for the best in people.”

  I shrugged. “Can’t help it. Kinda comes with the territory of parenthood.”

  El’s eyes found mine, and she offered me a smile, reaching under the booth to squeeze my knee. I grasped her hand in mine and returned her squeeze.

  “Exactly. That's why you’re more suited to fatherhood than I am. I’ll stick with being the fun uncle that Peyton comes to for beer and sage wisdom down the line.”

  Elliot laughed. “That is why he’s more suited to fatherhood? Gee, but it seems like you’ve got such a sunny disposition that would otherwise be so well-suited to raising children,” she chided sarcastically. Her tone was light and teasing, and I kind of loved seeing this side of her. A quick glance at her drink told me she’d almost finished it. Which reminded me we needed to get some food into her, ASAP.

  Xander returned her laughter, shaking his head in admiration. “Damn, Bry. She’s feisty. I like her. Tell me, Elliot, do you have any equally feisty friends or sisters that might be more susceptible to my charms than you?”

  I snorted at the thought. No way in hell El would ever do that to her friends or Sophia.

  “Most of my female friends are married—quite happily. And my sister? Ha. I’m not positive what exactly her type is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not you. And she definitely isn’t your type. She’s smart and sweet and shy and would never fall for whatever panty-dropping moves you’ve stored away in your arsenal.”

  I couldn’t help but chime in. “Plus, Sophia’s actually got a brain, Xander. Which means she’s already out of your league.”

  One of his eyebrows lifted, and his mouth formed a small frown. “So, you’re telling me she’s one of those ‘but she’s got a great personality’ chicks? Got it.”

  I sighed and shook my head, exasperated and done letting Xander hijack our conversation. “You’re such a dick.”

  He shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve been given the label. Not even the first time today, in fact.”

  “Shocking,” I said with unmistakable sarcasm. “Think you could make yourself useful and grab us some mozzarella sticks? I’d go order, but you’re already here. Plus I’ve learned the kitchen puts a rush on it if the order comes from their manager. They’re terrified of you, by the way.”

  “As they should be. I don’t do bullshit handholding or accept excuses. But yeah, I’ve actually gotta go back there anyway and deal with a major inventory fuck-up. I’ll have Laci bring them out as soon as they’re done.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  He met my outreached fist with his and turned to El. “Elliot. It’s been…weirdly refreshing to have a woman call me out like you have. If I’m ever in a pussy-drought, I have a feeling you’d make a spectacular wing-woman. Fortunately and unfortunately, I’ve never needed help in that department. Should that day ever occur, you’ll be my first call. For multiple reasons.”

  He waggled his eyebrows playfully in true Xander fashion, and Elliot snorted a laugh—one of those that would’ve had her spraying whiskey if she’d been mid-sip.

  “Easy, Casanova. I’m not above kicking your ass in front of your staff.”

  “You make it too damn easy, Bryce.” He held his hands up and laughed before offering El a wink and quickly striding toward the kitchen.

  Elliot just shook her head and turned back to me. “Is it weird that I can’t decide if he’s actually kinda likable, or if he’s just good at tricking women into thinking he’s likable long enough to get in their pants?”

  “Nah, not weird. Somewhere underneath his playboy persona, there’s a decent guy in there, but it’d take one hell of a woman to put up with and see past all his bullshit. I love him like a brother, but he’s basically incapable of having a functioning relationship. He’s a heartbreaker through and through.”

  She frowned. “That’s kind of sad, even if he acts like he’s perfectly happy with that title.”

  “Xander’s a big boy; don’t feel sorry for him.”

  El’s shoulders snapped up, and she clapped her hands together. “Okay, so you were about to tell me what it would take to prove that I can be carefree.”

  Right.

  “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got a morning meeting at 9:30 and an appointment with a client at three. I was planning to do some venue research in-between. Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes skeptically.

  “That’s perfect. If I come meet you at the office or at the inn after your morning meeting, give me the rest of tonight without thinking about work.” She opened her mouth, but I continued before she could protest. “And I promise we will be extra-productive tomorrow. Come on, Uno, let go and live a little tonight.”

  A smiling blonde quickly set down a basket of mozzarella sticks while Elliot considered my offer. She wasted no time picking up the fried goodness and biting into it, letting out a little moan.

  “Well?” I prompted, mostly to put a stop to the food-moans.

  “One condition—after, if I’m not satisfied.”

  She paused, hitting me with a wink in case I missed her insinuation (I didn’t), and the urge to clarify that she’d always be satisfied after being with me was almost too strong to resist.

  “If I'm not satisfied with our progress," she added with a grin, "we reconvene after my afternoon meeting.”

  “Deal. Told you, El, I’m not opposed to working late nights together.”

  Chapter 16

  Bryce

  Another basket of mozzarella sticks later, we’d successfully avoided talking about anything work-related. Instead, we swapped stories from our respective college experiences. If it had been a Friday or a Saturday night, the music would’ve been pumping through the speakers at an obnoxiously high volume. But as it was, we sat across from each other and could converse without straining to hear.

  “You did not!” she shrieked with a mixture of shock and humor. “Bryce. You actually tried to climb the rec center? After how many games of beer pong?”

  “Somewhere between three and fourteen. I went a little nuts that year. But that’s what freshman year is for, right? To make all the stupid mistakes you’ll eventually learn and grow from?”

  “I guess so. But now that I think about it, I never really had a nuts phase. Do you think that makes me boring? Am I lame for spending freshman year studying instead of allowing myself a ‘real’ college experience?”

  She lifted a hand and drummed her fingers against her lips as her brows knitted in contemplation, and I fought the urge to run my fingers over the lines along her forehead like I had last night.
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br />   “Actually, no,” she continued. “I don’t regret that I spent more time at the library than at house parties. I studied a lot, but I also had fun. Sometimes. My lack of regrettable experiences isn’t what made me lame back then. It was…”

  Her eyes fell, and she started fidgeting with the foil that lined the empty basket between us.

  “El? It was what?”

  “You know what’s funny?” she asked abruptly, directing her gaze back up to me. “The way we use the word ‘nuts’ to mean crazy. I’ve never understood that. How did that start? Who is this person with a nut vendetta? What did nuts ever do to them? They must have had a nut allergy. But to most of the population, they’re perfectly normal, delicious treats. I happen to love nuts. If we’re going to use a food as a synonym for crazy, it should be something like ‘pluot’ because really, whoever thought to cross plums and apricots is the crazy one.”

  I arched a brow and lost the battle to contain my grin. “Okay, I think that’s enough whiskey for you,” I said, sliding her glass over to my side of the booth. I was half-joking, but also didn’t want to be responsible for her dealing with the hangover from hell tomorrow.

  She crossed her arms and huffed in mock-annoyance. “That wasn’t drunken rambling, Bryce! Buzzed at best. It was a perfectly relevant tangent.”

  “I know you’re not drunk, El. But that was a blatant attempt to distract me from what you were about to say. You teed up the ‘deez nuts’ joke too well with the ‘I happen to love nuts’ comment. What were you going to say?”

  She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t remember.”

  “Elliot, look at me. Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me. But you can. You can tell me anything, Uno. No judgment, remember?” I nudged her leg with mine.

  She slowly lifted her eyes, raising the curtain of long lashes blocking my view of her beautiful blues. There she is.

  “Full disclosure," I added. “There will be a tiny bit of judgment if your confession is that you still squeezed into your pink Power Ranger Halloween costume from second grade. Though, I’m not opposed to seeing you in an adult version of it. Preferably of the slutty variety.”