She wants to be friends.
I want to throw her down right here, bury myself deep, and show her exactly why her idea is fucking terrible.
But I can’t. And because I can’t, I need to go. Pay for my food and get the hell out of here.
Fuck this. What am I doing?
Decision made, I start to retreat. But then I watch as Riley bends down to retrieve something out of the crate she’s standing by, and I’m curious enough to pause and see what it is she’s been staring at this whole time I’ve been staring at her.
What's held her attention for minutes?
She straightens up with the produce in her hand and holds it out. That’s when I see it.
A coconut.
I smirk, because fuck me. There goes my decision. I’m going to have to go over there now. I can’t ignore that.
That’s ours.
You asked for this, Tully.
Ignoring all alarms in my head screaming that this is a bad idea, that doing a face-to-face with Riley is just going to make me want to fuck her even more, I push my cart over to where she’s standing.
“Not all palm trees have those,” I announce as I come up beside her, boxing Riley in with my cart so her only escape is to back away.
Her head snaps right and tilts up to see me. Then her eyes go round.
“You probably already know that though,” I continue, keeping the smirk. “Considering how naturally curious you are.”
“What are you doing here?” she asks with a quick voice, bringing the coconut against her chest and clutching it with both hands.
Her cheeks are now flushing pink. She’s either embarrassed I caught her or nervous to see me.
I’ll take either one.
“Robbing the joint,” I reply, resting my forearms on the cart handle and angling my body forward.
Those burning blues grow rounder. “What?” she whispers.
I chuckle. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’m getting food for dinner,” I tell her, nodding at the coconut. “You got plans for that or were you just letting yourself remember?”
Riley smiles a little. Then she shakes her head and looks away to drop the coconut back into the crate. “I don’t know what I was doing,” she answers, turning back to look at me. “And before you say anything, the dates in my cart have absolutely no significance.”
I cock an eyebrow.
“They are on sale this week,” she adds quietly with a shrug. “That’s why I’m buying them.”
“Didn’t say anything.”
“I know, but just in case you were thinking something.”
“I’m thinking a lot of things,” I reply, watching her pink lips press tight together. Full and soft and tasting sweet as hell.
Jesus. What I wouldn’t give to kiss that mouth right now. She’s so damn pretty.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Why the hell did I think coming over here was a good idea?
Her eyes lower to my uniform. She clears her throat. “Did you just get off work?” she asks.
I nod, pushing thoughts away I can’t make happen right now, then I jerk my chin. “You?” I question, brow furrowing. “Are you a nurse or something?”
I feel like a dickhead for asking this, considering how many times Riley and I have slept together, but truth be told, we didn't do much talking last weekend. If Riley wasn't offering information, I wasn't asking for it. Not because I didn't want it though.
My mouth was just busy doing other things.
“Hopefully in a year I will be,” she replies, tugging on the bottom of her top and then smoothing it out. “I'm in nursing school. I had clinical today, hence the scrubs.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “I hate wearing them,” she shares. “They’re so ugly.”
I laugh under my breath, arguing, “I'm not hating them one damn bit,” then flashing her a smile when her eyes widen.
“You like my scrubs?”
“What did I just say?”
“You said you didn't hate them.”
“I think you can translate that to me feeling the opposite,” I share. “Unless you need to hear me say it.”
She drags her teeth across her lip, blinking slowly, then quickly looks away while shaking her head.
I know that look. I know what she's fighting against.
Riley wants to hear me say I like her scrubs. She wants to hear me say why I like them too. But she doesn't want to want it. That's the problem.
Hers, not mine. `Cause I have zero fucking problems sharing my thoughts on Riley's uniform or anything else I like about her.
Another part of the look she's giving me? Shock. I’ve surprised her.
Riley's acting like the thought of me digging the outfit she's in right now is something she can't even fathom, which leads to me thinking that dickhead she's staying with has never said anything similar to her.
That pisses me off. He's touching all that every night and he's not appreciating it? What else doesn't this cocksucker do?
I don't waste any time finding out.
“What's he cooking for you?”
Riley cuts her eyes back to mine. Her brows pinch together. “What?” she asks, looking confused.
I tip my chin at her cart. “You’re going home after this for dinner, right? What's he cooking for you?”
She stares up at me. “Uh . . . nothing, I don't think. Why?”
“He doesn't cook for you?”
A laugh bubbles in her throat. “Not unless you want to count ordering takeout,” she tells me, solidifying my opinion of this prick.
She wants to be friends with me? Ok. Part of this new arrangement should be me pointing out all the ways I'd be better for her.
Seems like the friendly thing to do.
“I'd cook for you,” I share, letting some arrogance dance on my tongue, because fuck it. If she’s going to know what all I’d do for her, I want her knowing how good I’d do it.
I watch for her reaction, expecting her smile to fade. Maybe her gaze to harden since I'm taking this conversation there. But neither happens.
With doe-like eyes blinking in wonder, she asks through the softest voice, “Why?”
I pull in a slow breath, staring into those flames and letting them burn me up.
Why? Simple.
“`Cause a girl like you should be having dinner made for her sometimes,” I reply, giving her nothing but honesty. “You shouldn't be giving to a man who isn't man enough to give back.”