What I Need

by J. Daniels

So what do I do when she throws this option at me after taking away everything else? I agree to it. Not knowing what the hell I’m in for but figuring it can’t be all that bad.

  She wants to be friends? Sure. Why the fuck not?

  Phone calls I can handle. Texts, probably. As long as she isn't trying to work me up with one. But face-to-face time?

  Motherfucker.

  Should’ve thought this through.

  I can easily retreat. There’s still time. She hasn’t seen me yet, and chances are I can make it out of the store before she notices me at all.

  But the kicker is, I want to talk to her. I enjoy it. Riley is a good fucking time.

  And seeing her right now?

  Yeah . . . I still want it.

  I just need to decide if this is the right play for me, knowing damn well how bad I’ll want to do more than just talk.

  I stare at Riley's profile as I debate backing away and retreating to another aisle.

  Her hair is up off her neck, tied up in a messy knot with a few blond pieces falling out and tucked behind her ear. She’s wearing hospital scrubs. Dark blue ones. Stormy like her eyes after she comes.

  Those blue flames.

  Jesus.

  Never seen eyes like hers.

  What she’s wearing isn’t showing her shape but it doesn’t need to. I know Riley’s shape. I’ve felt it with my hands, gentle and with urgency. I’ve touched and grabbed and palmed. I know how it presses and curls into me when she’s sleepy from sex.

  And knowing everything I know, I shouldn’t still be standing here, staring and allowing memories to trigger. I should be making my way to the checkout and getting the fuck gone.

  She wants to be friends.

  I want to throw her down right here, bury myself deep, and show her exactly why her idea is fucking terrible.

  But I can’t. And because I can’t, I need to go. Pay for my food and get the hell out of here.

  Fuck this. What am I doing?

  Decision made, I start to retreat. But then I watch as Riley bends down to retrieve something out of the crate she’s standing by, and I’m curious enough to pause and see what it is she’s been staring at this whole time I’ve been staring at her.

  What's held her attention for minutes?

  She straightens up with the produce in her hand and holds it out. That’s when I see it.

  A coconut.

  I smirk, because fuck me. There goes my decision. I’m going to have to go over there now. I can’t ignore that.

  That’s ours.

  You asked for this, Tully.

  Ignoring all alarms in my head screaming that this is a bad idea, that doing a face-to-face with Riley is just going to make me want to fuck her even more, I push my cart over to where she’s standing.

  “Not all palm trees have those,” I announce as I come up beside her, boxing Riley in with my cart so her only escape is to back away.

  Her head snaps right and tilts up to see me. Then her eyes go round.

  “You probably already know that though,” I continue, keeping the smirk. “Considering how naturally curious you are.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asks with a quick voice, bringing the coconut against her chest and clutching it with both hands.

  Her cheeks are now flushing pink. She’s either embarrassed I caught her or nervous to see me.

  I’ll take either one.

  “Robbing the joint,” I reply, resting my forearms on the cart handle and angling my body forward.

  Those burning blues grow rounder. “What?” she whispers.

  I chuckle. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’m getting food for dinner,” I tell her, nodding at the coconut. “You got plans for that or were you just letting yourself remember?”

  Riley smiles a little. Then she shakes her head and looks away to drop the coconut back into the crate. “I don’t know what I was doing,” she answers, turning back to look at me. “And before you say anything, the dates in my cart have absolutely no significance.”

  I cock an eyebrow.

  “They are on sale this week,” she adds quietly with a shrug. “That’s why I’m buying them.”

  “Didn’t say anything.”

  “I know, but just in case you were thinking something.”

  “I’m thinking a lot of things,” I reply, watching her pink lips press tight together. Full and soft and tasting sweet as hell.

  Jesus. What I wouldn’t give to kiss that mouth right now. She’s so damn pretty.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Why the hell did I think coming over here was a good idea?

  Her eyes lower to my uniform. She clears her throat. “Did you just get off work?” she asks.

  I nod, pushing thoughts away I can’t make happen right now, then I jerk my chin. “You?” I question, brow furrowing. “Are you a nurse or something?”

  I feel like a dickhead for asking this, considering how many times Riley and I have slept together, but truth be told, we didn't do much talking last weekend. If Riley wasn't offering information, I wasn't asking for it. Not because I didn't want it though.

  My mouth was just busy doing other things.

  “Hopefully in a year I will be,” she replies, tugging on the bottom of her top and then smoothing it out. “I'm in nursing school. I had clinical today, hence the scrubs.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “I hate wearing them,” she shares. “They’re so ugly.”

  I laugh under my breath, arguing, “I'm not hating them one damn bit,” then flashing her a smile when her eyes widen.

  “You like my scrubs?”

  “What did I just say?”

  “You said you didn't hate them.”

  “I think you can translate that to me feeling the opposite,” I share. “Unless you need to hear me say it.”

  She drags her teeth across her lip, blinking slowly, then quickly looks away while shaking her head.

  I know that look. I know what she's fighting against.

  Riley wants to hear me say I like her scrubs. She wants to hear me say why I like them too. But she doesn't want to want it. That's the problem.

  Hers, not mine. `Cause I have zero fucking problems sharing my thoughts on Riley's uniform or anything else I like about her.

  Another part of the look she's giving me? Shock. I’ve surprised her.

  Riley's acting like the thought of me digging the outfit she's in right now is something she can't even fathom, which leads to me thinking that dickhead she's staying with has never said anything similar to her.

  That pisses me off. He's touching all that every night and he's not appreciating it? What else doesn't this cocksucker do?

  I don't waste any time finding out.

  “What's he cooking for you?”

  Riley cuts her eyes back to mine. Her brows pinch together. “What?” she asks, looking confused.

  I tip my chin at her cart. “You’re going home after this for dinner, right? What's he cooking for you?”

  She stares up at me. “Uh . . . nothing, I don't think. Why?”

  “He doesn't cook for you?”

  A laugh bubbles in her throat. “Not unless you want to count ordering takeout,” she tells me, solidifying my opinion of this prick.

  She wants to be friends with me? Ok. Part of this new arrangement should be me pointing out all the ways I'd be better for her.

  Seems like the friendly thing to do.

  “I'd cook for you,” I share, letting some arrogance dance on my tongue, because fuck it. If she’s going to know what all I’d do for her, I want her knowing how good I’d do it.

  I watch for her reaction, expecting her smile to fade. Maybe her gaze to harden since I'm taking this conversation there. But neither happens.

  With doe-like eyes blinking in wonder, she asks through the softest voice, “Why?”

  I pull in a slow breath, staring into those flames and letting them burn me up.

  Why? Simple.

  “`Cause a girl li
ke you should be having dinner made for her sometimes,” I reply, giving her nothing but honesty. “You shouldn't be giving to a man who isn't man enough to give back.”

  “I don’t mind cooking all the time,” she’s quick to inform me. “The way I was raised, it’s normal for the woman in the relationship to take on that role. My mom cooks for my dad all the time.”

  “This has nothing to do with taking on roles,” I argue back. “It’s about showing your appreciation for someone and doing something for them they’re always doing for you. Giving some of that good back.”

  She shrugs and keeps a soft smile. “I really don’t mind cooking.”

  “You’re not hearing me, darlin’,” I inform her.

  Her smile fades as she slowly draws in a breath.

  Riley stands taller, suddenly looking uneasy. She grips the handles on her cart. “I should go,” she says, backing away to make room so she can get around me.

  I know why she’s retreating. And I could let her go. I could let this go, but I don’t.

  I asked for this? No. She fucking asked for this.

  I bridge the gap and box her in again, then I move to the side of my cart to get closer and take hold of the end of hers, preventing her from moving any further away.

  “Is this how it’s going to be?” I question, watching her eyes flicker wider.

  “Is . . . this how what’s going to be?” she asks.

  “We see each other around and I say something that gets to you the way you don’t want it to get to you, you freak, then you take off acting like you don’t want what you just asked of me two days ago?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You wanted this,” I remind her. “Wanted us to be friends, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is what comes with being friends with me, Riley. I joke around. I flirt a little. And when a nickname sticks with a girl, it sticks hard. Now I get you not wanting me to call you that around people who might be suspicious, and honestly, I thought you got me when I didn’t feel the need to assure you that’ll never happen `cause you know I’m not a dick. I guess I was wrong there. So here’s your assurance—that’ll never happen. You asked me not to say anything, and as long as I’m not being asked about it, I won’t. And like I said to you before, I don’t like the decision you made but you made it so I’m gonna respect it, meaning if I’m ever around you and you’re with him, I’ll stick with first names only. But babe, those two scenarios do not apply right now.”

  She stares up at me, breathing heavy through her nose and looking conflicted.

  “I’m just giving it to you straight,” I add, before she can give me her argument. “You want to be friends? We’ll be friends, but I’m calling you darlin’. Name suits the girl and I like it.”

  “I just don’t want this to be weird,” she says, her hands pressing together on the cart handle so one’s now on top of the other. “Or any weirder than it already is, considering . . .”

  Her voice trails off.

  I shrug, letting go of her cart and crossing my arms over my chest. “Won’t be weird for me,” I tell her.

  I need to say this so she knows we can make this work.

  Do I want to be friends with Riley? Fuck no.

  Am I going to take what she gives me right now?

  Yeah. I’ll fucking take it.

  No way am I letting her rip this shit away from me now. Hell. I’m invested.

  Riley takes a few seconds to think it over, then apparently needing assurance and maybe that final push, she asks me, “Do you call any of your other friends darlin’?”

  Jesus.

  No. I don’t. But I don’t tell her that.

  “Luke, but only when he’s being sweet with me,” I respond through a straight face, hoping to get the opposite reaction out of hers.

  And I get it.

  Her eyes go round a second before she bursts into laughter, hand to her chest and her head tilting up, showing me the line of her neck as she relaxes back into the girl who was sitting at the bar taking shots of tequila.

  I smile watching her.

  This is how I want Riley. Giggling underneath a palm tree and asking me for secrets. Open and acting her age. I don’t want her guarded or worried I’m going to take this too far. Or worse, closing up on me all together and running away.

  How the fuck is she going to see I’m the better man for her if she freezes me out?

  “Okay, well, since I’m sharing the nickname with Luke, I guess it’s fine,” she says, her giggles fading out. “Just promise to keep it harmless, okay? The flirting stuff. I’d really like this to work out. I don’t want to not be friends with you.”

  “Not sure I can promise something out of my control.”

  She cocks her head.

  I cock mine, knowing the truth but only preparing to give her what she wants to hear, and what I need her to hear in order for this to play out.

  “I’m harmless,” I lie, the corner of my mouth lifting.

  “How harmless?”

  “Like a fucking kitten.”

  Riley presses her fingertips to her mouth, shielding me from her smile.

  I don’t shield mine. We’re good to go.

  “Do you have more shopping to do or are you done?” I ask her after glancing around the produce section.

  She slides her hand to her cheek, picks up a lock of hair and tucks it behind her ear, answering, “I think I’m done.”

  I step back, grab my cart and give her room to pass, waiting until she does this before I reach into the crate she was standing next to, grab a coconut, and keep it concealed behind my back as I follow behind her to a checkout lane.

  Another lane opens beside the one Riley is standing in, and since she’s already unloaded, I move to it.

  After I hide the coconut under her reusable shopping bags.

  I’m finished paying before her since I only have a few items. After collecting my change, I turn around to give Riley a smile and get one back paired with a wave before I head outside to my truck.

  I’m expecting something. A call or a text.

  And I almost make it out of the parking lot when my phone beeps. Then that smile I’m wearing in anticipation grows to a fucking grin.

  Riley: VERY FUNNY.

  Later that night, after grilling the steaks, eating one and saving the other for tomorrow, then cleaning up the kitchen and putting everything away, I sprawl out on the couch, nursing my second beer and zoning out on SportsCenter. My phone rings, pulling my attention off the TV.

  I sit forward, dropping my feet to the floor, and grab the device off the footlocker I use as a coffee table.

  The name flashing on the screen brings the biggest smile to my face.

  “Jesus Christ,” I answer, settling back against the cushion and propping my feet up at the other end. “How the fuck are you? What’s going on?”

  “It’s going,” Jake says. His voice is rough. He sounds tired. “Just got back late last night. Fucking time difference is screwing me. I can’t sleep.”

  “How was it this time?”

  “How’d you think it was? It’s Afghanistan.” He pauses. I hear a can opening and wonder if he’s missing it today. The drink. The drugs. “It’s all a bunch of shit,” he says. “Same as last time they sent my ass over there. Nothing’s changing.”

  “How are you doing?” I press.

  “I’m fine. Jesus. I’m not drinking. All right?” he’s quick to reply, shooting down my worry. I listen as he takes a sip. “That’s a Redbull that’s got you freaking out. Relax.”

  “You’re drinking a Redbull and you’re tired?”

  “Read somewhere it can have the opposite effect if you’re really lacking. I thought I’d give it a shot.”

  I shake my head, smiling, then throw my arm behind me and use it as a pillow, propping myself up higher.

  “Seriously though,” he starts. “I’m fine. I know you worry about me and I appreciate it. I always have.”
<
br />   “You’re my brother. And you’re doing some pretty scary shit. You know I’m going to worry.”

  “Nothing scarier than what you’re doing,” he counters.

  “Maybe, but I don’t got shit in my past I gotta keep hold of.”

  “I’m not wanting to use,” he bites out, shining a light on his demons. “All right? And if I start feeling those urges, I know to talk to someone. I got it handled.”

  “Just looking out for you, man. That’s my job,” I tell him. “And it’s one I’m going to keep doing no matter how much you bitch about it, so get the fuck over it. You had a long deployment, Jake. I don’t know what all kinds of shit you saw over there and I’m not asking, unless you want to share.”

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “Shit,” he mumbles. I hear shuffling through the line.

  “What?”

  “I just spilled my Redbull everywhere. God . . . motherfucker. That was my last one.”

  I smirk. “Probably for the best. That shit makes you mean.”

  Jake breathes a laugh. “Whatever,” he murmurs.

  “Seriously though. I’m glad you’re back and okay,” I begin, hearing my phone beep with a message. “Hold up a sec.”

  I hold the phone out and read the text.

  Riley: I just spent an HOUR trying to open that stupid coconut.

  Chuckling, I bring the phone back to my ear.

  “What’s up?” Jake asks.

  “Nothing. This chick . . .”

  “Uh oh,” he murmurs.

  “Nah, it isn’t like that,” I tell him, wincing. “Well, it is, but it’s not.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Shit’s complicated.”

  “Sounds like a long fucking story I don’t want to hear. Actually, tell it to me. It might put me out.”

  “Fuck you,” I laugh. “How’s Katie?”

  “She’s good, I think,” he answers. “Didn’t get to talk much while I was gone. I think that was hard on her.”

  “Sure it was.”

  “I’m planning on going to see her now that I’m back.”

  “You better be swinging by here if you’re driving to Texas, shithead,” I order.

  Jake’s stationed in South Carolina, so to get to his girl he has to drive through Alabama. And considering it’s been over a year since I last saw him and he just survived another deployment, his third in six years, I’m going to be pretty firm on that request.