by Maisey Yates
She turned toward him, her eyes clashing with his. Right now, they didn’t make her think of the evergreen trees that covered the mountains around them. No. Those were cool, stately. Right now, his gaze was anything but cool. It burned. Burned straight through her.
“What?” she asked, her voice coming out much thinner, much huskier than she had intended it to.
“Have fun,” he said, releasing his hold on her.
“I will. I’m going to have the most fun. The most fun ever.” She jerked open her car door and got inside, and she didn’t question the way her heart hammered in her throat, or the fact that her hands were shaking.
It was just excitement. It was just because of Asher. That was all.
* * *
KALE TASTED LIKE dirt and sadness.
And the dinner was beautiful. It really was. There was one long table set up in one of the old barns at Grassroots, gorgeous rustic centerpieces, candles and Christmas lights making the entire place glow.
Asher, for his part, looked handsome, with his man bun and black, slim-cut pants, paired with a blazer.
None of it helped her choke down the kale salad. Or the beets that were served with some kind of stringy microgreen and aerated goat cheese that tasted like a barnyard. The dinner was fish and she had nearly died trying to choke it down.
Maybe that was an overstatement.
But the real tragedy was dessert.
The only thing on offer to drink was coffee and tea—neither of which she liked, so she had ended up with just hot water, leaving her tea bag discreetly to the side—and the dessert itself, the one thing that she had thought would be safe, was, well, it wasn’t dessert.
Because in absolutely no world was dessert a no-sugar-added blanched pear with whipped goat cheese and basil.
“This is so nice,” said the woman sitting next to Clara.
That was her other gripe with the evening. They were sitting with strangers. At one long table. She didn’t want to make conversation with strangers. She had wanted the chance to make conversation with Asher. But apparently, Asher was super friendly and thought nothing of bringing said total strangers into their loop.
“It is,” Asher agreed. “I really don’t like sweet desserts.”
Clara blinked. “What other...kind of dessert...is there?”
Asher laughed, as though what she had said was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. She would give him that, he did seem interested in what she had to say. It was just that over the course of the evening she had rarely known what to say. Fortunately, Asher and their dinner companions didn’t suffer from that. They talked, Clara hid her food. In a napkin, in a potted plant. Wherever.
“There’s this kind of dessert,” he said, smiling that dazzling smile of his. Honestly, he must use whitening strips or something.
“It’s definitely...original,” she said, pushing at the squishy pear with the back of her spoon.
Honestly, they might as well have just called it a plate of disappointment with a scoop of hell no and a garnish of why God why.
He was watching her intently now, looking at her mouth. The way that she had been watching Alex’s mouth the past few times she had seen him.
She frowned. She didn’t want to think about Alex. She definitely didn’t want to think about the way he had acted at the house just before she had left for her date. Or the way she had felt when he had curved his fingers around her arm, left that impression of his hand behind.
The woman next to her, and her date, started to make conversation with Asher about types of pears and the importance of eating local and organic food.
Well, in fairness, Clara imagined that they were talking to her too, it was just that she had absolutely nothing to contribute to that conversation.
But, while Asher was distracted, she took a large scoop out of the side of the pear and lowered her spoon, then flicked the bite across the barn and into a small, potted tree.
Her lips twitched, and she felt somewhat satisfied with her successful slam dunk of unwanted food.
She smiled vaguely and nodded through the rest of the dinner, and when everyone around her was finished, Asher looked at her half demolished pear and frowned.
“Didn’t you like it?” he asked.
“It was great. But I’m just so full.” That was a lie. It was a filthy lie. She was so hungry she thought she was going to die.
She would possibly give her right arm for some Chef Boyardee. Or a steak. Just a simple steak with salt and pepper. And it could be local or organic or whatever, as long as it was beef.
“Cool,” he said.
She had no idea how to respond to that.
They had driven over to Grassroots together from Stim, which meant they were going to have to go back down together too. And for some reason, she felt uncomfortable with that now. Felt awkward. Maybe because it was the end of the date and that had potential expectation to it.
As they walked out of the barn and headed toward his car, she realized she wasn’t sure how she felt about those expectations.
The air felt heavy, the scent of salt and brine coming in off the water suddenly stronger. And then a fat raindrop landed on her bare shoulder and she shivered. That made her think of Alex too. Stupid Alex.
He was the reason she didn’t have a jacket. Because he had goaded her.
She got into Asher’s car, and looked at his profile. And she realized that she didn’t want to kiss him. Not even a little bit. She didn’t want to make out with him on her couch.
And that felt like Alex’s fault too.
Because he made her skin feel hot, and she felt compelled to look at his mouth. Because she had questions about his mouth. Like how it would feel pressed against hers.
Suddenly, she wanted to cry. This was just stupid. It was so stupid. She was on a date with the man of her dreams. The man who had been the man of her dreams for the past four months.
Seeing him, talking to him, had been the one bright spot in this hideous haze of grief. And she finally had a date with him. She should be happy. It should make her happy. She should want to kiss Asher. She should want to sleep with Asher.
She didn’t. She didn’t want any of that.
She swallowed hard, trying to keep from crying there in the car.
Asher plugged his phone in, and then messed with the screen until music started playing over the speakers. It didn’t sound like singing. It sounded like whining. Like howling. Which in all honesty fit. Because she felt like howling too.
“Have you ever heard The Fox Tales?”
She assumed that was who they were listening to now. “No,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” he responded. “They’re kind of an obscure band out of Eugene. I got really into them after I saw them open for Far from Ashes.”
She put her hand to her forehead and rubbed it slowly. “Cool.”
She wondered if that was why he had said that same word earlier. Because there had been absolutely nothing else to say. She didn’t know how to talk to him, and she had no idea how to fix that. It had been fine, making small talk with him when she got her coffee at Stim. And she managed to talk to Alex just fine.
Alex.
Why did she keep thinking about Alex?
They were mostly quiet on the drive down to the coffeehouse, and when they pulled into the parking lot, Clara scrambled out comically quickly. But she just couldn’t face a long, awkward moment where there were questions about whether or not they would kiss each other.
When she looked back down into the car, she could see that Asher was somewhat surprised by that. He looked...well, he looked almost amused. But he didn’t say anything.
“Thank you,” she said. “For dinner.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“It
was fantastic.”
“Great. Maybe we can do it again next time they have one of those dinners? Or I could always take us over to Eugene. Actually, the band I was just talking about is playing there again soon, and they have some great farm-to-table restaurants there.”
She had acted weird, and she had declined to kiss him, and now, he was escalating the kind of date they might go on. One that included a road trip a couple hours away.
A date that sounded almost literally like her worst nightmare.
“Yeah. Maybe when I come in for coffee...”
“Sure,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “That sounds awesome.”
She tried to force a smile, then waved before turning and walking to her car. The rain was falling in earnest now, hitting her bare shoulders and rolling down her arms, making her shiver. She got into the car, pressing her hand against her forehead and pushing raindrops from her eyes.
She sat there for a moment, letting the heater warm up, watching as Asher drove away.
She hadn’t kissed him. She had been difficult, almost impossible to make conversation with. And he wanted to go out with her again.
She pressed her head against the steering wheel. “He likes you, you idiot.”
He really did. He liked her back. At least, he liked the idea of who she was, based on what she had shown him. And she...she didn’t feel anything. She kept thinking about Alex. And his stupid lips. His green eyes. His big, rough hands. His particular brand of rampant masculinity that should absolutely not be her type at all.
Alex wasn’t a fantasy. He wasn’t an escape. He was too real for that. Too big, too hard...too Alex.
Rage began to bubble up in her chest, and as she put the car in Drive, she gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the growl that was building inside of her. This was his fault. All of it. She had been fine before he had come. And if Alex weren’t around then things with Asher would have been amazing. She wouldn’t have had Alex in the back of her head goading her about Asher not knowing she didn’t like coffee. She wouldn’t have visions of him, superimposed over the man right in front of her. The man who was actually on a date with her.
The man who had gone out with her because he wanted to, and not the man who was around just because her brother had told him to be.
Shaking, she drove back to the house, praying that when she got there, Alex would be gone. Because all she wanted to do was strip off her damp dress, climb into a hot shower and wash all of this disappointment off. To start again. To go and get a coffee from Asher tomorrow morning and make plans with him to go to that ridiculous concert.
When she pulled into the driveway, she saw Alex’s truck was still there. She cursed. Loudly.
Then she found herself getting out of the car, nearly stumbling as she walked down the now muddy path toward the barn. The light was on, so she thought there was a pretty good chance he was in there. He wasn’t. But the back door was open, so she walked through the structure and continued on through.
“Alex?” She shouted his name, not caring if she was subtle. Not caring about much of anything. She had no idea what she was going to say. She just knew that she felt like she was going to explode. She was so angry, and he had to answer for it. He had ruined her date. Absolutely ruined it. And she was not going to let him get away with that.
The field behind the barn was more or less barren, and the light was getting dimmer and dimmer, the sun sinking behind the mountains, a sliver of rose gold casting dramatic reflections on the overcast sky.
The rain was falling hard and fast, and her yellow dress was clinging to her skin, the raindrops running down her legs and into her boots. Her hair was soaked, hanging lank and stringy down her back.
And she was shivering. She could really use that denim jacket.
That made her mad at Alex all over again.
And then he came walking into view. His white cowboy hat on his head, his denim shirt clinging to his broad chest, the top few buttons open, showing a wedge of muscular body, water sluicing down and disappearing beneath the fabric.
“I have a bone to pick with you, Alex Donnelly,” she said, walking toward him.
He looked at her, his expression no less stormy than the weather around them. “Oh, do you?” He sounded tense. Out of patience with her. And for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why he would be irritated with her.
“Yes. I do.”
“Did you have a good time on your date?” he asked, his words hard.
“No,” she said, the words vibrating through her. “No, I didn’t. And that’s why I’m mad at you.”
“You’re mad at me because you had a terrible date with a man you have nothing in common with? You’re out of touch with reality, Clara.”
“I am not. I like him. It doesn’t make any sense that the date would be so... I was bored, Alex. Bored, and I didn’t even want him to kiss me. And he would have kissed me. He would have. I would have gotten my first kiss tonight.” Alex jerked slightly when she said those words, a flash of surprise in his eyes. “Except I didn’t want it.”
“Clara,” he said, his voice sounding like a warning.
She wasn’t going to take his warning. He could take it. And he could shove it.
“You ruined it. You’ve ruined this. You were in my head the entire time, and it isn’t fair.”
“Do you want to know why the date was terrible? It’s because you don’t actually like him. And he doesn’t like you. You don’t know him, and you’ve never given him a chance to even find out if he might want to know you. All he wants is locally sourced kale-based bullshit. And you,” he said, taking a step toward her, reaching up and pulling off his hat as he did, “you have the palate of a five-year-old.”
“Yeah, so what? You make fun of me for having the palate of a five-year-old. It’s not like you accept me for who I am.”
“But you’ll tell me to fuck off. With him, you drink coffee you hate and go to some fancy dinner that serves nothing you eat, when what you really want is a hamburger. With him, I imagine you listen to music that sounds like coyotes being beaten to death by a classical guitar, even though we both know you like Luke Bryan. You don’t do anything you like with him, you can’t eat anything you like with him, you’re not even a person that you like with him. How can you possibly be surprised that you didn’t have fun with him?”
“I wanted to!” She was screaming at him now, right up in his face. “I wanted to enjoy that stupid dinner. And I wish I liked kale. I want to like it. I probably would have if I didn’t grow up eating canned food. I want to be normal. I want to be like other people my age. People like him. I wanted to go on a date and get a kiss. Maybe more. But you know what? I didn’t want the stupid kale. And that dessert...it was an abomination. It was my one and only hope, and they served fruit and cheese. That isn’t dessert. And I was surrounded by people who acted like that was somehow preferable to a piece of cake. I know what I should want. I should want kale. But I just want the cake, Alex.”
Suddenly, she felt exhausted. She felt sad. She felt defeated.
“This was supposed to be my moment to eat honey with the spoon,” she said, not even entirely sure what she was trying to say anymore. “But it wasn’t.”
Alex took another step toward her, his green eyes glittering, the raindrops rolling down his face. And then he reached out, curving his arm around her waist, his hand, big and warm on her lower back. And he was looking at her, really looking at her, like he could see inside of her.
Like he could see that she had fantasies about his mouth that she hadn’t even allowed herself to fully comprehend. Like he could see that her breasts were aching and her nipples were tight. Like he could tell that she ached between her thighs in a way that was entirely foreign to her.
“Honey is for beginners,” he said, his voice rough. “If you want the
cake, Clara, have the cake.”
“I don’t... I can’t...” She didn’t know what she was trying to say, and more than that, she didn’t know quite what she wanted to do. But then, she didn’t have to.
Because then, Alex closed the distance between them and captured her lips with his.
CHAPTER TEN
INSANITY. THAT’S WHAT it was. At least, that’s what he should think it was. But the moment his lips touched Clara’s, he lost the ability to care about sane, crazy, right or wrong.
Her skin was slick with rain, and hot with her—so perfect and alive—and he didn’t much care if it was crazy.
The entire time she had been on that damn date, he had been burning rage off like a man possessed. He had pounded nails, chopped wood and ripped fence posts out of the ground with his bare hands. And when a sliver had driven itself deep in his palm he had been glad. Because at least that had forced his mind clean for a moment. Blank.
Had given him a few moments’ peace instead of the mental torment that came with imagining Clara out with that douche bag.
Captain No Dick and his too-tight pants.
He should be glad for her. Glad that she was out on a date with him. Because he was exactly what she needed. Probably. Close to her age. The kind of guy who didn’t take things too seriously. In a good way. The kind of guy she could have some fun with.
Except that had forced him to think about the kind of fun a guy like that would want to have. And how there was no damn way he was worthy of a woman like Clara.
Not that Alex was either. And he shouldn’t be thinking about her in those terms. But every time he imagined Asher putting his hands on her, putting his lips on her, Alex couldn’t help but imagine himself beating the hell out of the guy, then pulling Clara into his arms.
And now he had done it. Well, he hadn’t had to beat up her date, but he had pulled her into his arms. And now he was kissing her, exactly like he had forced himself to never fantasize about.
Oh, he had started to. Had wanted to. Had felt that hard, tight knot in his gut demanding that he turn that vague arousal into a full-fledged fantasy. But he hadn’t allowed himself to do it. No. He had embraced denial. He had embraced good behavior.
