The Deal Dilemma

It’s safe to say I freaked Crew out with my little “properly probed” spiel. He didn’t have much to say before I left that day, and here we are, another four days dry, taking my thirty-day deadline down to a scarce twenty-six. Not that I’m worried. He knows a lot of people and I’m sure it won’t be too hard for him to convince someone to claim my V as their own, not that I’m giving up on him giving in and claiming the job for himself.

To pass the time, I made a list of all the things I need his help with, and it’s a bit longer than expected, but again, I’m not worried. He’s some sort of woman magnet, so I know he’ll catch me up to speed on how to be the kind of woman capable of gaining the attention of a man like him.

My classes seem to drag, my days even more so, since everyone is gearing up for the end of the school year. With finals approaching, my courses have morphed into nothing but study hall sessions for people who fell behind to catch up on things for a lower grade. I have nothing left undone, so I used the time to review for said finals, leaving me with more free time outside of class. Rachel was eager to fill in the gaps for me and no way am I going to turn down the extra cash. I fully intend to take a trip after graduation, one wholly funded by tips.

Thirty minutes into today’s last-minute shift, none other than Black Hat Guy walks in, requesting a seat in my section.

Calling on the last lesson, I step up to his table, looking directly at him.

He leans back in the booth, one long, lean arm lying out across it. “Hi again.”

“You have blue eyes.”

His lips curve up. “Since I was born, yeah. You have brown eyes.”

“Yeah, I do, basic like a boss.”

A chuckle escapes him, and his smile seems to hold, so I give myself a metaphorical pat on the back.

Pad and pen in hand, I grin. “What can I get you?”

There is a wickedness that weaves into his eyes, even I can’t miss, and he leans forward, the octave in his tone lowering. “Surprise me.”

Oh, he is so flirting!

Yay me!

Wait. What do I do now?

Keep flirting? Make a dirty joke? Say something interesting?

I smile and walk away.

And then I have Martha deliver his plate…followed by his check, being sure I made myself scarce until he was long gone.

Yeah, ignoring him is probably not the right decision, but it’s Crew’s fault! He’s slacking in his instructions, and I’m prepared to tell him so. As if he’s a mind reader, my phone beeps with an incoming text.

Crew: working today?

Me: clocked out ten minutes ago. Just walked in my front door, mentally preparing to call and yell at you. Why?

Crew: you can yell at me on the way to a barbeque. Wear whatever you would to something like that. I’ll pick you up at four.

Glancing at my clock, I see it’s a little after two, so I call Jess for a quick, homemade caramel Frappuccino date.

A few hours later, Crew’s knock comes, and I open to find him dressed in a gray T-shirt, doing its best to suffocate his biceps.

He steps inside, his gaze passively washing over me. “You got a swimsuit?”

“Yes.”

“Grab it, let me see.” Crew turns, dropping onto the couch without another word.

Okay then. I beeline toward my room, digging around in not one but two messy drawers, finding each piece in a different spot, and carrying them back into the living room.

He looks over as I stop beside him and throws himself back in annoyance. “Not in your hand. Put it on.”

“Why?” I hold up the top, then toss it over my shoulder, doing the same with the bottoms. “It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not, but if you’re worried about something showing, I can wait while you handle that.”

My mouth opens and closes. “What?”

His eyes snap to my lower half then come right back up.

“Yeah…” I trail off with a shake of my head. “Still don’t understand Crew-isms. Sorry.”

A harsh breath pushes past his nostrils, and he scoots to the edge of the seat. “If I pull down your mom jeans, are you going to have braids sticking out of your granny panties?”

“I do not wear granny panties, thank you very much.”

“Braids or no braids?”

“Ugh!” I drop my head back, quickly refocusing on the man in front of me. “Sure, since you’re unwilling to strip me naked and lay me down to find out on your own, I’ll tell you, I am fully and completely groomed. Bare to the touch and smoother than any pickup line you could muster.”

His head jerks forward then, pressing his lips into a firm line. “Good. Forget trying it on.” He shoots to his feet. “Let’s just go.”

“You sure I won’t embarrass you in my outfit? I’ll have you know they’re called boyfriend jeans, and they’re trendy.”

“Then they must be meant for girls who already have boyfriends and intended to deflect the rest of the male species.”

I gape at him. “You said wear what I would normally wear to a barbecue. This is what I would wear to a barbecue, jeans and a cute top. So what is the issue?”

Crew steps into my space, stealing all my air and claiming it as his own as he barks down at me. “The problem, little girl, is you look like a kindergarten teacher who raided her mom’s closet and swore off men, but then stand here looking me in the fucking eye while you paint a pretty fucking picture of your pussy like a twenty-one-year-old woman who’s trying to get fucked.” He drags in a quick breath. “You make no fucking sense, and you piss me off.”

I take a step back, studying him closely, noting the slight tic at his temple and the sharpness of his jaw. His muscles are tense and the vein in his neck throbs.

He does this, rants and raves when something’s not quite right, been that way since forever. Pushes when feeling pulled in two.

“What’s wrong?”

His eyes snap to mine, narrowing. “What? Nothing, let’s go.”

He goes to walk away, but I reach out, catching his pinkie and ring finger, and he glances back.

“What’s wrong?”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, so long in fact, I’m convinced he won’t, but as I’m about to let go, his shoulders sag, and he fully faces me.

“I’m being a dick.”

“You’re being a superdick.” I tip my head. “You know they have little capes for cocks, right? With one little clip, we can call you Captain Cock.”

A laugh spurts from him, and his lips hook up the slightest bit. “Pretty sure Captain America doesn’t have a cape.”

“Hey, this is my fan fiction. Get your own.”

Another soft chuckle escapes him, and his gaze roams along my face.

“Come on,” I say softly. “What’s wrong?”

Glancing toward the sliding glass door, he sighs. “It’s dumb shit with the bar.”

“Did someone call in again?”

“No, there’s some electrical issue we have to work out, and we will, but forget all that. Let’s get out of here.” Twisting his wrist, so he can grab hold of my hand, he leads me toward the door. “I’m starving, and the food’s going to be good. My buddy’s wife used to work for some catering business, so she’s always making cool shit.”

“You had me at food.” Climbing inside the car, I buckle myself, waiting until he’s behind the wheel and we’re pulling out to ask, “So what happened to the Mazda? You swore you’d never give up on that thing.”

Crew’s lips form a tight line, creases building along his temples. “Totaled.”

My brows jump, waiting for an explanation.

Is that how he got the second scar on his chin? Or the hint of the one peeking from under the sleeve covering his right bicep?

He says nothing else on the matter, and I swallow the disappointment.

He doesn’t have to share with you everything you’ve missed, Davis.

I swallow, asking something a little more relevant. “So you’re pretty close with this person?”

Small creases frame the edge of Crew’s face, but he nods. “His name’s Willie. He used to work at the bar, but he saved up some money and opened a little brewery. It’s small and only makes enough to sell back to the bar he started at, but it’s his. He’s a good guy.”

“Weird.”

He cuts a quick look my way. “What is?”

“You’re old enough to have married friends now.”

“Girl, you’re not much younger than me.”

“And finally, the man admits it.”

Crew grins but tries to hide it.

“So, you met Willie working at the bar?”

“No, I met him when I visited the bar for the first time. I was dancing with some girl, and the next thing I know, I woke flat on my back, Willie standing over me with an ice pack.” He shakes his head, turning left at the stoplight. “Come to find out, he was the son of the bitch who punched me.”

“I take it the girl you were dancing with was his wife?”

“Nope. His baby sister.”

“That will do it, too.”

“Yes, it will,” he mumbles, and then we’re turning into a small court.

The houses around are small, modest homes, a little older, but clean and welcoming.

Shoving my bathing suit into my small purse, I hustle after Crew, almost having to break out into a run to keep up with his mammoth strides.

He goes to open the door, but I slap his hand away from the knob before he can grip it fully, and he looks at me with a frown.

“Okay, now I’m nervous. Do I really look like a man repellent? I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends. To be honest, I didn’t even think you had friends, so now that I know you do, I really don’t—”

My mouth clamps shut when Crew pushes forward to grip my chin.

“I said I was being an ass.”

“But my pants—”

“Hug your ass nicely and shape your hips just right. Yeah, the legs are baggy, but know what that does?”

I shake my head, and his eyes move between mine.

“It makes a man wonder what’s hidden beneath them.”

“What if they’re mediocre at best?”

Creases form along his brow. “I’ve seen your legs, Davis.”

K, but what does that mean?

Without warning, Crew opens the door and pulls me through it.

Not one foot inside and I’m met with a tall, tan, shirtless man with eyes the color of cotton candy, the blue kind from the fair. His smile’s crooked and deepens by the second, his tongue slipping out to tease along his upper lip and…

“My, oh my,” I mutter. “It’s a fuckboy in the flesh.”

My hand is jerked, my head snapping toward Crew, who glares hard, but it’s the laugh from the man a few feet away that steals the show.

It’s deep and rich and—

Fuckboy’s staring at me.

Now he’s walking toward me!

Oh my god, he’s smirking, and it’s delicious and dirty and—

I can’t do this.

Holy shit, I can’t do this.

Can’t be the butter in the spiciest of feasts, I’ll spread too easy, melt too fast.

I’ll be a puddle for him to lick up and that wasn’t the deal. Crew gets to pick, and something tells me this guy is not the one.

The gorgeous creature stops right in front of me, opens his mouth to speak to me, and my pulse threatens my consciousness, so I do the only logical thing I can think of.

I spin.

And then I crush my lips to Crew’s.