Pickup Lessons (Awkward Arrangements Book 3) Page 4

  I babble on about cloud streaming and the nominal delay between inputting data and receiving it, then watch Cord’s eyes take on the distinct glaze of someone who’s tuned out.

  Desperation makes me crank up the chatter until Cord finally shakes back into consciousness and leans forward over the table, cutting me off mid-sentence. “Listen, sweetheart,” he leers, “why don’t we cut to the chase. You told me you’re local, so why don’t we head to your place?”

  If this conversation was sinking by minute five, it’s now cold in its grave. Sitting here, I realize why Dash kept insisting on how important it is to find someone to like you for you right off the bat rather than taking a best-foot-forward approach. Because I could say yes to Cord, and maybe we would get to three dates, but it wouldn’t be worth it at all. I don’t want to have to trade my self-esteem for some guy’s validation. It’s never going to happen. I’d rather like myself and stay single than turn into someone I hate just to prove a point.

  I just hate that Dash is here to witness tonight’s disaster.

  I swallow a lump of disappointment and force a weak smile. “I appreciate the offer, Cord, but that’s not going to work for me.” I can’t keep the misery out of my voice, and I don’t even try.

  Cord’s eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” His voice takes on an aggressive tone. “Were you trying to be a cock tease?”

  “That’s enough,” a deep voice bites out.

  Shame washes over me, and I don’t need to look to know Dash stands at my shoulder, having overheard everything.

  Cord tips his head back to study the stranger who interrupted him, a scowl crawling over his face. “Who the hell are you?”

  “The guy who’s calling bullshit on this charade.”

  I wince so hard I’m going to need a facial after tonight.

  “This is none of your business,” Cord growls.

  “But it is. You need to back off, man.” I risk a glance at Dash, and my chest tightens at the possessive look on his face. For someone normally so laid-back, he’s taken on an utterly alpha stance—legs spread, shoulders wide, arms crossed over his chest to display his muscled biceps.

  It’s fucking hot, if I’m being honest, but I’m too embarrassed to let myself appreciate how good he looks for long.

  Dash opens his mouth again, and before he unleashes another humiliating warning—as if I can’t take care of myself—I grab my purse and slide out of the booth.

  “Thanks for coming,” I mutter to Cord and dart for the door.

  I know Dash was trying to rescue me, or be chivalrous or whatever, but right now I need to get the hell away from both of them.

  The second I push through the bar’s front door and into the night, I drop my hands to my thighs and take a deep, shuddering gulp of air. It’s so cold the air burns in my chest, but it cools my heated cheeks and snaps me back to reality.

  Everything I hoped for just went spectacularly wrong. What am I even doing this for?

  Before I can march back toward home, I hear the door open again and feel Dash’s warm, steady presence at my back.

  For the love of god, please don’t rub it in.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I say tartly without meeting his eye.

  I still don’t know if I’m grateful or pissed that he stepped in. Probably both. As I have a right to be.

  “Did you seriously just thank that asshole?” Dash growls.

  I spin to face him, shooting daggers from my eyes, but he doesn’t flinch. “I was being polite.”

  “You didn’t need to be. And if that’s what your online dates are like, I don’t want you to have to go through it again.” That fierce, protective expression still shadows his face. How can he look at me like that and be the same guy who picks up other girls right in front of me?

  The unfairness of it stings, makes my stomach twist.

  “It’s nothing. I was just going too fast, trying to get ahead of you.” I don’t mention how I’d actually harbored a tiny glimmer of hope when I stood there waiting for Cord to arrive. How it crushed like peppermint candy to a powder that just got blown away. “I’ll be more careful with the next person I choose.”

  Dash looks almost pained, his hands flexing at his sides. “Is that what you want?”

  I want you. To have you or forget about you. Whichever will make it hurt less.

  For a second, the truth bobs there like an apple in a tub of water at Halloween. If I can plunge in, I can grasp the damn thing and enjoy it. But I don’t dare.

  “I want to not end up in a toga,” I say briskly. When Dash looks like he’s going to argue, I add, “I would like to believe they’re not all like that.”

  His eyes study my face, heated and intense. “They’re not.” His body braces like a wall around us, and all I can see is him. All I can feel is his words, pulling through my core like he’s trying to tell me something I’m too slow to understand.

  I shiver as his words take impact, trying to shrug off every complicated emotion I’ve felt tonight. I want to go home and wash off my makeup and lick my wounds. I want to fall asleep and not think about Cord or Dash or the way I was so foolishly wrong.

  “Cool.” I clutch my purse to my chest and spin on my heel. “Well, enjoy your night.”

  “Where are you going?” he calls after me.

  I shrug and start walking. “Home.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I freeze and turn to glare at him. “Seriously, Dash?”

  “You can go home, E,” he corrects with a firm, controlled voice that strokes my body like I’m a cat, not caring that I’m pissed. A voice so masculine and dominant that I want to purr, despite everything. “But you’re not going alone.” Then, before I can think better of it, before I can stop him, he jogs to my side and falls into step beside me. “Let’s go.”

  6

  Dash

  “You don’t need to do this,” Eden mutters, pointedly clomping along in her high heels. Her shoes look dangerous and unstable, like at any point they could either snap or wedge themselves in a grate and send her flying. “I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home.”

  Frustration rolls off her in waves, though I suspect the douchenugget in the bar is more the cause than me. Her pretty lips turn up in a pout, and her eyes look like they’d spit sparks if you crossed her. Still, I’m not bending.

  “On an ordinary night, I’d agree with you.” I keep pace with her, but, god, she moves quick. I’ve never been to her Ballard apartment, and I can only hope she’s leading us there instead of on a tour of the Ballard Locks. This time of night, the neighborhood is just coming alive—streetlights pop against the darkening sky, and people crowd the sidewalks, heading to restaurants and bars, clustering in groups or walking solo to meet friends.

  Even pissed, Eden’s still pretty, her hair flying out behind her in a silky stream, her coat belted around her waist to accent her hourglass shape. “What makes tonight different?” she huffs as we cross the street. She buries her vulnerability under an exterior of control, but the turmoil in her eyes betrays her pain.

  I hate seeing her like this. I want to wrap her up in my arms and promise her it’s going to be okay. Even if she already knows it, it’s nice to hear. But she’s Titus’s sister. Untouchable and out of reach, no matter how much I want to soothe her. So I drop my hands to my sides impotently and follow her. The best thing I can do is make sure she’s taken care of, that she makes it home in one piece.

  “You told your date you lived locally,” I say, my body stiffening with remembered anger. “And that prick seems like the type to follow you home and try to change your mind.”

  Her concentration wavers at my words, and for the first time, worry touches her features. “Oh,” she murmurs, stopping short on the sidewalk. “That was stupid of me.”

  I wince and bite my tongue before I start to lecture her, Titus’s words ringing in my ears. She’s a perfectionist. She’s already upset about the way things playe
d out. I don’t need to rub it in.

  A couple jostles around us before I can respond, forcing me to step closer to Eden to avoid being trampled. Up close, she smells sweet and tempting, and for an instant, my mind flashes to her quiz. How would I stack up against her assessment? Would I check all of her silly boxes? Or would I come up short, the way I have in so many other places in my life?

  I clench my hands into fists, and the bite of tension on the back of my knuckles tethers me to the moment. I remind myself I’m here to look out for her. Like a brother would do.

  My anger, though, feels anything but brotherly.

  “It was human,” I whisper, my words feeling insubstantial and weak.

  Humiliation ripples across Eden’s face, and she shakes her head. “God, that might have been one of the worst dates of my life.”

  I crack a grin. “If it makes you feel better, it says more about him than it does you.”

  She huffs a low, bitter laugh and spins to keep walking. “I don’t understand why he didn’t just go on a hookup site. Clearly that’s what he wanted. He was just wasting everyone’s time.”

  “Well, some guys are stupid.” She lifts an eyebrow, and I risk teasing her. “His name should have been a giveaway.”

  Eden stops in front of a first-floor apartment door and turns to me with wide eyes and an embarrassed smile on her face. “You heard that?”

  I don’t even try to hide my gloating. “Hell yeah. C-O-R-D like music.”

  She groans and pushes her key in the lock. “How tragic.”

  “It’s like the guy’s entire existence is a typo.”

  She laughs, and warmth blooms in my chest. I swear to god, the shitty date and the shortened night might have been worth it just for that.

  Eden opens the door to a dimly-lit apartment and leads me inside. I hold my breath as I follow her, sure she’s going to think better of it and send me away. Because here’s the thing—Eden and I don’t hang out. Titus and I hang out, and Eden and Titus hang out, but Eden and I don’t hang out alone. Titus always serves as our buffer, the comfortable third wheel. Tonight, crossing this threshold, we’ve added a new side to the triangle.

  Instead of noticing how momentous this occasion is, Eden flicks on the lights and sends the room into a riot of beauty. From our spot by the front door, I drag in a view of the open floor plan as if it’s another page on her dating profile. A spotless, white kitchen sits to the left, with a living room straight ahead. A blue velvet couch hunkers to one side, and a coffee table cluttered with photography props sits in front of it. My eyes skim over the green plants festooning the room like confetti and land on the white bookshelves lining the far wall. The spines of all the books are flipped toward the back of the bookshelf, exposing just the pages. The whole effect is calming and pretty and very, very confusing.

  “How do you find what you want to read?” I ask, nodding my chin toward the shelves.

  Eden shrugs a single shoulder and says simply, “I know what they all feel like.”

  It’s whimsical and wild and perfectly right.

  Holy fuck. This girl.

  My heart lurches with recognition, and I force myself to draw a steadying breath. “Anything good in there?” I walk forward to study the bookcase, breathing in the scent of paper.

  She brushes past me to flop on the couch, flashing me a self-satisfied smile. “Are you questioning my taste, Mr. Walton?”

  I hold up my hands with a smirk. “Not in books.”

  She groans at the teasing note in my voice and the implication that fucking hell, your taste in dates is horrible. “I told you, I was short on time and low on options.”

  I laugh. “Sounds like the title of my memoir.” Her relaxed grin sets me at ease, and I allow myself to sit on the couch beside her. I leave room for an entire large human between us, but still. I can’t believe I’m here. “What would your memoir be called?”

  She bites her lip as she considers. “I might have to get back to you on that one.”

  I nod, distracted by the way she works her plump lower lip between her teeth. A raspberry-colored lip gloss coats her mouth, and I bet she’d taste fucking amazing.

  Fuck, Dash, stop it.

  I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that it takes me a second to register the blur of white barreling in from a hallway, screeching like someone’s set its tail on fire. Indeed, the form materializes into a fluffy, flat-faced white cat with a tail like a bottlebrush. It’s the kind of animal you’d find on the cover of inspirational calendars, but that probably sheds every-fucking-where.

  The cat yells again, jumps on the couch, dashes across my lap at full throttle, and vanishes in a literal puff of hair, proving my theory.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask, my heart racing from the adrenaline of the twelve-second encounter.

  Eden smooths her hands over her lap and bats her eyelashes at me. “Princess Diana.”

  I give her a look of horror. “That was a cat.” The most enormous cat I’ve ever seen.

  “Whose name is Princess Diana.”

  I shake my head. “Why would you call her that?”

  “For fun.”

  “That’s a lot to live up to.”

  Eden shrugs. “She’s fine with it. She’s got a big ego.”

  I snort out a laugh. “She got a big body. That is a motherfucking chonkers cat. How could she even move that fast?”

  “Hey!” Eden pouts. “She’s regal.”

  “Don’t get too precious about her,” I warn. “Her asshole’s probably touched every surface of this house.”

  Eden makes a face. “That’s not the point.” She waves her hands excitedly as she speaks. “Anyway, it’s clever. Because if you call her Princess Diana in public, people don’t know what to expect. And if you dare drop the ‘Princess,’ it sounds like you’re talking about your naughty kid. Like ‘Oh, Diana shit in my bed today. Diana ate a fern.’”

  I try it out for myself. “Diana is an asshole.”

  Eden bats her eyes at me. “You bad daddy, you.”

  Holy fuck. The words coming out of her mouth make my cock perk to attention. So naughty. So fucking sexy.

  It takes me a second to find words. “You’re a twisted genius,” I blurt out, not sure if I’m complimenting the thought process behind the name or the startling effect her words just had on my body.

  Eden’s eyes light up. “Thank you,” she breathes like I’ve offered her the most delightful compliment in the world. She claps her hands together. “Now that’s the name of my memoir. Twisted Genius.”

  I shift in my seat, trying to bring a little relief to my dick, but instead of ignoring me, Eden seems to take my fidgeting as me trying to make an exit.

  She pushes off the couch and offers me a lopsided smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you get on with the rest of your night.” Her smile falters. “There’s more day to seize, right?”

  Oh, hell. I don’t want to remind her of our bet. I want to keep this moment safe for us without letting other people intrude. It’s been so easy, so natural, to keep shooting the shit with her. But she blinks at me, waiting for an answer.

  If I don’t give her what she expects, I might as well admit something that’s not going to be productive for either of us. Even if I broke down and said we should call the whole thing off, admit that every crappy pickup line I used on other women was because I couldn’t stand the thought of taking someone other than Eden home, it wouldn’t fix the fact that I still can’t have her.

  It’s never going to happen.

  I might as well seize the day, as Eden suggested. Put as many people between us as possible until I can forget the way I feel when I’m around her.

  “Sure,” I manage, standing awkwardly. “Unless you want me to call a truce tonight?”

  “Whatever you want, Dash.” Her smile falls all the way off her face, and she turns to lead me toward the front door without another word.

  I stumble along behind her, but there’s nothing I can say to fix thin
gs right now.

  Cold air blasts me in the face as I cross her threshold and land back in the night. But I pause on her doorstep.

  “Eden—” I start, my voice vibrating with tension, but she shakes her head to stop me.

  “Thanks for walking me home. You didn’t need to feel obligated, or whatever.”

  My heart freezes in my chest. “It’s not—” I let my voice drift. “It’s not my duty, okay, E? I’m here because I want to be.”

  Something flickers in her eyes, and her lips dance like she’s fighting a smile. “Okay,” she whispers. “Goodnight, D.”

  “Night, E.” I turn away before I can watch her close the door in my face.

  The second I hear the lock snick into place, my shoulders drop. What the hell happened tonight?

  I need to drown my tumultuous thoughts before they keep me up all night. Preferably with booze.

  Without thinking, my feet move on their own accord and pull me down the street toward The Hole. For a Tuesday night, the place bustles with people, thanks to the location’s excellent foot traffic and Ballard’s touristy draw.

  The heat of the room defrosts my body as I thread toward the bar, where Matt serves a handcrafted cocktail to a blonde with an open seat beside her. He acknowledges me with a tilt of his chin, but he doesn’t say hello until he hands the woman her drink.

  “Back so soon?” he asks me after he turns away from her.

  I feel like one of those sorry assholes in my comics—like a superhero who hides so much he’s never going to get the girl.

  “Can I have a beer?” I rasp.

  “What kind?”

  “Bartender’s choice.”

  Matt frowns. “You’re not even going to pull out your elitist list?”

  I shrug. “Tonight I’ll go with something standard.”

  His eyebrows lift, but he grabs a can of Rainier and slides it down the surface of the bar toward my hands.

  I pluck the cool can off the counter with a reluctant grin. “You’ve been watching too many bartending videos.”