Rush

by Deborah Bladon

  I took note when she announced to Gavin and me that the bodega had run out of bubble bath. It made sense to get it for her on my way back to my apartment this afternoon.

  I knew she wanted it, so I made it happen. Whether that’s because she’s my best friend’s sister is unclear to me at this point.

  My attraction to her is blurring with my desire to do Drake a favor by making sure she has everything she needs during this trip.

  Wanting to focus on something other than my imagined images of her naked body, I jerk a thumb to my right. “We’re almost there. It’s around this corner. You’re about to experience the best sushi you’ve ever had.”

  I had the driver drop us a block over from our final destination because I couldn’t listen to another second of him flirting with Emma. Greenwich Village is packed tonight, so the time saved with us walking the extra block as opposed to crawling along in traffic is a bonus.

  Emma gives me a wary smile. “I can’t wait.”

  Something tells me she can, but we’re feet away from one of the best sushi experiences of my life, so I start toward the corner. “You don’t have to. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 18

  Emma

  Since I met Case, I’ve noticed that he has sad eyes. It’s not that his eyes aren’t beautiful because they are. They’re a green shade that makes me think of summer days spent running barefoot through soft grass. They are intense in a comforting sense, but there’s a level of sorrow that has settled within them.

  I see it as he stares at the shoe store that now occupies the space where his favorite sushi restaurant used to be.

  “It’s gone,” he mutters under his breath.

  I’d offer my condolences, but we’re in Manhattan. On this block alone, there are at least a half dozen restaurants open for business.

  The plus is that not one of them is serving raw fish. I’m not opposed to trying new things, but since I’m not a fan of cooked fish, I’d prefer something that doesn’t swim in the ocean to be my dinner tonight.

  “This city has changed.” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “So much has changed.”

  Everything changes. I’ve learned that myself the past few weeks. Counting on anything to remain the same is foolish.

  “Maybe they relocated to another part of the city,” I say the words even though I hope like hell that the restaurant has shuttered its doors for good.

  He glances at me. “Maybe.”

  Scrolling a thumb over his phone’s screen, I wait impatiently with crossed fingers hoping that the restaurateur in question has decided to focus on another culinary specialty. Maybe he traded in his sushi rolling mat for a pizza oven.

  “No luck.” He pockets his phone and glances down the block. “I’m hungry. Are you okay with us eating something other than sushi tonight?”

  “I’m totally okay with that,” I say a little too enthusiastically.

  He eyes me. “Why am I getting the feeling that you’re not a fan of sushi?”

  Drake once told me that Case values honesty more than anything else, so I travel that path. “Fish is my last resort meal.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifts a brow. “Your last resort meal?”

  “If there was nothing other than fish to eat and I was starving…” I stress the last word with a pat of my hand on my stomach. “I’d eat fish.”

  “But you were willing to eat sushi tonight?”

  “For you, I would,” I blurt out without thinking.

  His gaze lingers on my face. “What are you in the mood for, Emma?”

  Sticking with the honesty policy, I point at a restaurant across the street. “Pizza.”

  His hands drop to his hips. “I’m in. Pizza and a bottle of red wine sounds like the perfect meal to me.”

  ***

  “If this pizza existed before I left Manhattan seven years ago, I was seriously missing out.” Case swallows the last bite of food on the table.

  After sharing a salad, we opted for a large simple pie with red sauce, shredded basil, and fresh mozzarella.

  “It was delicious.” I slip my coat off and rest it against the chair back. “I think I ate too much today.”

  Case’s gaze flits over the front of my blouse. “You look flushed.”

  I always look that way when I drink wine.

  The evidence of that is on my face now. It’s probably there when I drink a martini too, but I feel it now. I push my hair back over my shoulder to try to cool down.

  “I’ve been eating Italian all day.” I laugh. “And cupcakes.”

  He takes a sip from his wine glass. “I need more details. Let’s start with breakfast.”

  “That’s a complicated subject.” I avoid eye contact as I go on, “I’m a very picky eater when it comes to breakfast.”

  Studying me, he runs his index finger over his bottom lip. “Picky in what sense?”

  In the sense that I eat the same thing for breakfast almost every morning.

  My life changed when I stumbled on Bright Bagels. The Bright brothers run a food truck in Seattle. One Saturday morning when I was out for a walk, I spotted the truck and ordered a plain bagel. It was utter perfection.

  “I eat a certain type of bagel with cream cheese, a side of fresh berries, and a coffee with one cream and one sugar.”

  “What type of bagel?” he asks with a curious lift of his brow. “Poppy seed?”

  I make a face. “No.”

  He taps his index finger on his forehead. “Note taken that Emma Owens finds poppy seed bagels disgusting.”

  “My go-to is a plain bagel from the Bright Bagels food truck back home.” I cross my arms over my chest. “They’re next level.”

  “New York is full of great bagel shops,” he says. “You’ll find something close here.”

  “I haven’t yet.” I shake my head. “Drake and I did a bagel hunt during my last visit. We tried four different shops. Nothing compared to Bright Bagels.”

  His finger hits the center of his forehead again. “Emma Owens is a hard ass when it comes to breakfast.”

  I laugh. “Call it what you will.”

  “I always call it as I see it.” A smile plays on his lips. “Tell me about lunch.”

  I lean back in my chair. “I had lunch at Calvetti’s. Your cousin was right. It is the best pasta.”

  He slides his wine glass half of an inch to the left on the worn wooden table. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Did you meet Marti?”

  I stare at his hand. As delicately as he’s cradling the stem of the glass, I can tell that his hands are strong. The skin is sun-kissed just like his chest. I wonder if all of him is.

  Drawing in a breath, I smile. “I did meet Marti and her granddaughter.”

  “You got the full family treatment.” He nods. “When you walk into Calvetti’s, it’s like walking into your grandma’s kitchen.”

  That’s exactly how I felt. It’s a jewel nestled in the middle of a bustling city. It’s much like the restaurant we’re sitting in now.

  “Bella, Marti’s granddaughter, took me to a bakery for dessert after lunch.”

  “That’s where the cupcakes happened?” He glances at an older man and woman being seated at the table next to us. “What was the name of the place?”

  “Sweet Bluebells.” I sigh. “The red velvet cupcake I had was incredible. I met the pastry chef. She’s a master of her craft.”

  “If I liked cupcakes, I might be tempted to check it out.”

  I circle a finger over a small spot burned into the tabletop. “Trying one of their cupcakes might make you realize you like them.”

  “Cupcakes happen to be my last resort dessert.”

  I laugh under my breath. “What?”

  His hand sweeps a path in the air over our table. “If you put a dozen desserts on this table, a cupcake would be the last I’d sample.”

  Smoothing a hand over the front of my blouse, I tilt my head. “You have no idea what you’re missing out on, Case.”r />
  His gaze follows the path of my hand. “I can’t argue with that.”

  Chapter 19

  Emma

  The ring of his phone took Case to his feet five minutes ago. He mumbled that it was Maya and that he had to take it.

  I watched him talk as he stood near the entrance to the restaurant. He stepped aside when a man and his daughter came rushing in, soaked from the sudden short thunderstorm that bore down on the city.

  I glance away, not wanting Case to think that I’m studying every move he makes, even though I am.

  He has to be one of the most handsome men in Manhattan.

  I reach for my phone to fill the gap until Case comes back. Opening my message app, I see a text from Sandy.

  Sandy: I picked up your mail. I can report nothing exciting arrived other than a coupon for a cut and color at the salon you swore you’d never go to again.

  Grinning, I type a response.

  Emma: Remember how short my bangs were after that? What was that nickname you gave me?

  Her reply is instant.

  Sandy: Baby bangs. Why don’t I still call you that?

  I feather my fingertips over my forehead.

  Emma: Because I haven’t had bangs in three years.

  I let out a giggle because I know Sandy has to be doing the same.

  Sandy: That’s a technicality, baby bangs.

  “I take it you’re not texting your brother.”

  I look up to find Case standing next to me, his gaze pinned to the screen of my phone.

  I set it back on the table. “Why would you say that?”

  He settles back into his chair. “You were having a good time.”

  I laugh that off. “I have a good time when I text Drake.”

  “You’ve been pissed with him,” he accuses with a smile. “He ran off to get married without saying a word to you.”

  That stings because it’s ground in truth. I skip around the subject of my brother because I don’t want Case repeating anything to Drake that I say in spite. “I was texting a friend back home. She reminded me of the nickname she used to call me that I hated.”

  “Let me guess what that was.”

  My eyebrows dart up. How does he think he can guess something that personal? We barely know each other. “Guess.”

  “Freckles.”

  That lures my hand to my nose. I thought I put on enough foundation to cover my freckles. My mom may see them as adorable, but I’m not a toddler anymore. They were cute at one time. Now, they’re a reminder of the bunch of bullies I went to middle school with.

  Girls can be cruel to other girls. It’s one of the reasons I became a teacher.

  “No,” I say quietly. “Not Freckles.”

  “You try to hide your freckles, but I like them.”

  I lock eyes with him. “You do?”

  He studies me, tilting his head up slightly. “They’re a unique part of you.”

  Running a finger over the bridge of my nose, I bite back a smile. “I guess they are.”

  “Was your nickname small fry or maybe shorty?”

  Shaking my head, I finally grin. “I’m five foot two. That’s not short.”

  His eyes widen. “Tell me the nickname, Emma.”

  I have no idea why this is important to him, but I oblige. “Baby bangs.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  I laugh. “Thankfully.”

  We settle into a quiet moment with both of us sipping our wine. It’s interrupted by the buzz of Case’s phone.

  His gaze drops to it momentarily. “It’s your brother. He’s wondering how you’re doing, Freckles.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand but smile. “You didn’t just call me that.”

  “Oh, I did.” He punctuates his words with a swift nod. “And you liked it.”

  I ignore that because he’s right. “Have you ever had a nickname?”

  “Me?” He darts a finger into the middle of his chest. “What do you think?”

  All I know is that Drake calls him Case. I’ve never heard him use a nickname for his best friend.

  “You tell me,” I challenge.

  He looks me over. “I could say no.”

  “But that wouldn’t be the honest answer, would it?” I bite my lip, studying his handsome face. “Everyone has at least one nickname in their lifetime whether they want to admit it or not.”

  That statement isn’t based on any actual facts. I’m speaking from experience working with kids. Most, if not all, of the children I’ve come in contact with through work have had a nickname or two bestowed on them by their parents or a best friend.

  “Is that so?” he asks, eyeing me as though he half-believes what I say. “I’ve had a few nicknames in my time. The first was my least favorite.”

  “You got that when you were a kid?”

  “Yeah.” He draws a finger over his bottom lip. “One of the twins who lived next door thought it would be fucking hilarious to call me Rabbit.”

  “Because?” My smile makes it obvious that I’m taking way too much pleasure in this.

  “Before braces were slapped on these pearly whites, I had an overbite that was so severe that when someone told me to shut my mouth, I literally couldn’t.” He flashes me a glimpse of his perfectly straight, white teeth beneath a brilliant smile.

  “So the boy next door called you Rabbit because…”

  “It rhymes with Abbott and because I looked like a rabbit for a good year or two.” His gaze drops to the table. “Frannie thought it was the funniest thing every time she called me that.”

  The twin was a girl.

  “Did you have a nickname for Frannie?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “She was just Frannie to me.”

  I run a fingernail over the rim of the wineglass in front of me. “You said that was your least favorite nickname, so what’s your favorite?”

  “Rush,” he says without hesitation.

  I blink twice. Sandy called one of her boyfriends in college Rush because he was a two-minute man in bed. She bestowed that name on him after they slept together. I’m the only person who heard her say it, but whenever we take a trip down memory lane, she brings him up.

  There’s no way Case earned that nickname for the same reason. Although, he did only need fifteen minutes with Maya the other night and today I overheard Maya say that their time with Pam and Rod in the bedroom was hurried.

  “Why don’t you seem surprised that’s my nickname?” he questions with a raise of one brow.

  I laugh off that comment a little too exuberantly. “My roommate in college had a boyfriend she nicknamed Rush. Who calls you that?”

  Leaning back in his chair, he narrows his eyes. “Only one person does.”

  I might as well take this conversation to its destined end. “Is it Maya?”

  He recoils back. “Maya? Why would she call me Rush?”

  Dammit.

  Since I don’t want to answer that directly, I try a new approach. “Is it another woman?”

  His brow furrows. “It’s my grandfather.”

  “Oh,” I start laughing. “I thought…well, I was wrong.”

  I pick up my glass and finish what’s left of my wine. I look over to the bottle, but it’s empty.

  “Why did you think Maya or any woman would call me Rush?” His voice is gruff.

  If I confess the truth, I may end up having to use the Duotrip app tonight to find a hotel room. If I lie, I may very well end up in the same spot.

  Truth or lie. I weigh both as he stares at me.

  “Why does your grandfather call you Rush?” I ask in a desperate last-ditch attempt to avoid the question.

  “I’ll tell you as soon as you answer my question.”

  I swear I spot a grin flash across his lips, but it disappears quickly.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I fumble my way through the truth. “You didn’t need much time with Maya the other night and then… today…well, to
day, there were four of you in the bed, and it sounded like it all happened pretty fast, so I thought…”

  His laughter booms through the restaurant, drawing curious glances from the people around us. “Jesus, Emma. You thought I was a quick fuck?”

  I shrug. “I overheard you talking to Maya. I just assumed…”

  His brows arch. “You thought Pam and Rod were in my bed today?”

  He laughs again. This time his hands dart to his face.

  I watch as he clears tears away with a brush of his fingertips.

  “I haven’t laughed that hard in,” he starts before he chuckles again. “Fuck, it’s been years.”

  His big frame shakes as the laughter rolls through him. I sit silently watching as it slows, until he sucks in a deep breath, letting it out on a heavy exhale.

  My gaze falls to the table. “I’m sorry.”

  “For making me laugh?” He swirls the wine left in his glass. “Or for assuming I’m a horrible fuck?”

  I shrug. “Both.”

  He brings the glass to his mouth to swallow what’s left. His tongue darts out to capture any droplets of liquid lingering on his bottom lip.

  Lowering the glass, he looks at me. “Let me clear up any confusion. When I’m with a woman, I savor every moment. I take my time, and I guarantee that when we part, you’ll be completely satisfied.”

  Freudian slip or not, I want confirmation of what I think I just heard. Before I can ask if he meant what he said, he clears his throat.

  “She’ll be completely satisfied,” he corrects himself. “I meant she will be.”

  Chapter 20

  Case

  I change the subject after the slip of my tongue because I know damn well that my tongue or any other part of my body can’t get near Drake’s younger sister.

  I wish I never met him.

  “Why does your granddad call you Rush?” She asks with a wink of her eye.

  I’m becoming more convinced that’s a nervous twitch because I thought I saw her toss one in the direction of our server. The kid can’t be older than twenty-one. Maybe I’m wrong, and Emma’s interested in him, but I’ve noticed the way she’s been watching me all night.