by Meika Usher
“Don’t you think we should consider the raspberry cream, though?” Cat asked, blinking innocently. “Just in case?”
Sunny snarled. “But...it was pink.”
“Exactly.” Cat grinned. “And so pretty.”
In this moment, I would not have been surprised to see steam coming out of my dear sister’s ears. I also would not have been surprised to see her leap across the table and straight-up strangle our almost-sister-in-law.
“Pretty isn’t really Sunny’s thing,” Nate cut in before any violence could actually occur. I smashed down the disappointment and sat back in my seat. “My vote is firmly for the black cherry. Filling looked like guts.”
“Right?” Sunny agreed excitedly. “Bloody, bloody guts.”
“That’s...not very wedding-like,” Cat said, blinking.
“But it is very Sunny-like,” Nate countered. “And this is Sunny’s wedding we’re talking about.”
I caught the grateful look Sunny passed Nate as she wriggled into her coat. Nate straightened in his seat, looking all proud of himself, and I both wanted to punch him and hug him.
The confusing fucker.
“How about we table this for further discussion?” Cat stood. “We gotta get moving if we’re going to make it to the dress shop before they close.”
“Ugh,” Sunny groaned, leaning back in her chair. “Can’t we do it another day? I just ate my weight in cake samples.”
“All the more reason to go now,” Cat replied. “Burn off some of that sugar.”
“I can think of no less than thirty-eight ways to burn off sugar that would be more fun than squeezing into frilly white dresses,” Sunny grumbled as she allowed Cat to oust her from her seat. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to torture me so.”
“You know?” Cat shoved her arms into her leopard-print coat and buttoned it. “I thought your brother was the most dramatic Oliver. Turns out...” Her brown eyes eyed Sunny pointedly.
“Oh, fuck off,” Sunny replied as she pulled on her own coat, prompting a laugh from Cat.
I stood, too, and reached for my coat. “I need a nap,” I declared. “A-plus job on the cake, man,” I said to Jack, who’d been gathering empty plates from our table.
He grinned. “Thanks.”
“You need help cleaning up?” Nate asked as he stood and stretched his arms high above his head. His What Would Buffy Do? T-shirt lifted just enough to bare a bit of stomach, and I focused super hard on the table in front of me.
I’d done a good job of avoiding direct contact all morning. It helped that I had cake to shovel into my mouth. My mother raised me to never talk with my mouth full, after all. But now the cake was done and the Nate was looking at me like he had something to say, and I did not want to hear it.
What I wanted was to kick him square in the balls. Tell him what a bag of dicks I thought he was. Maybe smash some of that leftover blood-and-guts cake into his stupid face. But I refrained from such acts of violence. Mostly because I didn’t want to answer the questions that would follow.
“Nah,” Jack was saying when I tuned back in. “I got it.” He held up a pile of neatly stacked plates as if to say, See? and then headed toward the kitchen.
Sunny and Cat were all buttoned and bundled and ready to risk the bitter cold. “So, we’re in agreement,” Sunny said as they headed toward the exit. “The black cherry goodness is the winner?”
“Hands down,” I replied. “It was straight-up orgasmic.”
“While I don’t necessarily agree with its color palette, I do have to admit...” Cat said, pulling her long red hair over a shoulder and twisting. “I got all tingly when I tasted it.”
“You were not alone.” Sunny grinned. “That cake is basically sex in food form.”
“So, do you think I should call it Sexy Sex Cake?” Jack asked as he reentered the room. “It kinda has a nice ring to it.”
Cat rolled her eyes. “Do not call it that.”
“Tingly Tatas?” he tossed out, lifting his brows.
I snorted. “Please call it that.”
“Do not,” Cat jumped in. “I swear, I don’t know how Tierney hasn’t managed to kill you yet.”
“Probably because I provide her with delicious orgasm cake.” He gathered the next load of dishes and backed toward the kitchen. “Oh. Should that be the name?”
Cat and Sunny both groaned and threw wadded up napkins his way. Jack merely laughed and disappeared through the kitchen door.
“And on that note,” Cat said. “We’re out.”
“If I survive the afternoon,” Sunny said to Nate as she pulled open the door, “tell Anya I’ll be by tonight.”
“Will do,” Nate said, pulling on his coat. I glanced over in time to see him look my way, as if gauging my reaction to the mention of his girlfriend’s name. I kept my face impassive, because fuck that guy. He didn’t get to know how I felt. He didn’t care how I felt when we were—
I cut the thought off before it finished. It did me no good to think about the things Nate and I had done before I knew of Anya’s existence. It only made me angrier. And hurtier. Neither of which I wanted to feel.
“Why doesn’t she ever stay with me when she’s in town?” Sunny continued as she did the linger-in-the-doorway Midwesterner thing. “Is she afraid she’ll encounter a naked Ben?”
I stilled in my meaningless task of putting the used forks into a straight line. Why would Anya stay with Sunny when she was Nate’s girlfriend?
“Well, as we’ve established,” Nate said as he gathered the rest of the debris into a neat pile, easy for Jack to clear up. “No one likes unexpected balls.”
“Ahh, yeah.” Sunny nodded as Cat pulled her arm. “I’d make him sleep in his underwear.”
“Come on, woman,” Cat said, bringing an end to their conversation. “We gotta go.”
“Fine, fine.” Sunny’s eyes rolled. “Catch you guys later.”
Then the door swung shut behind Sunny and Cat, leaving Nate and me alone for the first time all day. For the first time since that night.
Well, it wouldn’t last long.
Swinging my purse over my shoulder, I crossed the floor and reached for the door handle.
“Birdie, wait.” Nate reached out, his fingertips brushing the sleeve of my coat before he pulled his hand away and shoved it into his pocket. “Can we talk?”
I turned around. I didn’t have to. I could have kept walking. Right out that door and down the sidewalk and far, far away from Nate. He wasn’t going to stop me. Clearly. But...maybe that was why I hesitated. Most other people would’ve grabbed my arm, would’ve stepped in front of me, would’ve forced me to listen. He stood in the same spot, hands in his pockets, eyes hopeful and hesitant. And so I did not walk away.
“I called,” he said once he realized I wasn’t leaving. “And texted.”
“Oh, I know,” I replied, pulling my coat tighter around me. “But I don’t associate with cheating cheaters who cheat.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Tell me one thing,” he said instead of denying or confirming or justifying my accusation.
“What?” I tilted my head. “Do you really need me to tell you what a dick I think you are? Because—”
“Tell me why Anya bothers you so much.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean? I think it’s pretty obvious why—”
“I get the anger,” he continued. “I understand why you’re mad. But...you’re more than mad. You’re hurt.”
“What? No. I’m not. I’m—”
“But if this was meaningless, if we were just messing around, why are you hurt by the assumption that I have a girlfriend?”
The assumption. So he still wasn’t going to confirm Anya’s place in his life?
As the question formed, Sunny’s words echoed in my mind. Why doesn’t Anya stay at my place? As Nate’s girlfriend, it should’ve been a no-brainer that she’d stay with Nate. So why was Sunny miffed Anya never stayed with her?
; “I think it’s because you like me,” Nate continued. He didn’t drop his gaze. Didn’t look shameful or guilty or anything. In fact, he looked...hopeful?
“Uh, no,” I said, frowning. “I like my guys more Captain America, less...Captain Hook.”
Now it was Nate’s turn to frown. “What does that even mean?”
“You know...” I searched the air for the words to explain my terrible analogy. “Nice guy, not bad guy?”
Nate flinched like I’d hit him. “I’m not a bad guy, Birdie.”
Something about the earnestness in his eyes kept me from laughing right in his face, kept me from telling him to go fuck himself. Well, the something in his eye and the seed of doubt Sunny had unknowingly planted minutes before.
“Tell me about Anya,” I said, surprising myself. I needed to know.
The relief on Nate’s face was so intense it hit me right in the gut. “She’s a friend,” he said in a rush, clearly afraid I would change my mind. “Nothing more. I would never—ever—have done the things we did if I were with someone else.” The urgency in his voice, the fire in his eyes, hammered home his words, and...I believed him.
But there was still the question of why he never let me touch him.
“We have a lot to talk about,” he said, as if he heard my thoughts. “How about you let me buy you something to eat that isn’t pure sugar?”
I watched as he pulled his hands from his pockets, keeping them at his sides. And, before I could let the anger and hurt and everything else convince me to walk out that door, I reached for his hand. “Okay.”
29: Nate
The walk to a nearby sushi place was filled with silence. The only sound between us was Birdie’s high-heeled boots clicking against the sidewalk. Which was fine by me. Because I had no idea what to say.
Honestly, the shock that Birdie had agreed to talk was so intense, I’d be surprised if I could string together a complete sentence once we were settled into the restaurant.
No, but seriously. What was I going to say? Once we sorted out the Anya debacle, she’d have more questions. She’d pick up where she left off with her line of questions that night. About why she couldn’t touch me. Why I wouldn’t let her touch me. And I had no idea what I was going to tell her.
The truth? my mind filled in. That’d be a good place to start.
My stomach clenched at the thought. Flashback after flashback played in my mind, from every time before that I had uttered the words, I’m a virgin, and it resulted in harried excuses and hasty departures. Could I handle it if Birdie did the same?
I glanced her way. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her long hair like silk falling over her shoulders. My chest tightened. No, I thought. I could not handle it.
We reached the restaurant well before I had any sort of anything to say planned out. This was going to go well.
“So,” Birdie said as we settled into our seats. “What’s your go-to here?”
I picked up the menu and studied it. “I usually get the—”
“I think we should start with the miso soup,” she interrupted, and I looked up to find her studying her own menu, brow creased. “And then...we could split a shrimp tempura roll and the Screaming Mimi roll.” She looked up, the overhead light catching the blue in her eyes perfectly “How does that sound?”
Putting down my menu, I nodded. “Works for me.”
The waitress showed up then, and Birdie relayed our order, tossing in a pot of tea for good measure. Once we were alone again, I fiddled with my wrapped chopsticks and studied our fellow diners. In the far corner, a young couple sat, leaned toward each other, talking quietly. To their left, a suited-up older man talked into his phone while chopsticking his way through a bowl of something delicious-looking. At our table, silence reigned.
“So,” Birdie said finally, and my eyes shot back to her. She was leaned forward, arms folded on the table, fingertips drumming lightly against her forearms. “I’m gonna need you to tell me.”
My stomach lurched. “Tell you what?” I asked, hoping to buy time. To put her off. Because I knew the answer to her question would send her running. And I didn’t want her to leave.
“Tell me why I can’t touch you.” Her gaze was steady on me. She didn’t blink, didn’t waver. And, although panic was eating me from the inside out, I was impressed. I was always impressed by her tenacity. “Because if it’s the one-ball thing, seriously. Not an issue.”
“That’s not—“
“I mean, why would I complain?” She shrugged, and smiled at the waitress as she delivered our tea and soup. “One ball just means there’s less to put in my mouth.”
Our waitress didn’t even flinch. Meanwhile, I choked on the sip of water I’d been taking. “Jesus,” I managed as the waitress patted me on the back.
Birdie was nonplussed. “I’m just saying,” she continued as she calmly poured us both tea. “It’s definitely not a bad thing.”
“I...I have two balls.” I waved the waitress off, giving her a feeble smile of thanks. She smiled back and walked away. “There’s no issue with the number of balls I have.”
“Okay.” Birdie nodded, looking thoughtful. “All right.” She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her soup. After taking a bite, she spoke again. “So, what is it, then? Tell me why I can’t touch you.” Her spoon tapped against the rim of her bowl. Her eyes locked on mine. “Because I want to, you know. I want to real bad.”
The air between us thickened. My fingers tightened around the spoon I’d just picked up to keep from reaching out to her, to keep from pulling her across the table and crushing my lips to hers. Because, god, I wanted her to touch me, too. But...
Swallowing hard, I looked away. Her hand slid across the space between us to rest on my hand. I watched her florescent pink fingertips trail over my knuckles, sending fissures of electricity through my bones. She didn’t speak, though. Just touched.
To tell her or not to tell her. That was the question. If I told her the real reason why I’ve been keeping my distance, I’d risk her running scared. Or freaked out. Or a myriad of other emotions. But if I didn’t tell her, didn’t I run the same risk?
Flipping my hand over, I let her trace over my palm. That night, the night Anya showed up, there was something deeper in Birdie’s reaction. Something that sparked the hope that this wasn’t just messing around for her. That it could be more. Maybe she wouldn’t run.
I looked up to find her watching me, a frown settled between her brows. “Talk to me, Nate,” she said, her voice quiet. “It can’t be that bad.”
“I’m not looking for a meaningless hookup.” The words launched from my mouth so fast I sat back in my seat, my hand slipping from beneath Birdie’s. What was I saying? This wasn’t the truth I needed to tell her. But it was a truth, nonetheless. And so I forged on. “I...I want something real. And I’m not sure you’re on the same page.” I paused and swallowed around the giant fucking lump that formed in my throat and met her eye. “Right?”
Birdie pulled her gaze from mine and stared into her soup. “I...ah,” she started, color rising in her cheeks.
My stomach dropped to the floor. This was the part where she told me she was, in fact, only looking for a hookup. Maybe it was best that we end things here. Shake hands and head our separate ways. Go back to the way things were before.
And as I imagined her saying those words, I realized: I did not want to go back to the way things were. I didn’t want to be Nate and Birdie, casual acquaintances that only saw each other every other weekend, and sometimes at family functions. That would suck.
When she looked back up, when she met my stare, I braced myself.
“I...I think I could be looking for more, too,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
“That’s okay,” I replied, waving away her rejection. “I understand. I—”
“Nate,” she interrupted, her lips curving. “Did you even hear what I said?”
“I—“ I stopped. “You didn’t shoot me
down?”
“I did not.” She smiled, and every cell in my body seized up. “I like you, Nate Kim. One testicle or two.”
It was that damn exact moment that our waitress decided to deliver the rest of our meal. She dipped her head as she sat the plates before us, but I did not miss the amused smile on her face. Pressing my lips together, I sat back and sighed. Birdie, on the other hand, looked infinitely amused.
“For the last time,” I grumbled as I tossed my chopsticks aside. “I have two balls.”
“Yeah?” Birdie lifted a sushi roll to her lips, her eyes twinkling. “Prove it.”
30: Birdie
There was no dainty way to eat sushi.
I concluded this as I lifted my first roll to my lips and attempted a bite. When the whole thing fell apart, I gave up and shoved the debris into my mouth in its entirety.
Nate didn’t seem to care. He kept talking to me as my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk—very intentionally dodging my two-ball challenge.
“So, how’d you get into tattooing?” he asked as he forwent the chopsticks and grabbed a roll with his fingers. “It’s a long way from the stuff you were doing when we first met.”
The stuff he referred to was found-art sculptures. The first time I met Nate, I’d been dumpster diving behind my favorite thrift store for supplies. What a great first impression that had been.
I swallowed the ginormous mouthful of sushi and sipped my water. “Oh, that’s a long story,” I answered as I sat my glass back down. “A long, long...long story.”
Nate leaned forward. “I’ve got time.” And the way he looked at me—open and earnest and interested—sent a rush of heat to my cheeks. When was the last time a guy wanted to hear me say words with my clothes on?
I slid my gaze from his and reached for another roll. I could not remember. “Where should I start?”
“The beginning.”
Settling into my chair, I smirked his way. “Well, I was born on a blustery day in April. My mother said I—”