Pickup Lessons (Awkward Arrangements Book 3)

by Tanya Gallagher

  Dash cocks his head and gives me a sly smile. “I don’t have peas because I don’t eat them.”

  I roll my eyes and dig a bag of frozen chicken nuggets from his freezer. I’m surprised they’re not shaped like dinosaurs, given his tendency toward fourth-grade antics. “They make a good ice pack.”

  “Dually noted.”

  I nudge the freezer door shut with the side of my thigh, then carry the chicken nuggets across the room. “This will have to do instead.”

  “Yes, nurse.” The dimple reappears in his cheek. I want to press my lips against it to feel the shape of his smile.

  I approach Dash’s side, but he widens his thighs to make room for me to step between them instead, and I take the opportunity to get closer. I hold my breath and press the frozen bag to his shoulder, hoping he can’t feel me shake at his proximity, at how delicious it feels to let myself do this. Dash’s muscles are surprisingly firm and toned beneath my palms, and his heat burns through my numb hands.

  “Eden.” Dash groans and closes his eyes at my touch. He’s tall enough that even with me standing and him sitting, my face is only just higher than his. The minimal distance between us lets me appreciate the fine-honed details of his face. I steal a glance and study him selfishly, counting each eyelash that lays against his cheeks, tracing my gaze over the solid line of his jaw, all his messy, perfect hair. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he whispers, reverent, his eyes still closed.

  My throat goes so dry it’s hard to speak. “You’d do the same for me,” I whisper.

  He opens his eyes, and his piercing, heated gaze locks on mine. There’s no place to go to escape the appraisal of his sharp, green eyes, and after the way he lights up my skin, I couldn’t dream of leaving. So I stand there with my hand on his shoulder, my breasts practically in his face, my heart hammering so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.

  I’m scared of what will change if he kisses me. I’m scared of what’ll break if he won’t.

  “I would do the same for you,” he promises.

  The way he looks at me—not just like I’m the only one in the room, but like I’m the only one in the world—makes me believe it. I never thought being with him was a real possibility, and now the magnitude of this opportunity is overwhelming. So vast and tempting and deliriously promising.

  Dash feels risky and safe at the same time. If I take away Titus, Dash is everything I want. The way he makes me feel—alive and inspired and cherished—is what I crave most.

  My heart lurches with a pang of need, and as if he can sense it, Dash sweeps a hand from my shoulder to my neck and buries it in my hair.

  I stop breathing then, so when he draws me close and presses his lips to mine, his kiss feels like oxygen. Like life.

  Dash kisses me like it’s the simplest choice in the world, and I might love him for it. How easy it can be in a darkened room, with the rest of the world shut out.

  It’s just a gentle brush of lips, but it’s like setting fire to gasoline. My body comes alive with a rush of sensation, my nipples growing painfully hard, an ache growing between my thighs.

  Dash sighs against my mouth, then pulls back with his hand still threaded in my hair, cupping the back of my head. “Does it feel like that when they kiss you?” he asks, his voice scraping and raw.

  I press two fingers to my lips. My eyes feel big as I confess, “I haven’t let anyone kiss me.”

  The size of his grin slays me, does dangerous things to my heart. “Only me.” A protective, proud note touches his voice again, warming my body from my chest to my toes.

  I nod because there’s no point in denying it anymore. No matter how many people I’ve dated, for a long time, it’s only been him. “Only you.”

  He surges forward, pulling me flush against his chest and claiming my mouth. This time, he doesn’t hold back, exploring every inch of my lips, working me so hot and hungry I feel like I might combust.

  Kissing him is like finally tasting chocolate after eating broccoli for years and telling yourself it’s good for you. His kisses are rich and smooth and delicious. Just as good for the heart as broccoli. Better, even.

  My palm goes numb under the makeshift ice pack, but I don’t dare let go of Dash. Instead, I grip him tightly, holding myself steady against his body as he trails one hand down the column of my spine to cup my ass.

  His warm, strong hands caress me, making me so wet I want to beg him to stop torturing me and start fucking me already. When he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth, I can’t help but moan.

  “God, E,” he groans against my lips like the sound of me turns him on as much as my touch. “So fucking good.”

  I drop the ice pack to straddle his lap, needing friction against my aching clit. His erection strains against his pants, and I grind myself on it, the tide inside me rising higher and higher with each delicious movement of our bodies.

  But then Dash’s hands flutter against the silk of my shirt, pushing the straps from my shoulders. Cool air floods against my bare skin like a wakeup call, reminding me of how flushed and fast and dizzying this all is.

  Oh my god, what are we doing?

  Reality rushes in, replacing every frantic urge with a heavy dose of guilt. This is everything I’ve wanted, but not like this. Not with other people still waiting for us, not with Titus, there in the middle. There’s literally a clause in my brother and Dash’s business contract against things like this, and I can’t let myself be the thing that drives them apart.

  “Dash, I’m drunk,” I mutter, even though I’m not.

  “What?” His mouth is still open and hungry, his eyes hooded with arousal.

  I did that.

  A flush of pride works over my skin, and it takes every piece of screaming logic in me to hold back from another kiss.

  “We both are,” I make myself say because I need to offer a reason he can understand. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  Dash’s chest rises with unsteady breaths, and his heartbeat buzzes under my fingertips. “Eden.” Just my name. A single word with the power to undo me.

  The longing in his voice makes me want to change my mind, but I climb off his lap before I can stop myself.

  I want to stay.

  I need to go.

  This is too good, too soon, too wrong in all its complicated unfolding.

  I push the straps of my camisole back on my shoulders and pick up the bag of chicken nuggets from the floor.

  The plastic drips with moisture, and the food feels mushy and misshapen.

  “We might have ruined your chicken nuggets,” I say.

  “I don’t give a damn about the chicken nuggets.” His eyes plead with me as I walk across the room and dump the defrosted food in the trash. “I care about you. So much it doesn’t feel fair.”

  I nod because I can’t deny him what he feels, but I also can’t give in. “I should go,” I finally whisper without meeting Dash’s eye. It’s for him and it’s for me, but it doesn’t ease the sting of leaving.

  It’s the worst feeling in the world to pull myself away.

  16

  Dash

  One minute Eden Ellis was in my lap, grinding her gorgeous body against my cock, and all I could think was fuck, fuck, fuck, yes. I needed to be inside her desperately, like months of holding back had unleashed this primal side of me that demanded I claim her and love her and remind her she’s mine. The next minute, Eden Ellis was bolting across the room, and the muttered curse inside my head transformed into fuck, fuck, fuck, no.

  She pushed me away, but it wasn’t because she didn’t want me. I felt how much she needed me—in her ragged breath, her wild eyes, her swollen lips. How tightly she clung to my arms, how she moaned in my mouth…

  Shit. I’m gonna get myself worked up again, and I don’t have time to deal with it this morning. But Eden Ellis did not leave my house last night because she didn’t want me, and that changes everything.

  My body and my head ache with pent-up desire as I drag myself out of
bed and throw myself in the shower. I let the hot, pounding water pour over my body, soothing my skin and steaming away the vision of Eden last night with supple skin and gleaming eyes.

  I need to focus. Titus plans to meet me at the coffee shop to go over new customer contracts, and then I’m staying late to work on my comic pitch. I know who I need to draw, what story I need to tell, and I can’t wait to start.

  When I lift my arm to wash the scent of The Hole from my hair, my shoulder screams a protest. Despite the ache, I touch my shoulder with a stupid smile.

  This might be my favorite injury yet.

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts and finish up my shower. When I emerge, two text messages wait on my phone.

  My finger hovers over the buttons as I decide between Titus and Megan. This morning, I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils, but Megan texted first.

  Did you win?

  God, I didn’t even have the courtesy to make sure she got home ok. Or do the same for Eden.

  I press the heel of my hands into my eyes and try to blot out the world.

  My chest feels tight with how royally I’ve fucked things up. I went home with a girl who wasn’t my date, kissed a girl who wasn’t my date, went to sleep hard for a girl who wasn’t my date.

  I’m the biggest ass in Seattle. I need to end things with Megan, but I’ve spent so much time avoiding dating anyone other than Eden that I don’t even remember how to do end things gracefully. So I send a complicated answer to a simple question.

  Yep, won the competition.

  Eden’s smiling face rises behind my eyes. Only by default, she teases in my mind.

  I swallow hard. I am so, so screwed. In all likelihood, I’m going to end a sure thing with Megan for a woman who ran away from me last night. After a lifetime of always coming in second, of a multitude of insecurities, that feels like a huge risk.

  I know I need to take that risk for Eden, to chase the woman I really want, but I’m not quite ready yet. So I let it go, for another minute, another hour, and read Titus’s text message while I wait for Megan’s response.

  Did Eden help you out last night?

  I picture Titus’s judgmental eyes, his hunched shoulders, his frowning mouth. Hurting him feels like hurting a brother, but the consequences could ruin not just our friendship but my livelihood, too.

  Tell you in person, I send to Titus, already scrambling for an excuse to tell when I see him.

  I’ve got to fix things with Megan.

  But I have to fix things with my business partner, first.

  Stone-cold Titus Ellis beats me to Freemont Coffee, orders a coffee, and secures a table near the front window by the time I arrive. I set down my messenger bag in the empty seat across from him and stroll to the front of the shop to order. I even stand by the counter to wait instead of sitting down with Titus, but eventually the barista plunks a hot paper cup in my hands and I have no more excuses to avoid him.

  With a sigh, I take my coffee back to the table and sit down.

  “You feeling better than last night?” Titus asks.

  I freeze with my mouth an inch from the lip of my cup. There’s no way he knows about me and his sister and how she made me completely forget about my injury—right?

  I study his face carefully before I reply, but he keeps his features blank and unreadable. “Yeah.”

  “Eden didn’t talk your ear off the whole way home?”

  I shake my head, and all my thoughtfully-crafted excuses evaporate. I figure the less I talk, the less I admit. “Nah,” is all I say.

  Titus’s jaw tightens, and the shadow of suspicion colors his eyes. “Did she get home okay?”

  Fuuuuuck.

  “Pretty sure.”

  Titus grunts and angles his chin at me. “It was late for a work night. I know she’s got a ton of stuff going on at work. She’s got to focus.”

  There’s that word again. I wonder if Titus gets paid every time he uses it.

  I don’t want to talk about Eden, but my curiosity won’t be denied. I lean back in my chair and stretch out my legs under the table, trying to look casual and completely uninterested. “Is that why you’ve been grumpy about all this bet stuff? Because it’ll interfere with her goals?”

  “Partly.” Titus makes a face and spins his coffee cup in his hands. “But mostly, I don’t love the idea of her dating because she’s not going to find a guy who’s good enough for her.”

  Ouch.

  “Why are you so protective of her?” I blurt out.

  Asking the question probably sounds like I’m admitting something, but I need to know. Eden Ellis is the hero of my story, the woman I’ve wanted for ages, and I’m going to do everything in my power to get her while keeping Titus, too.

  In the years we’ve been friends, Titus and I have never talked about his sister like this. He shares projects she’s worked on or mentions when her blog gets featured in some other publication. But he rarely talks about what makes him tick or about why he’d crash her parties in college to watch over her.

  Titus sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “I wasn’t an easy brother to have,” he says with a rueful grimace. “I did a lot of stuff that made my parents really proud, but that also made me a hard act to follow. And my parents—god love them—are amazing people. But sometimes it felt to me like Eden couldn’t do things good enough for them. Not compared to me.”

  “Titus—” I start, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

  “Parents shouldn’t compare their kids, right? And I really don’t think they meant to. But I always felt responsible, like I needed to look out for her and help her realize how awesome she is because she just heard it a little less than I did.”

  A knot forms in my stomach, partly for Titus and all the weight of that responsibility, partly for Eden. The knowledge of her childhood unlocks a piece of her mystery, and I suddenly understand why being right matters to her, why she works so hard to maintain the appearance of someone who’s got it all figured out.

  Not that I need that from her.

  All I need is for her to be herself. To be playful and fun and wicked smart. To let me love her.

  Fuck.

  I grip my paper coffee cup so hard it crumples, spilling coffee over my knuckles.

  “Shit!” Titus mutters. He shoves a wad of napkins at me. “Don’t get coffee on the tech.”

  I can’t help my smile as I dry my hands. “Glad to know where your priorities are.”

  He grins back at me, the heavy layers of our conversation sloughing off as the gleam of inspiration lights his eyes. “We did come here to work, didn’t we?”

  “We did,” I say.

  I want to rush to find Eden and tell her we’ll figure it all out together. I want to kiss her again and see where it leads.

  I can’t do any of that with Titus watching, but at least I have a plan.

  I turn back to my computer and wake the screen. The sooner I finish work, the sooner I get my girl.

  17

  Eden

  What is wrong with me? I have a date with John scheduled for tomorrow, and all I can think is that it feels wrong. I want to skip past the date part altogether and head straight for the laughing-about-it-with-Dash part. The part I can’t have.

  “You okay, Eden?” Locke looks at me in concern, his eyebrows drawn together as he studies me over the edge of our laptops.

  His kind tone snaps me back to the meeting he’s trying to conduct—the meeting I’ve very clearly zoned out on—and I shake my head. “What? Yeah, I’m good.”

  Locke was my friend way before he became my boss, but I’m still coming to grips with our new dynamic. Not paying attention during a meeting he’s running isn’t just rude—it could be bad for my career. Right now, though, there’s no trace of authority on my boss’s face. Just friendship.

  I blow out a relieved breath and straighten my shoulders. “We’ve got a really solid lineup of promotions for the new features we’re rolling out next mont
h.” I consult the numbers on my computer. “After the last site update we generated over a hundred social media placements—fifteen blog posts, forty-five Twitter shares, and the rest from Instagram, Facebook, and other platforms. For these new features, I’m planning a similar promotional strategy, so we can expect a similar level of engagement.

  ”That’s great news.”

  I smile at him. “Thanks. I’m also throwing a few extra mentions of Wanda into our blog posts. Gotta give Greer some love, and our bot’s a big part of the way new customers can enter the engagement funnel.”

  Not only is it smart to promote Greer’s work, she deserves a little extra credit. This morning she waved me over to her computer and showed me a new chat query for her bot.

  “Ask Wanda ‘what’s so great about the Go-Getter Girl Guide blog,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief behind her glasses.

  I entered the question into a chat window, uttering a delighted, “Oh!” when Wanda replied, “Everything.”

  There are good friends, and then there are friends who put Easter eggs into your company’s tech products just to make you smile. It’s only fair I share her amazing work with the masses.

  “Good work, Eden.” Locke glances at the clock in the tiny focus room where we’re sitting. “That’s just about time, so I’ll let you go. Keep me posted on your progress and tell me if there are any resources you need from the team to make things happen.”

  I nod and hug my laptop to my chest to slip out of the focus room and back into the open office that houses our team’s desks. Greer’s chair is empty, but I spot her blond head over the row of desks.

  “Want to do lunch?” I call out as I approach, and Greer swings around with a guilty look.

  “Not today,” she says and steps aside.