Forever Craving You

by Nia Arthurs

  “Do you want some?” she asks.

  Hell yes. Drop your dress and stand against that counter. But I stop myself from saying it aloud and try to pinpoint exactly where I went blank.

  “The cupcakes,” she adds. A knowing gleam fills her eyes. They’re big and a deep, chocolate-brown. The kind a man can drown in.

  “I’m fine.”

  “But you worked so hard. I’ll feel bad.”

  “Don’t. I’m just here because Griffin asked me to help out.”

  Her expression shifts slightly. “Do you have something against the bakery?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then do you have something against me?” Sharp chin lifts in challenge. “Because every time we’re alone together, you start looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “A cornered dog.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes.” She arches an eyebrow.

  “I’m more of a bear than a dog.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  Despite the smirk on her face, I know better than to ignore her question about whether I like her or not. Chandra’s sharp as a whip and she’ll take my silence as an answer anyway.

  Griffin’s a close friend and he’s made it known that Chandra is under his protection. Out of respect for him, I’ve got to keep the peace.

  “Why would I have a problem with you?” I ask.

  “You tell me.” She steps closer. Her sexy heels click against the ground. Sounds like a gun shot. A shell clamoring to the tiles. A scarred heart blown to bits. “It’s just a cupcake and a conversation, Ollie. I’m not going to bite.”

  Yeah, but if she keeps looking at me with those eyes, I might.

  Another step and she’s directly in front of me.

  Chandra’s taller than most of the women I know. I’d put her at around five-eight or nine, and since I’m six-two and used to feeling like a buffed-up giraffe around women, I find that appealing.

  She smells like bliss, pure and total perfection. It’s some combination of flowers and another, tangy scent that reminds me of—what is it? Grapefruit? A man could live on nothing but that scent.

  And that dress. Way too sinful for a peaceful Sunday morning. Red. Strapless. So short it’s practically hugging that thick behind like Winnie the Pooh with his honey pot.

  Lord. Have. Mercy.

  I pull my gaze away before I do something stupid, like test the suspicion that she’s not really wearing underwear under that thing.

  I’m a gentleman.

  Or so I’ve got to appear.

  “Nothing to tell, really. I’m just a low-key guy.”

  “Are you implying I’m the opposite?” she asks.

  See what I mean?

  Sharp as a whip.

  “Of course not.”

  That’s exactly what I mean.

  In my defense, I don’t have much evidence to the contrary.

  The first time I met Chandra, some old, rich guy was hitting on her and she seemed to be tolerating it.

  Nah, more than that.

  She was bending over backwards, acting like his scrawny butt didn’t need a beating for the way he was handling her.

  I might not have said anything, but I took note of that.

  The next time her name was mentioned, I heard she’d gotten kicked out of her rich boyfriend’s mansion wearing nothing but a curtain.

  I took note of that too.

  Chandra’s life has ‘drama’ written all over it in big, flashing red. I’m not adventurous enough to slam headfirst into a warning sign.

  “You know, they told me you were stubborn, but I didn’t think you’d put up this much of a fuss.”

  “By ‘they’ do you mean Griffin?” I ask skeptically. “And I’m not stubborn.”

  “Most people don’t recognize their own flaws.” There’s a teasing grin on her face that softens her words.

  “Is that how you show gratitude? With insults?”

  “I offered sugar first.”

  “So this is a punishment?”

  She shrugs. “You can still change your mind.”

  “I’m afraid of what you’ll say about me next if I don’t.”

  “Good.” She turns on her heels and beckons with a crook of two fingers, “Follow me.”

  An unwitting smile crosses my face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  This isn’t how I thought my Sunday morning would go. I’d planned on sitting at home, drinking a root beer or two, and watching anime on my flat screen.

  Despite that, I let her lead me out of the kitchen.

  We stroll into the front of the bakery. A quick look around reveals stuffed bookshelves. Large windows covered with blinds. A handful of square tables. Tall wooden chairs.

  There’s an innocent charm to the bakery that seems out of character for a woman as glamorous as Chandra.

  I imagine a coffee shop reflecting her personality would have dim lights, chrome, glass tables and red. Lots of red. We’ve only interacted a handful of times, but she’s always wearing something fiery, so I figured red’s her favorite color.

  “I didn’t know what you liked.” She sweeps her hands out. Indicates a table set up with a tower of cupcakes, brownies, and cookies along with a mug of sweet tea. “So I just brought out everything.”

  “It looks great.”

  She smiles.

  This one reaches her eyes.

  I’ve noticed Chandra doesn’t do that much.

  Smile with her eyes, I mean.

  But when she does… oof.

  My body starts buzzing like crazy.

  My heart aches.

  My head fills with fantasies. And not the kind that are best sated when I’m alone at home. Although some of those are sprinkled in there too.

  I’m talking cheesy romantic crap.

  Like walks on the beach.

  Holding hands.

  Cuddling close after watching a movie.

  Watching her sleep.

  Stroking her hair.

  Talking into the night.

  That forever-kind-of-love that no man admits to wanting out loud.

  Which is dumb.

  Because a man can want something more substantial than a few rowdy nights with a lady. There’s no shame in having a desire to quit the wild-oats-sowing and settle down.

  We’re at the age to. That’s perfectly fine.

  But I can’t have those dreams.

  Not this man.

  And especially not with this lady.

  “This almost feels like a date, doesn’t it?” Chandra settles into a chair and looks over at me.

  Her tone is innocent.

  I study her, picking my way carefully through what feels like a loaded conversation. “Just a meal between friends.”

  “Are we, Ollie?”

  My breath catches at the soft way she says my name. “What?”

  “Friends?”

  “What else would you call us?”

  She shrugs, languid. She reaches for a cupcake. Pretends to nibble on it. “A friend of a friend. Acquaintances—barely that.”

  “Acquaintances don’t drop everything to fix a pipe,” I say.

  “True.” She sets the cupcake down. Watches me beneath thick black eyelashes. Mumbles, “Friends, huh? Friends…”

  I’m starting to question her fascination with that word.

  Awkwardly, I take another bite of the red velvet.

  “Ollie.”

  “Hm?”

  “What if we were more than that?”

  “Huh?”

  “What if we were more than friends?”

  Deep breath. Slow release.

  She can’t be saying what I think she’s saying. There’s no way a scruffy, tatted-up recovering alcoholic like me would be Chandra’s type.

  Her brown eyes lift slowly. Meet mine. Linger.

  I gulp.

  That’s the very moment the cupcake rolling around in my mouth decides to go down the wrong hole and I start to choke.
/>
  3 Chandra

  That… did not go as planned.

  “Are you okay?” I smack Ollie’s wide back. It’s solid muscle beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

  His pale skin is red.

  About the same color of my dress.

  Blue eyes pop out of his face.

  Pink lips tremble.

  The coughing subsides a little. He grabs his glass and guzzles it. I watch his Adam’s apple bob. Up. Down. The amber liquid disappears until there’s not one drop in the cup.

  My lips curl higher, amused.

  Noticing that he’s feeling better, I back away and return to my seat.

  Cheeks flushed, Ollie chokes out. “Um… are you asking me… uh...” Another cough.

  I laugh.

  For such a big, intimidating man, he’s really just a teddy bear. “Relax. That’s not what I was saying.”

  Correction: that’s probably what I was saying.

  Or at least, what I intended to say.

  Problem is I’ve never asked a man out in my life.

  Ever.

  Given I almost killed Ollie, it’s obvious I’m not very good at initiating a date.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “I was just saying. Hypothetically.” I wave my hand to appear casual.

  “Hypothetically, you want to be more than friends?”

  My heart thuds.

  Heat flushes my chest.

  That’s exactly what I meant to say, but the words coming from his lips expose me.

  “I don’t want to. I said what if? Two different things.”

  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, rough 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.