“Shut up.” I shook my hand from his. “I have to go. Glad you’re okay.”
I rushed past him and said a quick goodbye to Rena, promising to explain later. Even though I wasn’t sure I could explain why I’d almost kissed Caden Wilson in Oak & Sage’s ladies’ room, I vowed to do my best.
Cade
Devlin drove me home from work, which was better than Paul picking me up. It wasn’t like I could’ve asked Tasha for a ride. By the time I walked to the bar, she was bolting out the front door, her blond hair billowing in her wake.
When she’d suggested ways to relax, the only one that came to mind was kissing her. That would relax me. So close. I could still smell the slightly fruity fragrance of her bubblegum pink lip gloss.
After she’d gone, I ventured back into the kitchen, despite Devlin trying to send me home. He’d pulled on an apron and was sweating over the flat-top grill in Hamilton’s place. His frown had conveyed that I shouldn’t have been there, but I ignored it and pulled my own apron over my head. I’d finished my shift. He’d lived with it.
My formerly silver tongue that had been my biggest and best asset was at present my worst enemy. Unable to make a convincing case in my defense, my only option was to stay silent and look mean.
“I get it,” Dev said, turning on the windshield wipers when it started to rain. “Hamilton is a dick.”
I grunted my agreement.
“He’s also my only grill guy. If he quits, I’m screwed, man. Unless you want to be trained on grill.” His eyes flicked to mine before returning to the road.
I didn’t have to answer. He knew my answer. I wasn’t looking to build a career at Oak & Sage.
“I can’t give you special treatment.”
I didn’t want special treatment but telling him so would involve a lot of complicated words, so instead I went with, “Got it.”
He parked his SUV in the Wilson driveway, in front of the garage. “I’ll talk to the guys.”
“D-don’t.” I leveled him with my most severe glare. The last thing I needed was my big, bad brother asking everybody to stop picking on me. Kill me now.
“Fine. But do me a favor and communicate without using your fists. Do it again Cade, and I swear, you’re fired. I don’t care whose fault it is. Running a restaurant is a lot harder than it looks.”
Feeling every bit of the little brother I was, I climbed out of the car and slammed the door. Which admittedly was a childish reaction. I understood how, between the two of us, Devlin saw himself as the adult. He was living with his girlfriend, I was over my dad’s garage. He was running a restaurant, I was bussing tables at that restaurant. He was raking in money, I was…not.
Immediately following the accident, I’d hated life and everything in it. That included my father, included Devlin, and included the unfairness of life in general. Now I was stuck between anger and something else… I don’t know what it was, but it felt a lot like motivation to be better.
That was some shit.
I punched in the code for the garage door as headlights slashed over the house, looking forward to being alone. I trudged upstairs to my home away from home, grateful I didn’t have to talk to Paul about what had transpired this evening.
I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and frowned at the empty love seat. It was too quiet in here, and I was too amped from tonight’s festivities to go to bed. I settled for flipping on the television and scrolling through my phone, wondering if it was too late to text Tasha.
Probably. Even if that was a thing we did.
For the first time in a very long time, the solitude wasn’t welcoming. As much as I’d looked forward to being here by myself, now that I was, I realized I didn’t actually want to be alone.
I didn’t want to be alone at all.
Chapter Six
Tasha
God, I loved Taylor Swift. I loved dancing to her music. I was currently shimmying around my kitchen in a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, my Bose speaker cranked as loud as I dared while being considerate of my neighbors.
I was still in celebration mode since I’d learned of my permanent employment. I’d gone so far as opening a bottle of wine—not bubbly since I was saving that for a girls’ night with Rena—and tossing a pizza in the oven. Not the frozen grocery-store kind, either. This was a take-and-bake from Sonny’s Pizza. Sonny, former bookie and Devlin’s godfather of sorts, didn’t run it any longer, but the place was still open. They made the best pizza in town—with the kind of dough that bakes up crispy on the edges and chewy in the middle.
Oh, sweet carbs, take me home.
I uncorked the white wine, looking forward to an evening of kitchen dancing, vino, and consuming way too many calories. Anything to stop obsessing over Cade almost kissing me two days ago. Only I hadn’t stopped obsessing about it, clearly, since I was currently obsessing about it.
This called for more wine.
The next song was an Ed Sheeran tune. Much as I loved him, a drippy love ballad wasn’t going to cut it. I skipped to the next song.
Sipping my wine, I checked on the pizza before noticing my slightly frazzled reflection in the oven’s glass window. School had been extra sucky today. I was pretty sure I’d failed my Critical Analysis test, and I’d spotted Tony making out with his new girlfriend on campus.
My ex, who was bad enough on his own, was infinitely worse when accompanied by a petite, perfect woman with big green anime eyes and a skirt so short I spotted tan lines. I finished my wine in one gulp.
Tony and I used to spend the weekend lounging on his couch, making food, or making love in his bedroom. And if he wasn’t available because of work, although I later learned he hadn’t been available because he was a filthy dirty lying cheater, I would invite my girlfriends for pizza and movies over to my place instead.
That habit had stopped when I found out Tony was sleeping with at least two of those friends. I caught him kissing Jamie and confronted him to find out that not only was Tony kissing Jamie, he was sleeping with her too. Jamie, to defend herself, threw our friend Mariah under the bus, who’d also been sleeping with him. All while he and I had been dating.
That rat bastard.
I refilled my wine and was considering polishing off the entire bottle when the buzzer rang. I went to the speaker box next to my front door and pressed a button. “Hello?”
No response.
I tried again. “Hellooo?”
Nothing.
I gave up, but when I turned my back, the buzzer announced itself again with three quick zzzts.
“I said hello twice,” I told my silent visitor. Wait…silent? No way was it—
“It’s m-me,” a low, disgruntled male voice announced.
“What are you doing here?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “At ten o’clock at night?” Moreover, how the heck did he know where I lived?
He answered by buzzing again, this one a long constant blare. I held down the button to let him in and then opened my front door and peered over the railing. That’s when I noticed my bare legs, my bare feet. My nearly bare everything.
The plaid boxers and a threadbare green T-shirt with the number seventeen on the front was my standard sleepwear and, until ten seconds ago, the perfect attire for a private party in my apartment. Pizza didn’t care what I looked like. Cade, on the other hand, had never seen me in such disarray.
He appeared on the stairs, chin lifted, hand wrapped around the railing. I froze in place, aware of his masculine presence as he ascended toward me. Frozen in place by the idea he’d come to me.
As he came closer, the overhead fluorescent lights shadowed the severe pleats in his forehead and the oppressive frown on his lips. He was clearly unhappy, his sandy-colored eyebrows drawn so low I could barely see his eyes. I felt them, though. His intense perusal sent tingles drifting down my arms and legs.
On the landing he loomed over me, still unhappy, still incredibly sexy, but now with heat blooming on his cheeks.
I tr
ied for casual. “What’s up?”
Then he said the last two words I ever thought I’d hear him say. “Fffix me.”
Cade
Work lately had been an exercise in learning to be a Zen master. I had done exactly what Devlin asked me to do for the past two days: I’d kept to myself, kept my fists to myself, and ignored Hamilton.
In the hierarchy of the restaurant Serengeti, I was the lame one in the herd. I understood, not that understanding made life easier. Especially when Hamilton put one meaty paw on my shoulder and blew me a kiss. I doubted the offer was sincere. More likely he was trying to get a rise out of me, and even more likely, get me fired.
I gritted my teeth through the rest of my shift, ignoring the name-calling and the laughter that chased my back whether I was walking into or out of the kitchen. On the drive home I turned over the million responses I could’ve said. The responses I wished I could’ve said.
I drove to Tasha’s apartment like a bat out of hell, humiliation and rage flowing through my veins like lava. She’d been trying to help me, and I needed help. I could either go to her or continue skulking through life like a kicked dog. Both options sucked, but there was only one obvious choice.
Her prim brows rose as I tried my level best to keep my focus above her neck. She was wearing almost nothing. It was a miracle I managed the two words I spoke considering my tongue was spot-welded to the roof of my mouth.
“You look…” Her blue eyes swam over me, maybe checking for more blood. I must have looked and sounded as pissed off as I felt. “Enraged. Are you all right?”
I was, now that I was looking at a pair of smooth, tanned thighs curving out of a short pair of boxers.
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.” She smoothed a hand over the shorts almost self-consciously.
A flash of hot pink caught my attention as she backed toward her open apartment door. Fluorescent nail polish on her toes. It was the second sexiest part of her. No, the third. Don’t get me started on what was beneath her super-thin shirt.
She lifted her ponytail, and honest to God, I tried, but I couldn’t resist. An outline of two perfect nipples tickled the numbers silkscreened on her shirt. I was dying to know what color those nipples were. My mouth literally watered.
“Cade.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Realizing I was staring, I opened my mouth to apologize. Instead I blew out a helpless breath as I shrugged. Because nipples. Seriously. Help me.
“I guess I should invite you in to talk.” She waved a hand in the air, and parts of her I was desperately trying not to notice jiggled with the movement. “Or mime. Whatever.”
Such a beautiful smartass.
I followed her inside, ignoring the twitch of interest stirring in my pants at the sight of her round ass in those shorts. Her place was freaking nice. Dev gave me the address, courtesy of Rena, who offered it without argument by the way, but he hadn’t mentioned Tasha lived in luxury. Made my makeshift bungalow look like I’d carved a couple of squares into a refrigerator box.
The walls were painted gray, with black flat-front cabinets in the kitchen and an island with a stainless-steel sink in the center. I took in her third-floor view, impressed to find a spacious balcony and cozy outdoor furniture. There was no hand-me-down anything in here. Everything from the L-shaped couch in deep charcoal to the pale pink and faux fur throw pillows smacked of her classy style.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to look more relaxed than I felt.
“Pizza in ten minutes. Interested?” She turned on the oven light and peeked in.
Real talk: I was starving. After bottling my anger rather than taking it out on Hamilton’s face (again), my mood had been thoroughly soured. But as I watched Tasha sip wine, her breasts flirting with the cotton shirt, I decided my night was going in the same direction as my dick. Up. Way up.
“Wine?” she offered.
I grimaced.
“No, I guess you aren’t a wine guy, are you?” She pulled open the fridge—a fancy stainless-steel double-doored monster. “Let’s see… What do former prelaw frat boys drink?”
I bit back a smile, my first of the evening, and rested my hands on the kitchen island. She was not only hot. She was cute. A lethal combination. Much as I wanted to dislike her for giving me hell about my college past, I sort of enjoyed her ribbing me for it.
She hummed, her head hidden behind the refrigerator door. “I don’t seem to have a keg in here. And I’m fresh out of Mad Dog…” She shot a smile over her shoulder that disarmed me, save the sword in my pants. That fucker was fully armed.
I adjusted myself, grateful that my hips were hidden by the island when she turned around. I tried to think of anything but my physical needs or how ridiculously attracted I was to Tasha Montgomery. It had been more convenient when I’d foolishly believed I could talk her into my bed for a night. Now getting in her pants would require us seeing each other afterward. I needed her.
I tried to make that sound bad in my head but couldn’t.
“I have a few fancy IPAs.” She handed me a bottle with a skeleton wearing a bomber jacket on the label. “I don’t drink it, but I thought it’d be polite to have options for company.”
There was sadness in her downturned eyes and the quiet tone of her voice. My heart lurched. I didn’t want her to be sad.
“Anyway. This one’s extra bitter.” One fair eyebrow tilted. “Kind of like you.”
And she was back. I smiled full out this time, which shocked the hell out of me after the night—the last couple of nights—I’d had.
She handed me an opener and I cracked the lid off the beer. I took a sip while she watched me cautiously. And maybe a little hopefully. I nodded and took another drink. I wondered if she was surprised that I wasn’t all PBR all the time. I could drink a beverage not served out of a red Solo cup if pressed.
“You have a dimple.”
She’d noticed. Interesting.
She pointed at her own cheek and smiled. No dimples for her. “Yours made a rare appearance just now.”
That’s when the air changed between us. A spark of sexual tension hovered there, and I noticed it wasn’t only coming from me. She must have noticed too, because next she darted her eyes from mine. A soft pink hue stole over her cheeks. I was going to convince her to let me taste those lips before I left.
“So, what needs fixing?” she asked.
My shoulders deflated. For a few minutes, I’d forgotten about my shortcoming. I made a circular motion in the vicinity of my mouth.
This. All of this.
She nodded, no judgment in her expression. “And you’re finally ready to work?”
She was gorgeous and she wore no makeup. No jewelry. Hell, practically no clothes. She seemed more open, relaxed this way.
“Lucky for you, I read two books on speech therapy over the last week.” She grabbed a pair of hot pads and canceled the timer that was ten seconds from beeping. I came up beside her and palmed her hip. I heard a small intake of breath before she faced me, her wide eyes on mine, her mouth softly parted.
Damn. She was too fucking hot for words.
I took the hot pads from her and pulled out the pizza, the cheese browned and bubbling. The scent of spicy sausage, onions, and green peppers hit my nostrils, and my stomach roared.
Tasha grabbed a round slicer from one of the two million drawers in the kitchen and then went to work cutting the pizza into even triangles. “When did you want to start? After dinner?”
“N-no.” I sighed in frustration. I was exhausted tonight. Trying to speak when I was this tired sounded like hell. Pizza and beer with Tasha sounded more fun than tripping over my tongue for the next hour.
That made me think of her tongue and how it was one I’d like to trip over. Repeatedly. Now there was a challenge I was up for.
She didn’t acknowledge my stutter or press me about my sudden change of heart. Instead she handed me a plate and napkin and corralled me in the living roo
m.
We ate and drank. I didn’t talk. She flipped through a magazine while chatting about the test she thought she’d failed, as slow rock and bouncy pop songs alternated in the background. I went back for a third slice, listening to her, comforted by the sound of her voice.
Whatever anger had propelled me here evaporated by the time I uncapped my second beer. I didn’t think it was the alcohol that relaxed me, though.
It was Tasha.
Chapter Seven
Tasha
I climbed in my Beamer and pointed it toward the Wilson residence, Moira Tunstil’s words echoing in my head. Cade’s former nurse couldn’t have been less enthusiastic about our conversation if I’d asked her to have it while eating a bowl of live earthworms.
I’d consulted her for insight on Cade when they’d worked together. I was curious what progress they’d made before she’d stormed out of the Wilson house and Paul asked me to take over.
Not much, as it turned out.
Moira was a large German woman whose scowl appeared permanently etched on her brow. I wasn’t surprised Cade hadn’t liked her—she wasn’t the warmest person I’d ever met. I didn’t fully comprehend how he’d been able to scare her off. She’d struck me as unshakable.
I mentioned Cade requesting I “fix him,” and she’d actually listened. Much like her former patient, however, her words were few. Finally, she let me in on this gem: “Mental,” she’d said with a thick accent. “Wilson’s problems are mental.”
I scuttled from her house, teeth aching from the rock-hard cookies she’d served, my mind on what she’d said. What if she was right and Cade’s speech issue was in his head? What if his stutter was partially caused by his emotional state? It was a damn interesting theory.
After the accident, the doctors had been quick to diagnose a brain injury. I was definitely not a doctor, but I hadn’t noticed motor skill issues. He’d physically recovered at warp speed and, given the progress he’d made on his car and his video game prowess in the previous months, his hand-eye coordination didn’t seem lacking.
Craving Caden (Lost Boys Book 2) Page 5