by R. C. Martin
I’ve never felt this alive in my entire life.
Not even with Luke—the man I was ready to give my virginity to.
Luke—the man who broke my heart.
Luke—the reason why Brandon pulled away from me and the hottest kiss I’ve ever known.
Brandon—the man I want.
My stomach is in knots thinking about the look on his face when he stepped away from me. I can’t believe he thought Luke had anything to do with that kiss. I can’t even explain how much I wasn’t thinking about Luke or the fucking Red Coat Incident with Brandon’s mouth pressed against mine. Literally, there are no words to describe how distant he makes all of those memories. In that moment, Luke ceased to exist.
I wish I could have found a way to tell him that, but I was practically speechless at the sudden shift between us. Now, as I sit in the middle of my bed, absentmindedly brushing my hair, I replay his words—
This—you and me—it can’t have anything to do with him. We can’t be a reaction.
He said it with so much conviction that I know, deep down in my heart, that he’s been hurt—hurt by someone who attached herself to him as a reaction.
Olivia.
The name pops into my head instantly. I remember the way he acted when Row brought her up at brunch yesterday. She had said that I was like a breath of fresh air compared to Olivia. I don’t know what that means, but I understand that whatever happened between them is what I’m up against.
And believe me—I’m ready to fight. After that kiss, there’s no turning back.
I don’t sleep. Not even a little bit. I try. I’m up until midnight, tossing and turning until I can’t take it anymore and I reach for my Kindle. I read until my alarm clock goes off and then I’m up as if I’d gotten eight hours of sleep instead of none.
I wash my face, brush my teeth, braid my hair, throw on some mascara, and then I’m gone. I text Brandon on my way out the door, letting him know that I’m leaving. I’m so anxious to see him that I feel like I might give myself an ulcer. He sends me a text while I’m in route. My phone is buried in my purse, so I don’t check it until I park my car. When I open it, I read that he’s on his way, too.
As I make my way inside, I figure that he should be about five minutes behind me. Five minutes later, after I’ve donned my apron and pulled out the recipe book, he hasn’t arrived yet and I’m a little surprised. I gather what I need for the butter pecan scones, my nerves growing more and more agitated as the minutes pass. At five-forty-five, I’m so worried that I can’t even bake, from fear that I’ll screw something up. He's fifteen minutes late.
He’s never late.
I make my way back to the front and step outside, looking to see if I can spot him. I see no one. For five minutes, I pace back and forth in front of the door, gnawing on my bottom lip, thinking up a million reasons why he’s not here. All of which are horrible, complete with images of his bike twisted and mangled and completely useless.
When I finally see him, my heart skips a beat.
“OH, MY GOD!” I cry, racing toward him.
He’s hurt. His right cheek is scraped, just above his beard, and he’s got road burn along his upper right arm. There’s a tear in his jeans, near his knee, and he’s walking with a limp. His bike, while not twisted and mangled, is damaged—the front tire bent funny.
“What happened? Are you okay? You’re bleeding! Why didn’t you call me?”
“Breathe, Sunshine,” he says with a lazy smirk. “I’m fine. Nothing major.”
“Nothing—? You’re joking, right?”
“Why aren’t you inside baking? It’s getting late,” he says in reply as he locks up his bike.
“I was worried. I couldn’t—” I shake my head at him, appalled at his nonchalance. “I couldn’t think straight. Brandon, this is bad.” I roll up his sleeve and he shrugs away, obviously in pain. I scoff as I take his hand and begin pulling him inside. “Not that bad, my ass! I’m getting you cleaned up,” I tell him.
“Sarah—”
“If you tell me no, I won’t listen. This will go faster if you just do as I say.” I look behind me when he doesn’t respond and find him smiling at me.
God, this man is sexy. Even all banged up. I’m so relieved to see his smile. Relieved that his accident wasn’t worse.
I give his hand a squeeze and then take him to the sink. I unhook the faucet hose and hand it to him, turning the water on. “Rinse off your arm. We need to make sure there’s no dirt on the wound before I bandage you up.” He follows my instruction without complaint while I go hunting for the first aid kit. I find it with little effort and then head back to the sink, pulling up a stool for him to sit on. “So, what happened?”
“I don’t know. I was going too fast. My front tire had a disagreement with something in the middle of the road that I didn’t see. I lost control and ran into the curb, which knocked me off my bike. Traffic was light, though, so it wasn’t a big deal.”
“You keep saying that,” I mumble, looking from his wound up into his eyes and then back down at his wound. “It was bad enough to damage your bike.”
“It isn’t—” He hisses and flinches when I dab his arm with disinfectant.
“You were saying?” I giggle.
“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out to pinch my side with his free hand. My smile stretches wider, his playfulness putting me at ease. We fall silent as I concentrate on making sure his arm is completely free of any debris. A couple minutes pass before he rests his hand against my hip, catching my attention. “Thank you,” he says when my eyes find his. “For doing this.”
I want to kiss him.
It’s the first thought that comes to my head. I don’t want to say you’re welcome, even though he is! I don’t want to say of course, even though I’d do it again without a moment’s hesitation. I don’t want to say anything—I just want to kiss him.
Then I remember last night. I remember him pulling away from me and—
“Tell me about Olivia.” The words tumble from my lips before I can sift them through my filter.
“What?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
I shake my head, knowing that I’ve got some serious ground to cover in order for him to understand where my request is coming from and why.
“Luke. His name is Luke. My ex. I met him at school. His son, Micah, was in my class. I didn’t know he was married because he didn’t wear a ring. And Micah would mention his mother, but she seemed out of the picture. She was—but she wasn’t. It’s complicated.
“Anyway, when we found out about each other, it was awful. She blamed me, as if it was all my fault that her husband cheated. I was the bad guy, not Luke. And Luke let me take the fall.”
I pause, needing to take a deep breath before I even mention the most horrible part of the whole story. I wish I could say that it’s funny now, but it’s not. Harper proved that yesterday.
I’m not sure it’ll ever be funny.
“The Red Coat Incident,” I continue hesitantly, “I’d really prefer not to talk about it. It was humiliating and heart breaking and—”
“Sunshine,” he interrupts me, gently curving his hand around my cheek. “You don’t—”
“No, just listen! Please. I need you to know that last night—that kiss—it was ours. There’s so much that got screwed up because of my stupid decisions. I miss my old job. I miss teaching. I miss my students. I especially miss Micah. The three of us spent so much time together.
“Last night, I was making his favorite cookies. I just needed to do something, you know? I needed to get out of my head. I won’t lie to you and say that what happened doesn’t still hurt sometimes, because it does. But that kiss—it was ours—yours and mine.
“Now, I need you to tell me the same thing,” I insist, taking a step closer to him, inching my way into the space between his legs. “It’s your turn to tell me that you trust me and that this is not about her. Tell me about Olivia.”
He sighs, dropping h
is hand away from my cheek. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ll accept the cliff-notes version,” I persist, stepping closer.
“Alright,” he says, reaching up to sweep a strand of hair behind his ear. It isn’t until he does it that I notice his knot is coming lose. “I fell in love with Olivia when I was seventeen. She was my best friend. In her warped, twisted way of viewing our relationship, I’m still hers.
“She’s the only woman I’ve ever been with. I trusted her for longer than I should have. I loved her harder than she deserved. She hurt me more times than I can count. I forgave her until I didn’t have the strength left to forgive her again.
“I’ve wanted her—I’ve wanted only her—for almost a decade. Until you.
“Sarah—” He slips his arms around my waist and pulls me against his chest. He touches the tip of his nose to the tip of mine as he continues. “Since the moment you walked through that front door, I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you. Last night? That kiss—this kiss,” he murmurs before brushing his lips against mine. My eyelids flutter closed and goose pimples rise up all over my body. “And this kiss,” he whispers just before he sweeps his tongue across my bottom lip and then closes his mouth around mine. I circle my arms around his neck, my knees suddenly feeling less reliable than they were a minute ago. “They’re ours, sweet girl—they’re yours and mine.”
“Okay,” I manage—and then he’s kissing me again. Only this kiss isn’t a tease, like the ones he delivered a moment ago. No. This is an honest-to-goodness-swoon-worthy kiss. It’s different than last night. It’s tender and sweet. It’s intimate and sensual. It’s marvelous and I want more…
So much more.
Damn, my girl knows how to work my mouth—like she’s been doing it for years instead of minutes. I don’t want to let her go. Right here, right now, after her confession, after mine, I know that this is it. I’m all in. She had me before this moment and she can have me long after. I’m hers for as long as she wants me.
And I’m hoping that’s indefinitely.
She traces her fingers up my neck and sneaks them into my hair, burying them in my thick mane. Having her touching me feels so damn good and so right. I pull her closer and immediately a sharp pain shoots up my side.
“Shit,” I gasp. She sucks in a sharp breath as well, obviously startled by my outburst. “That hurt,” I mutter, lightly pressing my hand against my right side. “I must have a bruise or something.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop.” I reach for her chin and lean in to press a quick kiss against her lips. “Not your fault. Besides, don’t you ever apologize for kissing me. Got it?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod and a smile.
Butterflies.
I’ve got it so bad. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way she makes me feel.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I speak softly.
“So are you,” she tells me, leaning forward to touch her forehead against mine. “Currently, you’re a bit of a beautiful mess,” she teases, cupping her hand around the side of my face that’s not all scratched up. “But beautiful, nonetheless. We should probably finish cleaning you up.”
“Yeah,” I agree, reluctant to say goodbye to this moment. I know we’re behind. I know we’re going to have to haul some serious ass this morning in order to catch up on all of our baking before we open. I know this. Yet, I don’t let her pull away from me when she turns to reach for the first aid kit.
“Wait,” I insist. “Before I let you go, I want to be clear about something.”
“Okay,” she murmurs.
“I’m going to wine and dine you, sweet girl. I promise you that. But you’re mine now. I won’t be shy about it and I sure as hell won’t share.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she nods her understanding. I don’t miss the grin she’s trying to hide. It’s in her eyes. As I reach up to ease her lip free, I realize that I’m going to get myself in so much trouble with this woman.
It takes another ten minutes for her to finish dressing my wounds. I don’t rush her, knowing she’d argue, but also because it feels nice having her dote on me. I don’t remember the last time anyone tried to take care of me—but Sarah’s been generous with herself since I hired her. She’s been incredibly stubborn in her efforts to lighten my load; and in the process, she’s stolen my heart and graciously entrusted me with hers.
I intend to keep it.
As soon as she’s finished, we switch gears and lose ourselves in our routine. It’s only been a week since she started baking with me, but our chemistry in the kitchen is undeniable. Somehow, the small space that I’ve come to know and love now fits two people. We’re in sync, doubling our efficiency and productivity.
It’s seven thirty before we know it. We’re so busy, we don’t notice that Sage has made his entrance until he raps his knuckle against the wall to announce his presence.
“Good Morning,” says Sarah.
“Hey,” I greet, glancing up for just a second.
“The door was unlocked so I—Shit, dude! What happened to you?”
I look up again, finally realizing that it’s unusual that I didn’t have to get the door for Sage. Sarah was so insistent about getting me to the sink to rinse off my arm, neither of us stopped to lock back up. I shrug it off, peek down at my bandaged arm, and then address Sage’s comment.
“Minor accident on my way in. We’re a little be—”
Sarah scoffs, cutting me off before I can finish. “He got thrown from his bike, Sage. Don’t listen to him. It wasn’t minor. No, he didn’t break any bones, but he was going fast enough to damage his bike.”
I look beside me at Sarah and smile, proud to have her in my corner, even if she is completely exaggerating.
“You really should wear a helmet,” she tells me.
“I have one,” I say with a shrug. “I wear it sometimes. Just depends on where I’m going.”
“Well, I think you should wear it all the time. Will you?”
Fuck. She’s totally squeezing my balls right now—and those blue eyes make it damn near impossible to say no to her. “I’ll think about it,” I manage. “Good enough?” A small smile tugs at her lips as she shakes her head, no. “You’re killing me, Sunshine,” I mutter before leaning down for a quick kiss. “Fine. I’ll wear my damn helmet.”
“Well, well, well! What new development do we have here?” asks Sage.
I almost forgot he was here.
I offer him a knowing smirk, remembering the nod he’d given me when he saw Sarah and me holding hands at the table at The Brew Cycle Saturday night. Thinking about Saturday night reminds me about Sunday morning—his car parked in front of Sarah’s apartment. “Speak for yourself. What’s up with you and Sarah’s roommate?”
A grin slices his face and he folds his arms across his chest. “She’s fucking insane.”
“Hey,” Sarah cries, stopping what she’s doing to glare at Sage. “I know she’s a little complex, but you’ve seen her naked! You shouldn’t talk about her like that. I’m sure she has feelings hidden somewhere.”
Sage chuckles as he shakes his head at her. “No, it wasn’t an insult. I love it! Shit, I’ve been playing cat and mouse with her since she kicked me out Sunday morning, trying to get her to go out with me.”
“Wait—she kicked you out?” Before Sage can answer, Sarah giggles. “Never mind. I remember the mood she was in when I got home Sunday afternoon. It wasn’t pretty. I’m not surprised in the slightest.”
“Well, when you see her, tell her she’s going to have to do a lot worse to shake me. I know she digs this,” he says, spreading his arms wide. “She fed me breakfast before she gave me the boot.”
“Millie strikes me as someone who has a lot of walls up,” Sarah replies, returning to her task. “I applaud your determination and wish you the best of luck.”
“Hey—maybe we could do a double date and—”
I
bark out a laugh and shake my head at him. “Maybe you should just get started on getting the shop ready to open. You’re not using my girl as bait. You’ll just have to up your game, young blood.”
Sarah laughs and Sage waves us off as he heads back to the front. “We can help him out a little bit,” she insists, tapping her hip just below mine.
“Not this weekend we can’t. This weekend, it’s just you and me.”
“Oh, yeah?” she hums, smiling up at me.
I wink at her in reply. It’s been a while since I took a girl on a date, but not so long that I’ve forgotten how to do it. I promised her I’d take her out properly, as only a good man would, and so I intend to. All I need now is a plan.
I’M SO TIRED, I’M tempted to curl up in one of the lounge chairs and sleep until we’re closed. I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in ages and I’m way out of practice. Even espresso shots are useless to me right now. Eryn fed me three a couple hours ago. I had a nice jolt of energy for a whole thirty minutes and now I’m a walking zombie.
“How many times do I have to tell you to go home?” asks Brandon as he emerges from the back.
I lift my head from off of my outstretched arm and sit up away from the front counter as I try and muster the energy to give him a stubborn glare. I don’t think I get my point across as Eryn simply laughs at whatever expression is on my face.
“That depends,” I yawn, finding my words. “How many times are you going to ask me in the next twenty minutes?”
He looks at Eryn, as if to gain support in his efforts to send me home, but she shrugs and shakes her head helplessly.
Good girl, I think with a lazy smile.
“You are down a ride home. Eryn’s car won’t fit your bike. That leaves me to play the part of your personal chauffeur. Besides, it’s Tuesday. At some point, you’re going to start letting me close without you on Tuesdays, so I might as well stay.”
