Lunch was going to be torture.
For starters, Micah suggested we all ride in Thatcher’s truck. Yeah. Then she insisted I ride up front while she and Jackson rode in the back seat and caught up. Nothing awkward about that. Them chatting while he and I returned to the scene of the crime, watching the road in silence and replaying everything in our heads. Or that’s where I went, anyway, unable to keep my gaze from drifting to his hands and that damn steering wheel.
Thankfully, it was a short ride to The Upstairs, a restaurant in downtown Cherrydale that was shockingly upstairs above a craft store. Not Chinese. Although at that point, I could have eaten dirt and not known the difference.
I couldn’t get out of that truck fast enough, and all I could think of as I did was the state of our clothes the last time I got out. My jeans half zipped and my bra floating unhooked under my sweater. His fly still open.
Stop.
None of that was helping, and it did no good to stir the memory back up. I did need to find a tiny little second alone with him to thank him, though. A very tiny second. Standing at least three feet away, preferably with witnesses we didn’t know.
A chilly wind whipped up around the truck, and Micah shivered as she shut her door and then opened it again.
“Don’t you usually keep an extra jacket in here?” she asked, peering back inside.
Shitballs.
I walked quickly to the entrance so I wouldn’t see Thatcher’s expression as he sighed and said, “Not today.”
Thank God, Micah hadn’t come in the house and seen that jacket this morning. Not like we’d have to throw our hands up and get arrested—in hindsight, we could have played it off as funny and just watched her get grossed out after everything I’d spilled to her on the drive over. If it had really just been a casual hookup, that should have been my first response.
Goose bumps warmed my skin as I registered the should have been in that thought.
Well, I had to make it be. A really fun night of flirting and messing around. One day we’d laugh about it, I thought as I watched him watch me from behind Jackson and Micah as they walked up. One day when his gaze on me didn’t wiggle my insides and the thought of sliding my hands up under that untucked shirt wasn’t on long loop.
The stairs up to the restaurant were a narrow threesome of twists and platforms, loudly announcing our steps on the old wood. We’d clomped our way around the second bend, moving aside as departing patrons used the same space, when I realized I didn’t have my phone.
“Crap,” I muttered, patting my pockets and stopping short.
“What?” Micah said behind me.
I turned against the flow. “My phone must have fallen out in the truck. Y’all go ahead and get a table, I’ll be right back.”
Micah and Jackson stepped around me, as Thatcher stopped on the step below, looking up with a raised eyebrow.
“Really?” he asked under his breath. “Is there anything you can hang onto?”
We were alone on the stairs, suddenly, every other person miraculously moved up or down and on their way, leaving two very unsupervised chemistry experiments alone and entirely too close together.
“Funny,” I said with a smirk, breathing a little easier as the sound of a family coming down the stairs around the bend behind me filled the corridor. “Just give me your key, I’ll—”
“My key?” he said, laughing, transforming his whole face and giving my knees a run for their money. Jesus, this guy. “I’ve seen what you do with keys.”
My face flamed, and I attempted a smile through it as the family tromping down passed us one by one. “Speaking of,” I said. “Thank you. What you did this morning for me was—nice. You didn’t have to do that.”
He breathed out slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he was considering his next words.
“I know,” he said. “I didn’t do it out of obligation. I just wanted to—”
A little boy at the tail end of his group came flying down the stairs—jumping, actually—to catch up with his parents, and plowed into my back.
“Shi—” I gasped as I pitched forward into arms that caught me as our bodies collided.
“I’ve got you—”
Thatcher’s words clipped short by a sharp inhale when my hands landed on either side of his face. I didn’t even know they were going there, but suddenly there they were, as natural as his strong arms pinning me to his body. He didn’t let go, and I didn’t either. Solid heat and everything I remembered from the previous night assaulted my senses. Time stopped. Sound stopped.
His breath brushed my lips, his smell enveloped me, and somewhere back where thoughts were created, I knew I was a goner. His eyes dropped to my mouth as mine dropped to his, and suddenly the centimeters were nonexistent as the force pulled us the rest of the way.
It was soft, this kiss. Tender. Searching. Frustrating. Infuriating. Words yelled in my head to remove my mouth from his, that it was a bad idea—that it was the universal bad idea of the century—but I couldn’t do it. It was sensual, slow, and intoxicating, and I couldn’t pull away from the taste of—Thatcher Roman.
That did it. Oh my God, what was I doing?
I sucked in a breath and forced my lips away, as his eyes blinked open and we stared at each other as if we’d both just woken up. Noise was suddenly everywhere, above us and below. Had that been there all along?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered on an inhale, feeling my eyes go wide. “I’m so—”
He let me slide awkwardly down his body like he didn’t know what to do with me. I kept my gaze on his until my toes touched the steps, my hands traveling down his chest. Good God Almighty, it was sensation overload mixed with nerdy sixth grade dance horror, plus a little what the hell is wrong with us.
“I don’t know—” I began, trailing off as the return of anger to his expression stole the words right out of my brain.
He shook his head and pulled his keys from his pocket, pressing them into my hand.
“Just go get your phone,” he said quietly. “I’ll be upstairs.”
I watched him move up the steps and around the bend before I could even pick up my jaw. What on earth? He was mad at me? Did he think I planned to get slammed into his arms? Did he think I was the only one doing the kissing? Because, let me just tell you, I could attest to some very active liplocking on his part.
Oh, sweet lollipops, the man could kiss. Like, clothes-peeling kind of kiss. I closed my eyes and laid my hot palm against the cold tile on the wall, willing it to cool my blood. Maybe I needed to press both wrists as well, maybe find a bucket of ice to toss down my shirt.
“Come on, get it together, Gabi,” I said under my breath. “He’s just a guy. They all smell good at times. They all feel good.” My other hand came up to touch my lips. I could still feel him there. “They all know how to kiss us into oblivion.”
“Ma’am, who are you talking to?”
I opened my eyes with a start to see a heartstoppingly adorable little boy around ten or eleven, making a wide berth around me as he gave me a side-eye.
“Your future,” I said, heading down the steps with a sigh. “Do all the girls your age a favor and stop bathing now so no one will think you smell good one day.”
* * * *
They were sitting around a table, laughing when I came back up. Well, Micah and Jackson were laughing. Thatcher sat forward with his elbows on the table, staring at a pepper shaker in his hand like it held the answers to all life’s questions. I had to resist the urge to lick my lips as I looked at his profile. Good Lord, the man was something to see.
I set his keys in front of him, taking the empty seat across from him and willing my insides to be still. Everything felt like it wasn’t connected anymore, floating around inside me and knocking into each other like bumper cars. I had to find my badass-ness. She’d been with me yesterday, she’d sort of been with me last night. I really needed her to stake a claim about now. I clasped my fingers together under the table so no one would see the weakness, and focused on Micah and Jackson’s conversation. I could do this. Just sit there like he was. Not speaking. Not thinking. Not wondering how we were going to pull this off if we couldn’t keep our hands and mouths to ourselves.
Not wanting to do it again. Nope. Not ever.
It was crazy. Not confessing what we had done last night was one thing. Not continuing it—that was obviously going to be a bigger elephant.
“That’s back when Thatch was going to paramedic school,” Micah was saying. My curiosity overtook my vow to shut up.
“Paramedic school?” I asked, looking at him as he looked at me. Shit. I blinked away, grabbing a water glass I hoped was mine. “You wanted to be a paramedic?”
He put the pepper shaker down and pulled apart a piece of bread, toying with the pieces.
“Our dad was one before Mom convinced him to start the flower farm,” he said. “I always wanted to be like him.”
“So why didn’t you?” I asked.
He dropped the bread, and sat back in his chair. “Because, like my dad, I realized it was a pipe dream that didn’t work when you have a family business to run and no one else takes it seriously.”
“Here we go,” Jackson said under his breath, rubbing his eyes.
“So, I switched to a business degree,” Thatcher finished, ignoring his brother.
“I’m not taking any blame for that,” Micah said, slathering butter on her roll. “I’ve been elbow deep in that greenhouse since I can remember. Not everyone is cut out to take the reins, Thatch. And nothing was signed in blood that you had to keep it going. We could have sold it. Mom certainly wouldn’t have cared.”
Jackson grinned wearily. “Nah, our brother is the universal savior of all things. The eternal martyr. The Great Fixer. He might even be Superman.”
My gaze shot to Thatcher’s at the reference, and I saw the irony tug at his lips. Because that’s where my eyes landed. Damn it.
“Not Superman, little brother,” he said quietly, taking a drink from his glass. “But somebody’s got to keep things anchored so that people like you can feel free to bounce around and not land in the water.”
Jackson grinned. “Like I said.”
Micah glanced around. “Is there a waitress?”
I was with her. It felt like a battleground. On one hand, it was nice to think about something else besides the hot man across from me and how warm his body had felt, and how he’d tasted, or how many boxes I’d bought or if the U-Haul I’d rented was big enough, but—
There. The U-Haul. Instantly, my sexual jitters drifted away and list mode took over. I had boxes and tape. I had a storage unit in the place next to the trailer park. I just needed to separate my packing into what would go to storage and what would go to—the room.
“Crap, I need a robe,” I blurted out.
All eyes landed on me. All of them.
“Come again?” Micah asked.
“Sorry,” I said, fiddling with my napkin. “I was just thinking about the bathroom situation at the apartment. I need a robe to get back and forth.”
“Because a T-shirt and shorts are too complicated?” Micah said.
“No, but I like to air dry,” I said, feeling my cheeks flame as I looked back at Micah but felt Thatcher and remembered his reaction to that knowledge last night. “It’s not normally a problem walking around in the buff in my own house.”
Jackson lifted a hand. “I do the same thing.”
“As we found out the last time we stayed with you,” Micah said. “The things you never want to know about your brother.”
“Yeah, and how about keeping that at home instead of at my house?” Thatcher said. “Try a towel sometime.”
“Speaking of which,” Micah said. “Not the towel,” she clarified. “How long are you in town?”
The playful look on Jackson’s face faded. “Probably heading back tomorrow. I need to talk to my business partner, and someone else about—something else.” A frown gathered above his nose. “I just needed to get away for a minute. Get some perspective.”
“Well, why don’t you follow us back to Charmed after lunch,” Micah said. “I have some things to do, but we can spend the day together before you go back.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and if y’all aren’t doing anything tonight, a bunch of us are going to Rojo’s.”
Oh, shit.
“What’s a Rojo’s?” Jackson asked.
“It’s a Mexican food restaurant in Charmed,” she said. “With a bar and a really hot bartender I know.”
I looked at Thatcher and imagined more of this special fun.
No, no, no, no.
“Ah, that’s where Leo works,” Jackson said.
“Just saying,” Micah said, drumming her fingers on the table. “Something to do.” She thumped Thatcher on the arm. “To get out of the house.”
As his focus landed back on me, I shot every possible version of No through my eyeballs. We could not go out like that. Where there was alcohol and music and dimming inhibitions and—adulting. I was kind of looking forward to letting go one last evening before diving into my home’s undoing, but we could not both go. The mischievous look that was building in his eyes, however, told me he was ignoring my Nos. It was on me.
“Might take you up on that,” he said, at the same exact time I said, “I’m probably gonna pass.”
Micah looked back and forth between us, finally landing on me.
“Why?” she said. “It’ll be fun. Oooh, text Hot Guy and see if he’ll meet you there.”
Or text Please swallow me now to the floor and hope there’s ice down there to douse the flame exploding in my face.
Thatcher cleared his throat and his eyebrows raised a notch. “Hot Guy?”
“That’s her nickname for the guy with no name she met at a—”
“Please stop now,” I said, laying a hand on Micah’s arm.
Laughing, she conceded. “Okay, sorry, guys. Girl code.”
“That you’ve broken a million times already today,” I said under my breath, holding my glass of ice water against my wrist while trying to avoid a certain gaze.
“Oh, it’s my brothers,” she said. “They don’t count.”
“Well then my invisible self will be there tonight,” Jackson said. “Instead of following you back, I’ll just get ready later and come early and hang out at your place.”
“What, you don’t want to ride with me?” Thatcher asked.
“Hell no, old man,” Jackson said. “You’ll be ready for bed by nine, I want my own car.”
I covered a smirk with my hand, thankful that the spotlight of embarrassment had shifted. Thatcher’s amusement grew into a grin, however, transforming his face and making my mouth go dry as always.
“Nine, huh?” he said. “We’ll see who’s old.”
Awesome. He was going to close the place down. Even more reason for me to stay home and stare at everything in misery.
“Gabi, you have to go,” Micah said.
“The packers are coming tomorrow to give me a bid and schedule the move to the storage building,” I said. “I expedited it since it’s on Bart’s nickel.”
“Sweet,” Jackson said.
“I’m bringing my stuff that I need to the apartment myself,” I said. “It’s not much. It’s temporary, till I can get another house, so I’m not bringing much over there.”
“Still no reason not to go out tonight,” Micah said.
“I need to—”
“I’m picking you up myself,” Micah said, squeezing my hand and giving me her this is not up for negotiation look. “Life can get serious tomorrow, but tonight you need to let off some of the stress you’ve got going. Crap, don’t let me forget to bring you by the dealership on the way home.”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly, looking for a feasible lie. “Drew texted me that she can drive me over, so it’s all good.”
“Car dealership?” Jackson asked, leaning forward with interest.
Damn it, not quick enough. No, clever guy, don’t be interested. There’s no coincidence here. Nothing to learn.
Thatcher ran his hands over his face, the humor fading. He let out a breath before settling in on me with a look that said less of I want to kiss you again, and more of Why did I ever even say hello to you.
“Gabi locked herself out of her car last night,” Micah said with a chuckle. “So, she has to get a new electronic—”
“Key remote made,” Jackson finished, nodding with fascination. Shit. No. Shit. He looked at me with a smile and then at his brother. “Must be going around.”
“What?” Micah said around a bite of bread. “What’s going around?”
Damn it, there’s a reason my mother taught me not to lie. It’s too hard to keep all the paths straight! We should have been honest up front, but no, not me. I just had to go and fight this.
“Thatch had to go help out a friend with car trouble early this morning,” Jackson said. “I think there was a key thing involved, too.” He nudged me, a look of supreme mischief lighting up his face. “See? A fixer. You should get him to help you.”
Thatcher looked ready to hang his brother from his ankles, and I felt like I couldn’t catch a full breath.
“I don’t—need fixing,” I managed to say around the rock in my throat. “I’m good.”
“I thought you said you were getting laid,” Micah said to Thatcher. “Come to think of it, what happened to your fluffy mood?”
I needed a distraction. A bomb to go off. An exorcism.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and pulled up the text from last night under the table.
I’ll be hard for a week.
God.
That was such a lifetime ago.
Thatcher frowned and then put on a smooth smile again as fake as the flowers in the plastic vase on our table.
“I’m totally fluffed,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I grabbed a roll and stuffed a piece in my mouth, not even bothering with butter. I needed something to occupy my hands, my brain, my mouth. If I could have feasibly occupied my feet and walked out of there, I’d have done it in a heartbeat.
“You’re totally full of shit,” Micah said. “What happened? Did your mystery woman text you that she’s married or from Canada or something?”
Oh man. Or something.
Thatcher gave her another smile that looked painful to conjure. “I don’t believe I ever said anything about any woman, mystery or otherwise.” His gaze flickered to me. “You have that on the brain.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I know what you look like when you like someone.”
“She’s right,” Jackson said, a grin spreading across his face. “You light up like a kid on Christmas morning.”
“And you were all sparkly with it earlier,” Micah said. “Now the clouds of doom are all over you again.”
I suddenly felt as bad for him as I’d felt for me when Micah had thrown out that in love business. It sucked when you were hung out to dry and couldn’t do a thing to change it.
“Y’all give him a break,” I said as Thatcher sat back in his chair like he was ready to bolt or throw me under the bus. “Maybe he doesn’t want to go into his love life with me sitting here. Since we just officially met.”
Totally not a lie, and he raised an eyebrow discreetly.
Nicely done, Poppy.
Thank you.
“Or she wanted more than he did,” Micah said, relentless.
Jackson glanced at me. “Or there were surprise complications.”
My chest started to hurt. This would have been so much easier if we’d have come clean. Technically, we still could. The lie hadn’t gone on too long yet, but it was now or never.
“Or maybe she’s just bad news,” I said, drawing his attention. Those hazel eyes sharpened on me. “Maybe she’s got too much baggage and knows she can only handle a casual hookup. But then realizes that she can’t do casual, either and just has to be the perpetual friend.”
His eyes burned into me so hotly, I felt the exit wounds.
Micah chuckled and patted my hand. “Projecting much, Gabi? Don’t worry, you won’t always have baggage, and you won’t have to be the perpetual friend.”
With the perpetual vibrator, I added in my head.
“Or maybe there’s no woman,” Thatcher said, bringing us all back to him. “Maybe you’re all speculating on something that never was.” He broke eye contact with me and nodded at a nearby waitress. “Maybe I was just in a good mood this morning because no one had pissed me off yet.”
“Or—” Jackson began.
“Yet,” Thatcher reiterated, socking him in the arm. “Key word.”
“Y’all ready to order?” the waitress asked softly from between the two best looking guys in the room.
“Please,” Thatcher said, turning his menu over to the lunch side.
He rubbed at his jaw, and I watched him point out a choice to the waitress, smiling endearingly as he made a substitution and she melted into a pool of syrup at his feet. He had that way, without even knowing it. Had I done that? At the meeting? Had I melted at his feet when he fed me kiwi? I had dropped my keys in the lemonade, so it was sort of the same thing.
When he finished and let his gaze rest back on me, there was a good three-second span where I couldn’t look away. Three seconds again! Interminable! Things were thought, said, judged, and determined in those seconds. I didn’t know what the determination was, but I knew I had to get Thatcher Roman out of my head.
Casual or not, this guy was going to be the downfall of my badass bitchery.