by Nia Arthurs
Bushy eyebrows slant down.
Pink lips tighten.
His bewildered reaction is starting to offend me.
“Oh.”
Still no concrete answer.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Would it really be that horrible if we dated?”
I have no idea why I’m pushing it. Ollie made himself clear when he tried to cut off his own breath rather than entertain the thought of getting to know me better.
“I—”
“Forget it. I was just joking.”
“Didn’t seem like you were joking.”
“Here.” I shove the nearest pastry at him. “Would you like to choke on a muffin?”
He chuckles. The sound is rolling. Dark. Manly.
Makes me think of lumberjacks and fallen trees and fallen panties.
I hate how attracted I am to him.
Quiet settles.
Awkwardness seeps in.
I desperately pray that Ollie will just move on and forget anything happened, but when he starts shaking his head in regret, I know I won’t be that lucky.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think us dating would be a good move. Hypothetically.”
He’s completely right.
Asking him out was a terrible idea born from a whirlwind of variables—anger at Cobie’s insistence that I have to date a ‘regular guy’, my mounting attraction towards Ollie, and crazed impulse.
But still, a part of me was hoping…
I let an unaffected grin tweak my mouth. “There’s no need to apologize.”
“There’s a lot going on right now. With me. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to…”
“Say no more.” I hold up a hand. “Really. It’s not a big deal.”
He still looks guilty.
Uncomfortable.
I wish I hadn’t said anything.
“I should go.” Ollie slips from the chair. Plants his feet on the floor.
He’s so tall he makes the high tables look like miniature toys.
“I’ll box these up for you,” I say, prying my eyes from his face.
“It’s fine.”
“I insist.” I grab the take-out boxes from behind the counter, glad for a moment to turn away. Get some space. Clear my head.
The pain in my chest is distracting. Alarming. Insistent.
What did I expect? That the guy who barely tolerates my presence would jump at the chance to be with me?
Idiot.
When I turn around, I find Ollie—back to me—staring at the door like the only thing he wants in life is to run through it.
Free from his scrutiny, I focus on his broad shoulders. His long legs. Narrow waist.
The ink scrawling up his arms adds an air of danger to his already imposing build.
I step backward. Dig my fingernails into the container.
I’m embarrassed.
I let his presence rattle me.
Let it cloud my good judgment.
Damn, what if he tells Griffin?
There’s no way that blabbermouth won’t run to my best friend and Lord knows Cobie won’t ever let me live down this botched attempt at ‘normal’ dating.
I fight my discomfort. I’m not falling down this rabbit hole of negative emotions today.
Apathy. Utter disinterest. I pull on my cold armor like a second skin.
“Here you go.” I strut closer to Ollie and hand him a container. “You fill that while I fill this one.”
He looks up at me with that blasted pitying look still shining from his pristine blue eyes. The shadows in the bakery are darkening the hue, turning them into a stormy grey, but I know—when the sun shines on those suckers—they rival the sky.
And… why am I thinking about that?
I stop abruptly.
Stare at him.
So much for indifference. All that’s bubbling through my veins is the insane need to fill the silence with conversation. Turn this heated tension to something a little less suffocating.
He blinks. “What?”
“Would you stop with the puppy-dog eyes? It’s not like you ran over my pet.” I plant a hand on my hip. Throw a teasing lilt into my voice. “You’re no fun. You know that? What do you have against jokes?”
“Me? Nothing. Not when they’re good ones.”
I reach for a cupcake, my mouth falling open in mock outrage. “Are you saying I’m not funny?”
“Maybe work on your delivery?”
“No need. I’m a riot.”
“You’d start them. I could see crowds gathering, rotten tomatoes in hand…”
I snatch a chocolate cupcake from his reach. “That’s it. No more for you.”
There’s a hint of a smile on his lips when he says, “Despite almost choking to death, I really enjoyed everything. Would you relay my compliment to the chef?”
“Why don’t you come back and do it yourself?”
I’m not flirting.
I swear.
It’s just the way the words come out of my mouth.
Ollie, thankfully, doesn’t miss a beat. “I want to, but I’m afraid stopping by too often would be bad for my image.” He pats his T-shirt, under which is rock-hard abs. “I won’t be able to control myself.”
I know he’s talking about the cupcakes.
I know that.
So why is my body tingling all of a sudden?
My head fills with thoughts.
Kissing him.
Touching him.
I wouldn’t ask Ollie to control himself. Something tells me those big hands know exactly what they’re doing.
And I need to stop.
Is this a normal reaction to being hypothetically rejected? Or am I just losing my mind?
“Yeah,” I say, hoping he misses the way my voice has suddenly gone thin, “it would be weird if the symbol of health and fitness reveals he has a sweet-tooth.”
“Nothing wrong with liking something that’s bad for you. It’s all about control and balance. I just lack both.” Ollie bobs his head and then sets his container on the table. “I don’t think this box can handle anymore.”
“Try to stuff it in,” I say. “I’ll donate the rest to the shelter when we leave.”
“You donate food to the homeless shelter?” He looks at me like I’m the Wicked Witch of the West and acts of kindness are my bucket of water.
It sets me on edge again. “Someone would think I’m an evil person if they heard you.”
“No. That’s not—I’m just…I didn’t expect that.”
“Well, I don’t go around advertising what we do with leftovers. It’s not a good thing to have over-stock. It means we’re not managing production. But if someone else can benefit from our loss, then at least that’s a win.”
His eyes soften.
Those stormy blues are looking at me.
Through me.
Into me.
I realize, in that moment, that I want Ollie to see something worth pursuing.
I want it so badly it hurts.
Then he looks away.
My gut churns. Why do I keep setting myself up like this? Now that I know Ollie doesn’t want me, he’s suddenly more attractive, more enticing, more appealing. Just more.
Seriously, am I going insane?
He clears his throat. “I’ll head out now. Call me if anything happens with the pipe.”
It’s got a condition attached to it, but at least he’s leaving the door of communication open.
That’s… something.
I step forward, thinking he’s going to leave.
Instead, he turns around.
We’re face to face.
Close enough to touch.
If I lean just so, our lips will collide.
But I don’t.
I stay still, waiting for him to back off first.
To my surprise, he doesn’t.
Ollie reaches out. One muscled arm hooks around my shoulders. The back of my neck. Clasps the other shoulder. Thick fingers, rou
gh against my skin, pulls me in. Draws me close.
My body responds immediately.
My heart thumps. My pulse roars. My thighs clench.
Red heels stumble on the tile.
I fall unceremoniously into him. Inhale his scent—a mix of spicy cologne and sweat.
My hands press against his chest.
His heart is beating as fast as mine.
He’s surrounding me.
I don’t want him to let go.
He releases me far too quickly.
Breathless, I clutch the table to keep standing. “W-what was that?”
“Friends can hug, right?”
It’s a stupid question.
Of course they can.
But not like that.
With a roguish wink, Ollie lifts the bag holding his containers. “Thanks again for this.”
I’m too startled to respond.
He strolls to the door, pushes it open and disappears into the sunshine.
For more, click here to sign up for my mailing list for updates and sweet deals!