by J. Daniels
I want dates with her. Dinners. Conversation. Hours upon hours of what we shared tonight.
And she said yes.
I slide my fingers out of her, anxious for a taste. A little desperate for it. At the sound of my gluttonous moan, Brooke peeks her eyes open, then gasps and leans forward, getting an inch away from my mouth.
“Well?” she asks, an unruly gleam in her eye as her hand circles my wrist.
She wants to know how she tastes. I could describe her for hours.
I slip my fingers out of my mouth, tracing the wetness along her jaw. “I could live with my mouth between your legs, Brooke. I could die there too.”
Her eyes fill with curiosity, and something else. Fear, maybe? Have I said too much?
I pull back and grip the wheel with both hands. My head hits the back of the seat.
Fuck, I had to say that, didn’t I? I couldn’t just say how fucking incredible she is? How I didn’t think it was possible for something to be sweet and fiery at the same time? Shit, even admitting I’m a full-blown addict after one bloody lick would’ve been a better response.
Why don’t you just propose right now, you tosser? Really go full-blown pathetic.
“Mason,” Brooke murmurs.
I shift my attention off the endless night sky and onto her.
She reaches for her belt. I can’t remember her ever taking it off.
“Can we drive some more? Maybe around here? The stars are insane right now.” She dials up the volume on the stereo, tilting her head to see out the windscreen. Ed Sheeran fills the car.
On second thought . . .
Maybe I haven’t spoken out of line at all?
Relief warms my blood. I melt against the seat as I shift the car into reverse.
We drive for hours, chasing the moonlight all over Chicago. Our conversation couldn’t be more random. We talk about everything. Her job, my home-life back in Australia, our favorite movies. Brooke rambles about her family, her sister Juls and her niece and nephew. How she’s living with Joey and his husband until she saves up enough for a place of her own. Sometimes we drive in silence, listening to the radio or nothing at all when Brooke grows agitated with the music selections. It’s comfortable, and easy. God, it’s easy talking to her. There’s no awkward pauses, no need to feel like you have to keep the conversation going. She makes a few more cracks about animals native to Australia, and whether or not I kept any of them as pets.
“Yeah,” I tell her, containing my amusement. “We kept a few crocs in our backyard. Mum didn’t care much for the safety of her children.”
She giggles into the night. The wind blows her hair around her and she tries frantically to tame it.
Fuck, she is precious.
I pull up in front of the Tavern after I catch a few yawns out of her. The footpath is quiet. It’s nearing 1:00 A.M. .
I feel wide awake. Drunk and high off Brooke. Reveling in this addiction I don’t want to fight.
She stares down at her lap after removing her seatbelt.
I fight the urge to drive off with her and bypass the goodbyes.
“I feel like you tricked me into agreeing to dinner,” she mumbles, looking over at me with a weak smile. “That seemed very calculated on your part.”
I lean across the console and kiss her cheek. “Not sure I know what you’re referring to. But calculated or not, you make the best sounds when you come.” I pull back, smiling at the heavy look that’s in her eyes, the same one she had in the field when I slid my finger over the smooth rise of her clit.
She wets her lips, then pulls the door handle and exits the car in a hurry.
“Yeah . . . okay, well, I guess I’ll see you this weekend sometime.”
“I’m just across the street, Brooke. You’ll see me before this weekend.”
She blinks rapidly, then nods once, her hand pushing her hair off her shoulder. “Mm. Right. You need to commit to your stalker status. It would be weird at this point if you didn’t follow me to get coffee, or do random drop-ins at my place of business.”
I chuckle, resting my elbow on the console. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
“Working.”
“Before that.”
She stares at me with the most curious expression. It’s so sweet I want to reach out and tug her back into the car, pull her against me, feel the grin she’s fighting against my mouth.
“Sleeping,” she answers, her bold eyes searching my face.
God, what I wouldn’t give to see her like that. First thing in the morning, sleep-rumpled and soft against my sheets. Her body tucked against mine while I watch the morning light pass over her skin.
With a jerk of my chin, I clear that image out of my head before it renders me incapable of getting my next words out. “Meet me for breakfast? There’s this spot I saw the other day when I was driving around. Just down the way a bit from the coffee shop.”
“Rosie’s,” she offers with a soft voice. Her teeth run along her bottom lip. “Yellow umbrellas out front?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“They have amazing breakfast foods. Like life-changing amazing.” She lowers her eyes to a spot between us, gathering her hair over one shoulder and twirling her fingers in it. She seems a bit unsure all of a sudden, like she can’t decide whether to bolt or stand here and continue talking to me.
“So, is that a yes?” I ask her, ducking my head a little.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just breakfast, Brooke. You’re going to eat it anyway, yeah?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, but she doesn’t respond.
I smile, hoping to get one in return. “Do I need to pull you back in here and ask that question with my hand up your dress?”
She purses her lips, fighting it, fighting me. Her arms cross tightly under her chest as she stands a little taller. “You’d be wasting your time.”
“Hardly.”
“You would. I’m not a multiple orgasm type of girl. It’s nearly impossible to make me come more than once.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“I’ll remember to remind you of that when you’re begging me for a break.” We share a brief laugh, hers a little disbelieving. I look at her straight on and bite back the urge to beg for this. “Come on, Brooke. Meet me for breakfast tomorrow. Let me have you first thing in the morning.”
She stares at me long and hard, then finally drops her shoulders with a sigh. “All right.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she answers, looking away to hide her smile. “Only because I love Rosie’s and I haven’t eaten there in forever. Nice going on your part. If you would’ve suggested any other place, I would’ve shot you down.”
I wait until she looks back at me to give her a smile. “Seven o’clock?”
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t give me any sign of agreement. With a swift hand she shuts the door and walks to her car, making sure to give me a nice view of her arse as she bends to unlock the driver’s side door.
I drop a hand to my cock, staring at her, waiting for an acknowledgement that she’s heard my time suggestion.
I never get it.
She pulls away from the curb and blends into the traffic on the street.
BROOKE
The line at Rosie’s café is already wrapping around the building when I arrive this morning.
Typical, and why I didn’t argue with Mason when he suggested meeting so early last night. I’m used to grabbing something to eat after I arrive at the bakery, which isn’t until eight-thirty. Waking up any earlier for any reason isn’t something I’ll easily agree to, but if you’re going to eat breakfast at Rosie’s, you need to beat the crowd.
I move past the line and step inside the café, shifting my attention around the crowded room.
“Brooke.” Mason stands from his seat at a booth in the corner. He looks almost relieved to see me.
I suppose I could’ve given him some indication las
t night that I was planning on showing up at seven o’clock today. But really, where’s the fun in that?
He kisses my cheek when I reach the booth. “Morning, gorgeous. I went ahead and ordered you some coffee and juice. It’s fresh-squeezed apparently.”
I giggle as I lean away.
“What?” he asks, eyes curious as we both slide into the booth.
I take a moment to stare at him before I respond.
His hair is still damp from a shower, the curls a bit more prominent now than when it’s fully dry, but still just as carelessly tousled on top of his head. Light from a nearby window catches on the stubble coating his jaw. It looks coarse, but I know how it feels against the skin of my cheek. A gentle, welcoming scratch. The crisp white T-shirt he’s wearing stretches deliciously across his chest and the muscles of his shoulders.
Damn. Even at this hour, he looks amazing. Would it be weird to order him for breakfast?
I bring the glass of juice to my lips, swallowing a taste as my eyes slowly take their time reaching his face. “Nothing. I just think it’s cute how you bring that to my attention. Like I’d send it back if it wasn’t freshly-squeezed. I’m not a snob.”
“I wasn’t implying that.” He eyes me guardedly. “I just appreciate good quality juice.”
“Mm. Figures. You probably own a juicer, don’t you?”
“No.”
I raise an eyebrow. No way does this guy not own every health conscious piece of equipment invented.
He smiles, tasting his own juice. “I may have left it in Alabama. It was rooted. I should pick up a new one, now that you mention it.”
“Ah. See.” I point a finger at him. “I got you all figured out.”
“Yeah? Think you know me, do ya?”
“Yup.”
He leans forward, placing his hand on top of mine. “What do you know, Brooke? Do you know I thought about you until I fell asleep last night? That that’s quickly becoming a routine of mine, and I’m not ashamed to admit it?”
My breaths grow heavier as I stare back at him.
Shit. What does he mean he thinks about me until he falls asleep? Sexually? Like, is he jerking off to images of me in his head before he passes out, because I’m pretty sure that’s a normal response for most men in this zip code, and not necessarily a declaration that should make my heart thunder against my sternum.
“I know you like my sounds. And that you were attacked by a rogue koala when you were a kid, which I’m still having trouble believing,” I finally reply after sliding my hand out from under his and grabbing a menu.
If I let him, I think he’d try and hold my hand this entire meal.
He grins, reaching for his own menu. “I more than like your sounds,” he corrects me, lowering his gaze. “What’s good here? Anything you’d recommend?”
“Everything. I told you, this place will change your life. The pancakes are amazing. That’s what I’m getting.”
Our waitress arrives, placing silverware in front of us and a stack of napkins. “Have we decided?” she asks.
Mason motions for me to order as he continues surveying his options.
I hand my menu to the waitress. I barely even needed to glance at it. “I’ll have the bacon and apple pancakes.” My mouth stretches into a grin when Mason gives me a wide-eyed look.
Welcome to America. We put bacon on everything.
He glances once more at the back of his menu, then places it into the waitress’s hand. “Eggs Benedict. And if it isn’t too much trouble, instead of the hash browns, can I get double sausage?”
“Sure,” she replies, stepping away with our order.
I grab two sugar packets and empty them into my coffee. When I glance up after stirring in some cream, I catch Mason’s eyes on me, and I wonder how long they’ve been there.
He leans back with a warm smile. “So, Brooke, tell me about working at the bakery.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you make everything you sell? Or are you strictly in charge of cupcakes?”
I chuckle against the lip of my mug. The steam billowing from my coffee evaporates into the air. “I’m not in charge of anything. Dylan is. I just do some of the baking for her. Everything except the wedding cakes. That’s all her.”
He looks surprised. “Why don’t you do those?”
“Because it’s a wedding cake. I don’t want to be responsible for something people pay hundreds of dollars for. And have you ever seen a pissed off bride? No way am I risking ruining someone’s big day.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I occasionally help out with the actual assembly of the cake, but all of the big detail work I am nowhere near skilled enough to do, Dylan handles. She’s amazing.”
“I bet you could do it,” he says. “Those cupcakes you gave me looked pretty complex.”
Complex? Compared to a wedding cake? This man is crazy.
“Yeah, okay. Have you ever seen a wedding cake? I can’t do that. We don’t even take requests for them when Dylan goes out on maternity leave. She meets with brides. Not me, and definitely not Joey. He’d end up somehow weaseling his way into the wedding party.”
Mason quietly laughs before taking a drink of his coffee. When he lowers his mug back to the table, he keeps his gaze on me, so plainly attentive, as if nothing could pull his eyes away.
My hands tangle together in my lap.
Have I ever been looked at like this before? With such raw interest, and not with some blatant underlying motive to get me naked and beneath whoever is staring at me?
Probably not, unless I’m related to the person.
We talk until our food arrives, and in between my massive bites of the best damn pancakes in Chicago. Mason polishes off his breakfast minutes before I’ve even made a dent in my tall stack. He drinks his coffee and freshly-squeezed juice while I finish off my plate, and after paying the check, he asks me what my plans are tomorrow morning.
“Sleeping,” I answer, smiling behind my glass when I pick up on his meaning. “No way am I waking up early again tomorrow. I don’t think you realize how vital my sleep is.”
He scratches his jaw. I can practically hear his mind working this out. “Okay. Friday then?”
I shake my head.
“Come on.”
“Why?”
“Because I like having you this early. And I think you had a nice time too. Stop fighting me. It’s just breakfast.”
I stare at him across the booth.
Just breakfast. Somehow, it seems like a lot more to Mason than just sharing a meal at the earliest part of the day. Will this become something regular, a routine we fall into where he orders for me before I even arrive? Not just beverages, but my food? Will he know what I like and how I like it, and on what days I want pancakes with blueberries instead of bacon?
More importantly, do I want him to know it?
I rub a hand down my face. As my eyes scan the table riddled with napkins and half-empty glasses, I spot an advertisement stuck between the salt and pepper shaker. My stomach makes an embarrassing sound as I look at the picture. How did I forget about this? I pinch the laminated picture between my fingers and hold it up for Mason to see.
“I’ll give you Tuesdays.”
He leans forward, taking the picture from me and staring at it. “All you can eat deep-fried stuffed French toast. Wow. Is that . . . Captain Crunch, the cereal? They put cereal on it?”
He looks adorably baffled, like the idea of using crushed up cereal on anything is the strangest suggestion.
“It’s out of this world, and extremely popular. You can only order it on Tuesdays and people will actually call ahead to secure their plates.” I snatch the picture from him and drop it between us. “You want me this early? You can have me on Tuesdays . . . only. Take it or leave it.”
He drops his elbows onto the table and presses his mouth against his hands. “You drive a hard bargain. I was hoping for multiple mornings.”
I shrug, studying my nails and the c
hipped polish on my thumb, looking anywhere but his face until his foot nudges against mine.
Our eyes lock. He shakes his head, then smiles at the frown pulling down my lips.
Fuck.
“Jerk,” I mutter. Of course I have to react to his phony rejection. I can’t just sit here and feign indifference. Now I look like the one who suggested this.
Well played, you gorgeous bastard. Well played.
He stands and tugs me to my feet, kissing my lips and murmuring, “I’ll take anything you give me, Brooke. Anything.”
I keep my hands tucked into the pockets of my jeans the entire walk to the bakery.
I haven’t sat down once today.
I can’t.
I’m full of nervous energy. Restless. Buzzing around my room like this is my first rodeo, and it’s not. It’s so not.
I’ve been on plenty of dates. Hundreds. Well, okay, maybe not hundreds, but enough where I shouldn’t be this anxious about one freaking dinner. Guys ask me out all the time, and who am I to turn down a free meal before we get down to business? I love to eat. I really love to have sex. Putting two of my favorite things together makes for one very happy Brooke. And hey, if the sex is lousy, at least I get an enjoyable meal out of it.
But that’s just it, right there. A meal is guaranteed tonight, but I have no idea if I’m getting laid. Dinner is pretty cut and dry, but after?
What the hell is happening after?
I, for one, feel like Mason and I know each other well enough for sex, based on his guidelines. More than well enough based on mine. We’ve talked, information has been exchanged. He knows more about me than any other guy I’ve been interested in recently. But is that enough for him?
He said he wants more. How much more? How much does he want from me?
I’ve seen Mason practically every day this week, between breakfast, coincidental, but maybe not so coincidental coffee-shop run-ins, to the occasional treats delivery, which I can’t seem to stop myself from doing. Christ, it’s like a damn compulsion. Even when he pops into the shop for a brief hello I’m shoving a bakery box at him like he’s one of those malnourished children you see on the UNICEF commercials.
Here! Eat this! You poor thing, you’re starving!