by Susan Ward
Flustered, she slips her hand from mine and puts a step between us, her gaze flitting the room as if to see if any of the customers noticed. Her face is awash with color, embarrassed. It’s a reaction I’ve never experienced with a girl—PDA shy—and one I wouldn’t have expected to find adorable.
Fuck, I’m hard again. I shouldn’t have teased her tongue with mine. I run my hand through my hair and study the scattering of vacant tables. “Where do you want to sit?”
“By the window. It’s such a clear day. We can watch the people on the street while I grill you again.”
“That sounds intense. I think I better get a six-shot Americana. What do you want, Willow?”
“Soy latte. Large. I usually drink a small. I’ll never be able to finish it quickly. Too bad for you.”
What’s too bad for me is how the way she says large makes my dick pulse. Fuck, why are we having coffee? Why aren’t we in her bedroom? The signals are all there; she wants me to fuck her as badly as I want to fuck her. At least that’s what I want to believe her body’s telling me because if she gave me the word we’d be out of here.
I’m that fucking bunched up for her.
Willow maneuvers through the crowded shop, weaving between tables, saying a word here and there to people I presume are neighborhood regulars she knows. Every set of male eyes are on her. When she’s happy—I can tell she is by that sexy sway of her hips—she’s like a burst of shimmering light in a room.
She sinks down on a chair, her long legs bent in the aisle instead of under the table. My gaze runs the line of her, profile to curve of breast, round hip, then shapely thighs and calves. I don’t know how I know it, but I’m positive she’s not even trying to strike a pose and she’s more of a turn-on than any girl I’ve ever seen.
She’s staring out the window as if she’s unaware she’s heated up every man inside the Java Hut. She tosses her long black hair over her shoulder and her head turns to face me, and instead of an I caught you ogling taunt with her eyes, the bullshit type of thing Tara would do in her overblown conceit, they’re flooded with a smile.
Trying to shake off the Willow effect in my body, I move quickly to the back of the short order line. It’s going to be agony spending the day with her if everything she does gives me a boner this easily. Fuck, I need to concentrate on something other than her so he’ll simmer down.
The bakery case has a wide variety of items. That fucking cereal, whatever it was, didn’t do it for me. Muffins. Croissants. Breakfast sandwiches. Vegan wraps and pastries. Not a bad selection for a very non-hip coffeehouse in a hipster hood in Seattle.
Willow’s dad and the owner of this place must date back to before gentrification. Both businesses stick out like sore thumbs amid the trendy eateries, gay clubs, and indie stores we passed walking the two blocks here. Holdouts to an era that’s gone. The smarter move would be to sell out and move on.
Knuckles loudly rap the counter in front of me. “You just going to stand there all day staring or order something?”
My gaze shoots upward and hits a glare beneath bushy graying eyebrows. The man looks like a two-strike felon and is raking my face with disdain.
What’s with the attitude? Is it my imagination or does he not like me? “An Americana with six shots, a large soy latte, and a sausage breakfast sandwich.”
“I’ve not seen you before. Are you new to the neighborhood?”
His question surprises me. “No. Just passing through. Staying with Willow and Jade a few days.”
“How do you know the Birch family? Are you one of Jade’s college friends?”
Birch? It strikes me that I didn’t know her last name, and it’s no longer a mystery why she didn’t tell me yet. Willow Birch. It so damn cute, but I bet she got crap in school for it. I fight not to chuckle. “I met her last night at Mel’s.”
His facial features stiffen and my laughter clogs in my throat. He rips off the ticket and takes it to his helper. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that part about meeting her only yesterday in the bar. That sounded all kinds of wrong.
“You have a very nice shop here,” I say to his back.
He ambles to the counter. “We have a nice neighborhood here. Good people. We look after each other.” And he leaves it at that.
OK, other than making certain I know he doesn’t like me, I don’t know what the point of this is.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask crisply.
“Eighteen dollars,” he barks.
“Eighteen dollars?”
He nods. I see what he’s doing here. I bet it’s the non-townie rate. Fine, rip me off, asshole. It’s not worth getting into it with you over whatever this is. My hand moves in the direction of my pocket.
Oh fuck.
I don’t have any money.
I smile. “I forgot my wallet at the table. I’ll be right back.”
I whirl away from the counter, feeling his stare move with me. When I reach the table, Willow looks up then frowns. “Where’s our coffee?”
This is fucking humiliating. “We have a problem, love.”
“We do? It sounds serious.”
“Well, maybe not for you. I ordered, and I don’t have any money, Willow.”
She makes a dramatic dart with her eyes to the exit. “Are we making a run for it?”
Fuck. “Very funny.”
She busts up laughing. “It’s probably a bit late for us to realize that given your situation—that part about being broke—you should’ve gotten the table and I should have gotten the coffees.”
“This isn’t funny. It’s embarrassing. And I’m not broke. I’m the farthest thing in the universe from broke. I just don’t have my wallet.”
“That’s what all the bums say right before they stick girls with the check.”
“Can you mock me later and lend me eighteen bucks now?”
“Eighteen dollars. A latte and an Americana is only about six bucks here. What the heck did you order? Every dessert Boomer has in the case?”
“Two coffees and a breakfast sandwich.”
Her gaze narrows. She rises from her chair, plants her hands on her hips, and scowls at the man standing cross-armed waiting for his money. “Stay here.”
Before I can stop her, she’s marching toward Mr. Soon To Have His Third Strike. I feel like a loser, but I drop down on my chair as instructed and warn myself never to tell anyone I know this story. Fucking humiliation overload right down to the part of Willow taking charge to fix shit.
I don’t want to; I do it anyway.
I study the goings-on at the counter with a sideways glance. Whoa, she’s right up in his face, talking up a storm, then she shakes her head at him and the dude flushes.
From her back pocket she pulls out her phone and swipes it on. He grabs the code reader and moves it over her cell.
As she grabs our order, I debate rushing up there to help her carry it, but I get another fuck-you glance from Boomer. Then I notice how he looks at Willow, and I realize him giving me shit is because he likes her.
A pleasant kind of feeling moves through me as I watch her near our table. I’m feeling something unfamiliar and wonder what’s up with that. It’s something I’ve never felt for a girl before, and I don’t know if it’s a good or bad feeling. It’s too new.
It’s more than she has a get-your-dick-hard body and face. It’s everything about her.
The things she says.
The way she smiles.
The way other people look at her.
Remembering our conversation outside the bar, I realize it wasn’t bullshit that part about me liking her. I genuinely like her, when most girls leave me uninspired, and it isn’t because of how beautiful she is.
I’ve known hundreds of beautiful girls. None of them have done to me what Willow does. What sets her apart is, even when the only thought to register in my head is how much I want to fuck her, it doesn’t escape me how much I enjoy being with h
er no matter what we do.
Even if it means having coffee and getting put through one of her third degrees while Boomer stands watch. No, it doesn’t bother me a bit that nothing goes the way I expect since I met her. In fact, it makes me like her more. It makes me glad the guys ditched me here. Hell, it almost makes me like Boomer.
Chapter Fifteen
Willow
ERIC GESTURES ME CLOSER with an index finger, and my insides flutter. He’s got that devilish grin on his face, the one he gets when he wants to kiss me. Every other minute he wants to kiss me, not that I’m complaining, but we’re surrounded by kids and parents.
I shake my head, biting my lower lip to distract me from the anticipation in my body. It flashes across my body and lips how his hands turned my flesh to fire when we first got here as I was pinned against a tree by his kiss.
It darn near singed my panties, and it was a good thing we weren’t somewhere private. I’d have gone to bed with him. Not that I don’t want to, but I’ve never had this much fun with a guy, and I’m sure he’s being so agreeable to doing what I want because we haven’t slept together yet.
I laugh. It’s adorable and sweet how hard he’s working to be a good boy just to get me in bed. It’s almost like he thinks I haven’t done it before.
I’m not that innocent.
I can’t imagine how he got that opinion of me.
It’s been as much torture for me as it’s been for him not giving in to this zapping chemistry we have. But dragging out the inevitable—and yes, us being together is inevitable—has worked out tantalizingly wonderful.
Girls should hold out on guys more often. This has been the best day I’ve ever had with a guy.
“Come here, love,” he implores on a husky growl. “I need Willow.”
The way he says my name gets me nearly as hot as how he says love. Dang, I’m flushed and he’s grinning. It’s awful to be so transparent.
“Promise to behave,” I chide, tilting my head at the kids around us, “and maybe I’ll come to you.”
“I behaved in the elevator to the top of the Space Needle.”
I arch a brow. “You call that behaving?”
His blue eyes gleam. “Yes. Misbehaving.”
“No misbehaving, please.”
“Fine. I won’t misbehave.”
Smiling, I slowly cross the water toward him, my gaze locked on his. I stop a foot away.
“Thank you. I missed you. Closer, love.”
I shake my head, and in a rapid blur he’s sending tidal waves of water in my direction. “Darn it, Eric. That wasn’t funny. My clothes are soaked clear through. Look what you’ve done.”
“Yes. It’s fantastic. Even better than I thought it’d look.”
My shirt’s drenched. I try to pick the clinging material from my breasts and chill-hardened nipples. They’re giant circles right through my lacy bra. I give up in frustration. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Maybe you should take off the shirt. Or maybe we should go back to your apartment so you can change. Both work for what I want to do next.”
Coloring profusely, I run out of the wading pond. We’ve been in Volunteer Park for most of the afternoon. It’s nearly 8:00 p.m. but I don’t want to leave. Not yet, but we’re going to have to.
It’ll be dark soon, the park’s closing in a few minutes, and I’ve run out of favorite things in my hometown to share with Eric. I saved the best for last: this expansive nature zone with the view of the Seattle skyline and the Space Needle.
I plop down on the grass where we left our shoes and start drying my feet with his shirt.
“Are we leaving, love?”
My gaze moves to him. He’s standing in the center of the pond, jeans rolled up and looking at me with that adorable confused crinkle in his brow. It took me half the day to realize when he looks confused he’s not but uses that expression to hide what he’s really thinking. Right now he’s hoping we’re going back so he can get busy with me.
“I’m leaving,” I answer back. “I’m not sure what you’re doing.”
His mouth purses as he bobs his chin, pretending to consider it. “We’ve gone five places,” he remarks conversationally. “Java Hut. Pike Place Market. The Space Needle, the park gardens, and the wading pond. That’s five dates. Next stop somewhere alone with you.”
I make a face as if to say not happening.
He pouts.
We both know the second we’re back in my bedroom, we’re going to… “Get out of there. I’m freezing. I’m going to send for an Uber to get us home.”
“Terrific idea.”
I giggle at the way Eric is sloshing his way out of the water. He looks like a fish out of water. Like he’s never goofed off this way, not even as a kid. It’s almost felt like everything we did today came as a surprise to him—or maybe he was surprised that I really did intend to spend the rest of the day showing him my city as I told him I wanted to when we left the Java Hut.
I click on the app to call for a car as he settles on the grass next to me. He grabs his tee then grimaces. “You used my shirt to dry your feet and legs?”
“Yep. It seemed fair after you got me all wet.”
“Not to me.” He pulls it over his head and reaches for his shoes. “How long until the Uber’s here?”
I check my phone. “Fifteen.”
“Don’t forget to tap that expense-tracking app I downloaded on your phone so I know how much I owe you for our date.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s so stupid. There’s no rule that the guy has to pay for everything. Frankly, I think it’s sexist to think that way. It’s not necessary.”
“No, Willow. Everything we do I’m paying you back for. And it’s not sexist. It’s part of the ways a guy shows respect for a girl. Treating her well.”
My insides warm from that answer as I turn onto my side, watching as he ties his sneakers. “If you insist.”
“I do,” he states firmly.
My inner self sticks out her tongue at Jade and Ivy. I knew Eric wasn’t a scam artist. He wouldn’t have fought so hard to let me have him install an app on my cell to keep track of what we spend together if he was. Every receipt shoots straight to his email. And I believe him when he says he’s going to pay me back. It seems such a point of pride to him, no way it’s an act.
“How’d you know about that app?”
He’s finger-smoothing his mussed hair. “I’ve had one on my cell since I was kid. Every dime of family money I spent until I was eighteen went straight to the accountant for tax purposes. Now I use it with the guys to track the band’s expenses. Bands are a business.”
“So that’s the job you have in LA when you get there?”
He lies back in the grass beside me, his body close to mine. “A record contract. We’re still looking for a new drummer, but someday my band’s going to be famous.”
The record contract tidbit should be suspect. It’s the kind of line and malarkey I hear from the struggling musicians in the neighborhood. It never pans out.
I should take everything he says with a grain of salt, but he’s so excited and certain when he talks about his plans I believe him. “And I can tell all my friends I knew Eric James when. What’s the name of your band?”
“Don’t have one yet. Still trying to think that through.”
I inch my head onto his shoulder. “Will you dedicate a song to me someday?”
“Hell, an LP. Right there on the cover art: This one’s for Willow Birch, the loveliest girl I’ve ever known.”
I plant a fast wet one on his cheek then hover above his face. “Can you do me one favor?”
“Anything you want, love.”
He brushes away a hair off my eyes and I almost can’t breathe from how he’s looking at me. “Can you make it just to Willow? Willow Birch is such a yucky name, not at all cool like Eric James. Now that’s a name that says going to be a star one day. Mine says future hous
ekeeping staff at the Bargain 8.”
Laughing, he seizes me in his arms and turns us until I’m beneath him. “Willow Birch,” he whispers, painting kisses down my neck. “No, love, can’t change my first dedication.”
I ease back and frown. “Not even to make me happy?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, not even to make you happy. It’s the kind of name a guy never forgets. It’s as epic as my music. Not changing it.”
I hear a car in the lot and pull from his arms. “I think that’s our Uber.”
He stands and holds out his hands for me. Slipping my fingers into his, he gives me a gentle tug up onto my feet.
As we walk toward the car, holding hands, he says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m kind of sorry we’re leaving the park.”
“Whoa, that’s flattering.” I give him a shoulder bump with my arm. “Maybe I shouldn’t bring you home with me.”
“But it’s a compliment.”
“And how’s that a compliment?” He’s got the car door open but I don’t climb in. “Waiting, Eric James, for you to dig yourself out of that one.”
He brings his face closer to mine, his potent blue eyes filling my vision. “Don’t have to. Nothing to dig out of. I don’t want our date to end. Being with you has been that epic.”
I slip my arms around his neck, drop a light kiss on his mouth, and then rest my forehead against his. “I don’t want it to end either. Let’s not ever make this date end.”
“But it has to, love,” he whispers on one of his heart-melting ragged groans. “It’s number five. And I don’t think I can take much longer not being with you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Eric
“WHERE IN THE UK are you from?” the Uber driver asks.
Jesus Christ, is there anyone in this neighborhood who’s not a friend of Willow’s or suspicious of me?
“London,” I say evasively and dance my fingers up Willow’s leg until they’re under her shorts on the sensitive skin of her upper thigh.
When I reach her panties, she jumps and frantically checks if the driver’s watching us in the rearview. “Stop that,” she hisses in my ear, trying to yank my hand from beneath her shorts.
