The Sweetest Fix

by Bailey, Tessa

  “I pushed it. That’s on me.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, asking to come see me dance was totally normal. Sweet, actually. I’m the one who acted weird.” She looked like she wanted to say more, so he waited. Watched her pace around his workspace, hands tucking and untucking themselves into the pockets of her skirt. “I guess I feel some pressure, you know? To make the most of this opportunity to dance.”

  “Is the pressure coming from you?”

  “Mostly. Yes. Investing all this time in something and not seeing it through. I guess that kind of scares me. I don’t want to have regrets. I don’t want my mom…to have them, either. Not that she would even allow herself to have them. Out loud. She’s such a good mom. A friend, too. But…” The light sheen in Reese’s eyes gave him the overwhelming urge to hold her. “When my father left, she rebuilt her whole life around this thing I love. I don’t want her to feel like she wasted her time. I want her to say…it was worth every second.”

  “Reese…” It took his full effort to remain where he was standing. “You are making every second count. No one could say you’re not seizing the opportunity.”

  She looked down at her feet. “There’s always someone better. I’m just…I can barely keep up. That’s the truth.” She wet her lips, lifted her eyes to him. “I just want to make sure I’m giving it everything, you know? It’s a constant push just to be decent.”

  Leo’s throat was too dry for swallowing. “I hope you weren’t worried about me coming to watch you and being underwhelmed.”

  “I wasn’t. I don’t worry about anything bad when it comes to you. You’re so…solid.”

  She blinked, as if realizing she’d revealed too much.

  Maybe she had, because that admission had his pulse slamming into his jugular.

  “Reese,” he rasped. “Stop avoiding me. If you’re here now, you don’t really want to.”

  “Of course I don’t want to. Wednesday was…”

  “Wednesday,” he growled. Rein it in. The last thing he wanted to do was give her another reason to get skittish. At the same time, he wanted to make plans. He wanted to make plans with this girl. “What are you comfortable with, Reese? With…us.”

  “Us,” she repeated. “What are my options?”

  “How about I give you one option. If you don’t like it, I’ll come up with another.”

  She blew out a breath. “Okay.”

  Leo took a stride in her direction, noting the way her pupils dilated, her lips parting slightly. And knowing he wasn’t the only one who was under this intense physical pull gave him some added confidence. But not so much that he lost sight of Reese’s reservations. She didn’t want a distraction from her career. So he’d minimize the risk of that. Let it happen at her pace even if it killed him. “For now, we do this one day at a time. Tonight, I take you out to dinner. Tomorrow, you decide if it’s dance that needs your attention.” Slowly, he backed her up against the industrial refrigerator, cupping her jaw and tilting her head back. “Or if you want to let me give you some attention.”

  “You give really good attention,” she whispered, fingers curling in his apron.

  Their mouths melted together like warm chocolate meeting melted marshmallow, just sinking right in, mixing needs and becoming indistinguishable. He held his lust in check and let the kiss take its own course. At least until Reese twined her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoes and aligning her hips with his lap, both of them inhaling at the contact of their sexes. Hard on soft. Both of them remembering what he felt like inside of her.

  What it felt like to fuck each other.

  “More,” she breathed.

  “Goddamn. Missed you.” Leo flattened her roughly against the refrigerator, his tongue sinking deeper, his hand climbing upward beneath the back of her skirt, getting a tight handful of her sweet ass, kneading it like he would—

  The swinging door flew open.

  “Leo,” Jackie started, clapping a hand over her mouth when she saw them in a compromising position. The door behind her slapped shut again. Just not before several customers took pictures with their phones, gasping and whispering to one another. “I’m so, so sorry…” Jackie said, backing out of the room. “I didn’t see you come in, Reese.”

  “It’s okay,” Reese said, her inability to catch her breath giving him way too much satisfaction. “Hi Jackie. I-I was, um…”

  “We were talking about going to dinner,” Leo continued the sentence for Reese quietly, studying her reaction up close. “If Reese doesn’t have any plans.”

  A conflict waged itself on her face, followed by…something. Like maybe she couldn’t help but say yes, same way he couldn’t help thinking about her. Wanting her. Like maybe there was nothing one-sided about these extraordinary feelings whatsoever. A man could hope.

  “Okay,” she said, closing her eyes. “Let’s go to dinner.”

  Chapter 14

  This was a nice restaurant.

  One that Reese probably couldn’t afford if she wanted to eat for the next week. Her step faltered on the way through the entrance, the thin bills in her wallet shrieking in terror. It was located in the basement level of a brownstone in Midtown. Low ceilings, dim lighting, eclectic décor. Because it was Saturday night, the place was packed, mere inches of space between the tables. Conversations were loud to compete with the buzzy music.

  “Oh…” She tugged on Leo’s hand, which she’d been holding on the walk east. “You know, we can just go grab a slice. They probably don’t have a table…”

  “Leo!” A young man threaded his way toward them through the crowd, his T-shirt rolled high on his arms to show off his tattoo sleeves. “You’re actually here to eat?” he yelled, when he reached them, noting Leo and Reese’s intertwined fingers with interest.

  “Yeah,” Leo rumbled. “You have that booth in back?”

  The man craned his neck to glance back at the restaurant. “The party sitting there are finishing up, then it’s all yours. Give me five.”

  Leo nodded and the guy took off again, picking up empty plates and wine glasses on his way to the back of the space, disappearing into what looked like the kitchen.

  “How do you know him?” Reese asked.

  “I come by twice a week to make deliveries. We’re their dessert supplier.”

  A smile twitched her lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

  “Yes.”

  Reese laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing over the way he automatically wrapped an arm around her upper half, pulling her closer. The ease of them, the sense of belonging was too nice. Too perfect. And she didn’t want to second-guess it right now.

  I’ll work twice as hard next week. Dance until I drop.

  Anything was better than using Leo as a ladder rung—and she would make it.

  She’d see her name one day in a Playbill. She had to believe that.

  Everything would be easier once she had some solid ground beneath her feet.

  “Table’s ready,” called Tattoo Sleeves, waving menus at them.

  They were led through a velvet curtain, which helped reduce the noise in the rear of the space. Tables were more spread out, their booth in the corner. Private, dark, intimate. Reese felt sexy just sliding onto the pillowed seat, Leo taking the spot beside her and resting a hand on her knee, squeezing it and sending a pull of longing straight to her core.

  A bottle of red wine was brought over, on the house, though Leo ordered a beer regardless. They dipped crusty bread in olive oil, ordered a bunch of appetizers to share, and Reese couldn’t deny it was already the best meal she’d had in a week. Possibly ever.

  Leo’s middle finger drew a circle on the inside of her knee and she shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She squinted over at him playfully. “The cold doesn’t exist to me. I’m from Wisconsin.”

  “That explains you wearing shorts in February,” he said, earning himself an elbow nudge. “The winters back home
are that bad, huh?”

  “Let’s put it this way. We didn’t have snow days. We had snow weeks. That’s how long it took us to dig out the driveway.”

  He resumed his stroking of the inside of her knee. Between his touch, the romantic atmosphere and the glass of wine she’d already drunk, she already felt achy and swollen in her panties. “And it was always just you and mom to do the digging?”

  “Since I was eleven, yes. That’s when my father was offered a tech job in Florida. We were supposed to follow him after the school year ended, but the separation made my parents realize they’d kind of grown apart, so…we stayed in Cedarburg. I hear from him on birthdays and Christmas, but it’s not the relationship I wish we had.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it.

  Reese nodded, gave him a lopsided smile. “Anyway, my mom made a game out of shoveling snow, so it was fun, instead of a chore. For every twenty scoops of snow we shoveled, we added another marshmallow to our hot chocolate afterward. By the end, we needed an entirely separate cup for excess mallows.”

  “Excess mallows.” He seemed to turn that over in his mind, finding it amusing. “Is it too late to rename my shop?”

  “Yes. I love the Cookie Jar as a name. It’s so welcoming.” Feeling loose-limbed and relaxed, she watched Leo pour her another glass of wine. “What about your mother? Are you close?”

  He hedged. “We’re kind of a holidays and birthdays only family. I have a good relationship with my mother, but I wouldn’t call us close. She runs a charity that hosts kids from other cities, brings them to Broadway shows to foster an appreciation for the arts. It keeps her busy. She lives separately from my father now, but they never divorced. They’re good friends, actually. They’re just too fussy to live happily with another person.”

  She exhaled. “Wow. That all sounds so sophisticated.”

  Leo shrugged. “Only people with a lot of money have that kind of option.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, searching for a way to veer the conversation away from Bernard Bexley. “What about you? Did you get the fussy gene?”

  “Only with my kitchen drawers.”

  “Really?” She laughed. “Do you have your utensils organized according to height or is it an alphabetical order situation?”

  “Ah, I’m not that bad,” he chuckled, turning his beer in a circle on the table. “It’s more like controlled chaos. I’m the only one who knows where I keep the whisk or the piping tips. If they’re not in that exact place when I go to look, they might as well be lost forever. I’m never going to find them.”

  Reese pursed her lips. “I think what you’re describing is the male condition.”

  “Yeah?” He smiled into a sip of his beer, set it back down. “What do you know about the male condition?”

  She paused to think. “Nothing, actually. I’m mainly basing this on the reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond my mother forces me to watch.” They shared a laugh, doing that thing they always did, moving closer in that uniquely unconscious way, Reese’s body turning toward Leo’s in the cushioned seat, the outside of her breast pressing to his shoulder.

  Eventually they couldn’t get any closer and Leo made a frustrated sound, lifting Reese’s left knee, draping her leg over his thigh. “This okay?”

  “Yes.” Her whisper sounded a little winded as she cinched her right leg over. “Just let me make sure I’m not flashing the restaurant.”

  “Sorry,” he leaned back slightly and glanced down, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down at the sight of his big hand cradling her thigh. “I thought you had those leggings things on under your skirt.”

  “No. Just thigh highs.”

  “What are those?”

  Instead of telling him, she tugged up the hem of her skirt, showing him where the thick, black material of the stockings ended, leaving the tops of her thighs bare.

  “Jesus, Reese,” he growled, his hand dragging up her leg to brush the exposed swath of skin, the tip of his index finger tucking beneath the edge and sliding left to right. “I guess I’m going to eat dinner hard tonight.”

  In her peripheral vision, she noticed the waiter approaching and pulled her skirt back down. “Sorry about that,” she managed through the clamor of her pulse.

  Both of them seemed to regroup while the waiter set down their appetizers. Miniature pork belly tacos, dates wrapped in bacon, shrimp bathed in soy sauce and ginger. Basically she’d died and gone to heaven. Leo didn’t take his hand off her thigh throughout the meal, using his left one to eat, meaning a lot of bites got stuck in her throat and required healthy gulps of wine to wash them down. By the time the waiter brought out the chocolate-filled churro for them to share, the thrum between her legs had turned into the drum section of a marching band, beating toward the crescendo.

  It didn’t help that Leo watched her in the candlelight like she was the actual dessert. Having her legs parted, even if she’d been careful to keep herself publicly decent, was fast becoming a problem, so she removed her thigh from Leo’s and crossed them securely, almost moaning over the friction of her own thighs meeting.

  “Everything okay over there?”

  Had his voice gotten deeper since they’d arrived? She stopped just short of fanning herself. “Yes.” Get yourself together. “I just hope they’re not charging you for this churro, since you’re the one who made it.”

  His lips twitched as he picked up the cinnamon-covered dough, holding it to her lips. “Take the first bite.”

  “Yes, sir.” She sunk her teeth into the crunchy dessert, chewing, licking sugar from the corner of her mouth and watched his chest shudder up and down, telling her she was far from the only one getting worked up. “Oh my God,” she moaned, the taste of the churro momentarily demanding her attention. “This is phenomenal. I didn’t see these in the bakery.”

  He took a healthy bite, his throat muscles working in a swallow. “I only make these for the restaurant. A couple of other ones, too. Tres leches cake. An almond tart…”

  “Do you supply to other restaurants?”

  “Not yet. I’m thinking about it.” He cleared his throat, shifting in the seat. “Maybe opening up into the shop next door and expanding the kitchen. Right now, we don’t have room for another baker, but the idea is to have someone there to focus on restaurant contracts.”

  “That’s amazing, Leo.” Her hand flew to his arm. “Do you have a timeline?”

  “Not yet.” A beat passed. “You’re the first person I’ve told about it. Still kind of chewing the whole idea over.”

  She forced a solemn look onto her face. “You’re worried about having to rearrange the utensils, aren’t you?”

  His smile tied a knot in her chest. “You got me.” They stared at each other through a few second of silence, the noise around them drowned out by her heartbeat, his smile eventually slipping into a more serious expression. “I want to ask you about your job, Reese. I just get the feeling you’re protective about it. I don’t want to make you run again.”

  Her stomach dropped, but she did her best not to show a reaction. “I won’t run.” She took a long sip of wine to moisten her dry throat. Oh God, please, I don’t want to lie to this man anymore. The knowledge that she wasn’t using him, as originally intended, and was trying to make it on her own merit did nothing to calm her nerves. When she pictured the horror on his face when she told him she was not, in fact, a gainfully employed dancer, but a dime a dozen hopeful sleeping in a closet, she could only croak, “What do you want to ask me?”

  When he blew out a thoughtful breath and turned in the seat, like he couldn’t wait to find out more about her, she fell for him a little more. “Is Daliah’s Folly your first show? Did you travel from Wisconsin for open calls or did you move here first?”

  A combination of relief and resignation settled over her.

  For better or worse, this was the moment of truth. These were direct questions. She couldn’t dig herself any deeper. He deserved to know whose meal he was paying for,
who he was spending his time with. His reaction was irrelevant at this point. Whatever it was, she would deserve it. But she liked him too much to tell him any more falsehoods.

  A hard lump formed in her throat. “Leo—”

  Loud voices cut her off, coming from a group of people entering the back room through the velvet curtain. They were laughing so loud, it was impossible to ignore them. She turned her head and immediately recognized the man at the center of the pack.

  Tate Dillinger. Tony award-winning dancer.

  Also known as the friend who’d burned Leo in high school to get ahead.

  “What are the odds, huh?” Leo said quietly.

  You have no idea.

  Reese’s gaze shot back to Leo’s, finding the skin around his mouth pulled taut. Needing to be his ally, her hand curled into his automatically, finding it clammier than before. She rummaged through her mind for something supportive to say, but everything sounded hypocritical. Because it was.

  “Hey,” she settled on, her voice sounding strained. “You know, the best way to deal with this might be to smile at him. Take it from a girl who did cut-throat dance competitions her whole life. There’s always someone walking by who beat you last year. Or reminds you of a terrible day. Sometimes if you pretend you’ve shaken it off, your head follows.” She threaded their fingers together more securely. “Besides, if he has half a brain, he regrets losing you as a friend more than you regret your part in what happened.”

  Leo considered her as she spoke. His expression was unreadable, so she definitely wasn’t expecting it when he said, “God, I’m fucking crazy about you, Reese.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, semi-dizzy. Was this swooning? “I’m crazy about you right back,” she said, meaning every word. But also extremely aware that if Tate Dillinger hadn’t walked in, they would be having a much different conversation.

  “Oh yeah?” Leo said.

  “Yeah.”

  “And I don’t care who walks in.” He ducked his head on one of those rumbling chuckles. “Doesn’t seem to matter as long as I’m sitting with you.”