Friends. We had to be friends. Because if we started with stolen moments when no one was looking, I’d surely start to want more.
I glanced over my shoulder. As expected, Dante was watching me.
I swallowed. Friends.
Who knew that after twenty years of not-entirely-by-choice virginity, it’d be such a fucking challenge now?
14
Dante
After that almost-kiss in the kitchen, I was afraid Heath would back off again. Become cagey and anxious, or embarrassed, or distant. To my shock, though, he seemed to be opening up even more, like I’d sanded away a barrier without either of us realizing I’d done it. He was more comfortable with me by the day, friendly and laughing, flashing that pretty smile that rounded his cheeks and shrank his eyes to lovely crescents.
He kept his physical distance, at least. In sparring practice, he never worked with me. During baking lessons, he kept the kitchen island between us. It wasn’t unfriendly or awkward or rude, but it was calculated. And honestly, I couldn’t blame him. I was drawn to him like a magnet, and if he was within reach, my hands were inevitably drifting toward him. Like I couldn’t control it.
Throughout the week I’d grown a little addicted to his company. He was sweet, and funny, and had a natural warmth that filled a room. And he was always so ready to help out, jumping at any opportunity to do so, looking up at me for instruction with those brown eyes so wide and curious and eager.
It drove me fucking crazy. Yet I couldn’t stop doing it.
I poured myself a cup of coffee from the Liberty clubhouse kitchen and ambled to the tiny courtyard in the back. The clubhouse was an old, converted motel—perfect for a club of our size. It had about ten rooms upstairs and a big, open downstairs, which Dad and I had slowly remodeled over the past few years.
It was cozy, with a functional kitchen and way too many overstuffed couches. The courtyard was a little less well taken care of: weeds peeked out from the brick walkway and the grass was overdue for a cut. But it was still nice to have a little bit of outdoor space, tucked within the U-shape of the clubhouse itself.
I dropped into one of the ancient old rocking chairs on the narrow deck—it creaked threateningly under my weight—and dialed Heath’s number on my cell.
After a few rings, the line connected. Rustling on the other end, and then Heath said, “’Lo?”, his voice adorably scratchy in my ear.
“Hey,” I said. “Did I wake you?”
It wasn’t that early in the morning—close to ten, actually—but the way Heath sounded made it seem much earlier. I imagined him curled in his bed, shirtless, all that smooth skin pale against his navy sheets, his eyes heavy with sleep. Or maybe he’d stretch out long and languid, drawing his narrow body into an elegant line.
“No, no,” Heath said. More rustling. Probably throwing the covers off and standing up. “Of course not. What’s up?”
“Is today still a good day for you to drop by the bakery?” We’d discussed it in passing after our last baking lesson. Heath had clearly been surprised when I’d brought up his earlier offer to help me with my chaotic books, but he’d lit up when I insisted I was serious. I needed the assistance, and a guy with a business degree (well, almost a business degree) was an offer too good to pass up.
And, if I was being honest, I was eager to spend some time alone with Heath. In the Hell’s Ankhor clubhouse we were always surrounded by his brothers-in-arms, doubly so after Jazz had interrupted us in the kitchen.
“Oh, definitely,” Heath said. “No class today, so.”
“It’s my day off, too,” I said, even though I was pretty sure Heath knew that. Just an excuse to keep him on the phone. “Well, you know. A day off in the business owner sense.”
“So just a day to catch up on the stuff you haven’t had time to do?” Heath asked teasingly.
I groaned. “Exactly. It never ends.”
“Well, it’ll be a lot easier once we get your books sorted out.”
“That a promise?” I teased back.
“If it’s not, I guess you’ll have to hire me on as a consultant.” Heath’s voice was a little more awake now, light and playful in my ear.
“I’m sure I’ve spent my money on worse things.” Now that was an idea. I imagined Heath in my office, maybe in a slightly oversized