The room is empty when I arrive, so I drop my things on the table in the center of the room and open the freezer to see if any of the food I brought in is still there. I find a frozen meal—chicken alfredo—and make quick work of warming it up in the microwave. I buy a soda from a vending machine and take everything back to the table to eat and get to work on my list.
After my realization last night that in every relationship I’ve been in, I’ve changed myself, I decided I’d make a list of the things I want to do to be right with myself before another relationship comes along—things that will make me a better person, and a more experienced person. Getting right with myself will only make me that much better in a relationship, and after doing all this work on myself, I won’t want to bend to someone else’s will in order to fit into their life. I want to volunteer at a soup kitchen, help make the world a better place, and donate my time at an animal shelter. I want to play golf—I’ve never played golf! Go camping. Catch a fish. But I also put in a few relationship goals as well. Things like kiss in the rain, dance under the moonlight, have an orgasm . . .
Okay, let me explain. I’ve been in a few relationships and I went on a ton of dates before Jimmy. I even slept with some of those guys, but the one thing they all still have in common is that none of them ever got me off. I’ve been close . . . I think. But no one has ever been able to push me over the edge. And it’s irritating. I want to know what everyone’s talking about. I want to feel the heat in my veins. I want to feel the explosion in my own body. I want to know what it’s like to give yourself over completely to another person like that.
I’m so caught up in my list, which now has 20 items, that I haven’t touched my food. My hand is flying across the page, writing one thing after another. I never even realized how much stuff I haven’t done—not until I started writing them all down. I’m so caught up in my own thoughts and my list that I don’t even hear the door to the break room open. I don’t notice that anyone’s walked in until I hear that deep, friendly voice.
“Whatcha doing?” Grayson asks, tossing something into the microwave and startling me. He slams the door shut then taps on the buttons until it lights up and the tray starts spinning.
“Oh, nothing,” I say, holding back a surprised yelp. I drop the pen in my hand and place my arm over the paper to hide everything I’ve written. I look up at him and force a smile. “How’s your day going?”
He smiles and shrugs. “It’s all right, I guess. It’s a Monday, that’s for sure.” The microwave beeps and he takes his burger out and carries it to the table to sit next to me.
With him so close, I no longer feel comfortable working on my list, so I close the notebook and pull my meal closer as I begin to eat.
“Whatcha working on?” he asks as he unwraps his burger.
“Just a silly little list I’m making for myself.”
“What kind of list? A shopping list?”
I giggle, feeling embarrassed just talking about it. “No, not exactly. It’s just a list of things I want to do now that I’m single. I’m trying to make myself happy instead of leaving it up to someone else.”
His blue eyes meet mine and they’re shimmering. “I like that idea.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. “What are some things you want to do?”
I stab at a noodle and take a bite. “You know . . . just stuff.” I refuse to look at him now for fear that he’ll somehow be able to drag the truth out of me.
“What kind of stuff?” he presses.
“Like going camping, taking a hike, catching a fish. That kind of thing.”
“You’ve never gone camping?” His tone is amused but his face communicates shock.
“I grew up with a single mom, all right? No, she didn’t take me camping.”
“Well, that’s an easy one. What else you got?”
I shake my head. “It’s my thing. Don’t worry about it.”
The moment the last word leaves my mouth, I feel my arm—the arm that’s resting on top of the notebook—shift. It’s suddenly flat on the table and the notebook is now in his hands.
I jump to grab it, but he slides his chair back across the floor out of my reach.
“Give it back!” I demand, standing up and having every intension of chasing him down to rip it out of his hands before he reads that one very embarrassing part: Have an orgasm.
“Golf? I can help you with that. I used to play golf in college on scholarship. I’m really good.” He smirks. He’s holding the notebook over his head where I can’t reach it—even if I jump.
I put my hands on my hips and stare him down. “No thanks. Now can I please have that back or are we doing this the hard way?”
I see his eyes quickly flashing down the page as he reads each line. Suddenly, they freeze and I know he’s read the part I didn’t want him to see. To my surprise, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he closes the book and places it in my outstretched hand.
“Seriously, let me help you.”
I frown. “Why would you want to help me?” I ask, turning back to the table. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite, so I pick up my lunch and walk across the room to toss it into the trash.
“What?” he asks, brows drawing together in time for me to turn around and see his expression, which is a mix of hurt and confusion. “We’re friends, right?”
“Sure, we’re work friends. Not outside-of-work friends.” I pick up my soda and take a sip.
“Let’s change that,” he says, lunch forgotten on the table as he stares up at me.
“Why?” I ask.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You don’t make being your friend easy, do ya?”
I want to laugh at that but I don’t. Here’s this great, super-sexy guy basically begging to be my friend, and I’m so hurt and jaded that I can’t even trust that? A friendship?
I shrug. “I just don’t understand what brought this on. We’ve worked together for years and you’ve never suggested hanging out after work before.”
“True, but that’s because you’ve always been in a relationship and I didn’t want to cause any problems for you. But now you’re single and I’m single. There’s nothing stopping us. Come on. What do you say?”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, picking up my pen and walking toward the door with all of my stuff in tow.
I pull the door open but his voice causes me to stop.
“Do more than think about it, Cora. Just . . . do it.”
I turn and look at him from over my shoulder and he’s wearing a determined look. His jaw is cocked—flexing and tensing. His eyes are intently staring at me, taking me in and studying me. For a moment, it feels like he can read everything about me, including the things I keep locked deep inside for no one else to see.
I can’t reply. Not with him looking at me like that. Instead, I nod once and walk out, leaving him alone in the break room.
Once work is done for the day, I pack up my things and hit the door. I’m lost in thought as I walk through the building alone and across the parking lot to my car. When I look up after grabbing my keys from my purse, I find Grayson leaning against the side of my cherry-red Jetta. His arms are crossed over his big chest and his thick hair is blowing slightly in the warm breeze. The sun hits it, accentuating his natural caramel highlights. Goddamn, he looks like a fucking Disney prince.
I stop a few feet from him and tilt my head.
He stands up straight and takes a few steps toward me. “I seriously want to help you with your list.”
“Yeah, I got that. But I haven’t decided yet.”
“Why not? Come on, it’ll be fun! Who else is going to go golfing and camping with you?”
He does have a point. Harley isn’t exactly the outdoorsy type, and now she’s pregnant and probably won’t be feeling very well when her morning sickness kicks in.
“Well . . .” I say as he stands in front of me, smiling and nodding his head. “Okay,” I finally agree.
“Y
es,” he breathes out excitedly. “This weekend we’re hitting the golf course. You and me, baby.” His wide smile is contagious and I can’t help but smile at how excited he is.
“Okay. Saturday it is.”
“Bright and early. We’ll have breakfast and hit the course. I’ll pick you up around 6.” He tries to walk away but I quickly grab his arm.
“Six? Like, in the morning?”
He nods. “Yeah, why?”
“Six? In the morning?” I say again to clarify.
He laughs. “That’s right. Hope you’re a morning person, ‘cause I am,” he says around a smirk as he walks away. I let my gaze linger on him for a moment, my eyes dropping down to his taut ass for a brief second before I feel a pang of guilt. Note to self: Don’t be a creep and check out your new FRIEND.
Great. I am not a morning person. Hopefully he isn’t one of those super-chipper annoying morning people. I’d hate to have to snap off his head while he’s being so nice to me.
Two
Grayson
I chuckle as I’m walking away from her toward my car. Is 6 a.m. really that early? I get up at 4 a.m. every day. It gives me time to wake up, work out, have breakfast, shower, and get ready for the day. I’ve never really understood how people can sleep so late. On the few occasions I’ve done it, it felt like I wasted my whole day. And the thought of getting to spend a whole day with the girl I’ve had a crush on for years probably means I won’t sleep much the night before.
I’ve been holding back a secret crush on Cora for years. I made sure to get to know her, to become a friend, and to be there whenever she needed me. Not because I’ve been trying to get into her pants or manipulate her. It’s just that she’s a fucking amazing woman and any man who can’t see that doesn’t deserve her. And now thanks to that douchebag who decided to run out on her on the day of their wedding, I’m finally getting my chance.
I don’t know how she feels about me, though, and it drives me crazy. We’ve laughed and joked around on several occasions at work, but due to her always being taken, she’s never flirted with me. But I guess I haven’t really flirted either—at least, not after I found out she was taken. I’ve had to sit back and watch the guy she was about to marry break her heart again and again and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. This time, she isn’t getting away.
I’m worried that if I come on too strong, I’ll just scare her off. She’s probably still hurting over his rejection and I don’t want to push her into another relationship too soon. She needs time to heal, which is why I think this whole Fuck It List of hers is perfect. I almost laughed when I saw the title of her list today. Then I damn near shit myself when I saw one of the last things on that list. Have an orgasm.
How has she never gotten off before? Surely she isn’t a virgin, is she? How can anyone go 20-something years without having an orgasm? I mean, at some point, wouldn’t you get just tired of being let down and take care of it yourself? That piece of shit did her a favor by dumping her if he couldn’t get her off. She clearly has no idea how fucking good the right man could make her feel. I know one thing: when I get my shot with her, I’ll make it my damn mission to have her entire body so racked with toe-curling orgasms that she’ll be begging me to stop.
I’ve always avoided workplace relationships though, and that’s one aspect of this that worries me. What if things don’t work out with us? Will it be awkward running into her at work? Although the only time I run into her is when I’m already seeking her out. We work in different departments and only ever see each other in the break room—her break room, not mine. I just randomly pop in down there in the hope of running into her. I’m glad it worked today.
As I climb behind the wheel, I plan out in my head how I want things to go with us. We’re already “work friends,” as she put it. I want to be real friends. Friends who call each other on the weekends. Friends who get together for dinners or lunch dates. And that friendship could easily turn into a relationship. There’s always been something about her that I just can’t resist. I don’t know if it’s the silky blonde hair that she’s recently chopped off into a stylish bob, or if her icy blue eyes, high cheekbones, and perfectly sculpted lips. I bet those lips could do some amazing things. She’s short—probably only coming up to my shoulders—and I bet she doesn’t weigh 110 pounds soaking wet. She’s like my own personal little pixie, and I want nothing more than to pick her up against me and carry her to my bed where I can see how that little body fits with mine. I feel my body come to life with those thoughts and have to push them away and clear my head to drive home.
I get to my place and my roommate, Charlie, who also goes by Chuck, is already home and lounging on the couch with a case of beer beside him. He looks up with a smile. “Hey, got you a beer,” he says, reaching down and grabbing one. I sit down beside him and he hands it over.
“Thanks.” I pop the top and take a long drink.
“How was work?”
I nod. “It was good. You know that girl I told you about?” I look over at him.
His brows furrow together. “Which one?” he asks, being stupid. He knows which one. It’s not often that I talk about girls.
“You know, the one from work.”
“Oh right,” he says with a nod. “The little blonde who was left at the altar.”
I roll my eyes. I’m tired of hearing her described that way. She has a ton of things going for her. “Well, I got her to agree to go out with me this weekend.”
“Awesome, where ya taking her?”
“Golfing.”
He snorts and bursts out laughing.
“Shut up, man. She wants to go. She has this list of stuff she wants to do, and golfing was on there. And you know, since I’m a pro, I figured, why not?”
This only makes him laugh more. “Pro?”
I roll my eyes.
“If you’re a pro, then why aren’t you making millions on tour playing golf somewhere instead of working where you are?”
“Well, you say you’re a pro at Photoshop yet you’re still making all your money on Fiverr, so I don’t want to hear it from you.”
“Hey, I’m an entrepreneur,” he says, clearly offended by my jab.
This time I snort and roll my eyes. “Riiiiight. You’re just the drink all day and go to work at 10 p.m. type. Can’t handle the 9-5 grind,” I say, giving him shit. He actually is really good at what he does and he did have a normal job at a design company, but he left it to start up his own business that hasn’t exactly taken off yet. He does, however, cover his share of the rent and other expenses, so I don’t complain. He’s a guy who doesn’t have to try to excel at something and he knows it, so instead, he does the bare minimum. Something about being a “free spirit,” but really, it’s just laziness.
He holds up his middle finger, making me laugh. He knows I’m just giving him a hard time and he doesn’t take anything I say seriously anyway.
“Wanna go grab some dinner?”
“I actually just placed an order for some Chinese food delivery. You’re more than welcome to join in if you’d like. I ordered enough for 10,” he laughs out.
“You always do,” I agree. “Chinese food sounds good. I’m going to hop in the shower. Let me know when it gets here.” I push myself up off the couch and go into my bedroom to gather up my clothes.
I shower quickly, shave my face, and pull on a pair of sweatpants before walking back into the living room to find Chuck at the door retrieving his order. I go into the kitchen for plates and forks then take a seat on the couch. He sets everything down on the end table and we both start making our plates. I grab a little of everything and dig in while he flips through the channels too rapidly to actually see what’s on. He’s somehow able to tell, though, because he stops on an old baseball game and sets down the remote. We both eat in silence until I finally speak up.
“So, how are you and Jessica doing? I haven’t seen her around here in a while.”
He shrugs. “We still talk but h
aven’t hung out much,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“Not meant to be then, huh?” I joke.
He snorts. “Not even close. So you think this girl from work is the one for you?” He’s wearing a smirk because he doesn’t believe in that kind of thing.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we’re going to find out.”
After our meal, Chuck goes back to work at his computer desk in the corner of the living room, and I get up to go to my room so he’ll have the quiet he needs to focus. I sit on the edge of the bed and look around my room. I don’t hang out in here much, so there isn’t a lot to do and it’s too early to go to sleep. I get up and walk into my closet to pull on a pair of jeans, some boots, a black T-shirt, and my leather jacket. On my way out the door, I grab my keys from the bowl and head down to the parking garage. While I always park my car in the lot, my motorcycle stays well-protected in the garage.
I swing one leg over the Harley, put up the kickstand, and start her up. She comes roaring to life, and when I twist the throttle, she rumbles loudly. I slowly make my way out of the garage and onto the street. I have no destination in mind. All I know is that I was feeling too shut in and needed an escape. The road with the bike between my legs and the wind in my hair is the only way to do that. I weave in and out of traffic until I can hit the highway. Finally, I have the room I need to open her up.
I don’t pay much attention to where I’m going. It’s like my mind isn’t steering the bike—my body is, and it does so without being told where to go. When I look up, I’m in a familiar part of town, but I have no idea why I drove here. I park in a parking space on the side of the road and shut off the bike. I put down the kickstand and get into my saddlebags to remove my water bottle. I lift it to my lips and take a long drink while my eyes take in everything in front of me. There are a few apartment buildings, a couple little restaurants, and a gas station, but no bars or anything. It’s a quiet section of town that doesn’t get a lot of traffic, so I can’t for the life of me figure out why I drove here. Then I catch a glimpse of something that gets my attention.
The F It List (Love You Forever Book 6) Page 2