Pink Bits (Awkward #1) Read online

  “He stayed?” he asks, his shock reflected in his tone. “He sounds like a keeper to me. If he can handle you when you’re like that”—he cringes—“then he must be a good guy.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shove him. “Gee, thanks, Daddy.”

  Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he pulls me into his side. “I’m glad he was here for you when you needed someone. I really do worry about you being alone so much, pumpkin.” He squeezes me gently. “I promise not to get my hopes up if you promise to at least give this a try. Don’t settle for friendship if you feel more for him.”

  I swallow hard, then nod. “Okay.”

  My fist raps against Reagan’s front door all of three times before it swings open. A fresh-faced Reagan stands before me in a way-too-small Superman tee that—if I’m not mistaken—has a little cape attached to the back. My grin is instant.

  “Morning, beautiful,” I greet her.

  She beams up at me. “Morning. I got up extra early to pee so you wouldn’t catch me off guard again.”

  “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t mind waiting out here for you to do your girly shit.”

  She rolls her eyes. “That would just be rude. Besides, yesterday you clearly thought I’d been having some me time, and I didn’t want you to think that again.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I was awake. I just didn’t lie there like a lush for the extra half hour like I did yesterday.”

  I reach out and scruff her hair up as I slide past her, then stride down the hallway. “Whatever. I prefer my version of events over yours.” I continue through the lounge area to her kitchen and get to making our coffees and breakfast.

  Instead of waiting for me on the couch, she hobbles in after me, sliding onto a high bar stool on the other side of the bench and resting her crutches beside her. She watches as I go straight to the cabinet that holds her mugs and examine them all before picking two for today.

  “You like my collection?” she asks.

  Looking over my shoulder, I grin at her. “It’s impressive.”

  Her smile comes out and brightens the whole room. “Which ones did you decide on?”

  I hold them up to show her. The one I got out for myself has a picture of a great white shark and says, What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger … except sharks. Sharks will kill you. And the one I chose for her has a little Yoda on it and the words, Coffee I need or kill you I will.

  She grins at my choices. “Did you know you’re more likely to be attacked by a cow than a shark?”

  Her eyes sparkle as she speaks, and I fucking love how into all these random facts she is. “I did not know that. But I believe it, mostly because you couldn’t pay me to set foot in the ocean. So that eliminates shark attacks completely for me.”

  Silence hits my back, and I turn around slowly to see why she’s gone quiet. Her hand is covering her mouth, and I lean back against the bench behind me, then cross my arms and ankles. “What now?”

  “Is it because you’re afraid of the teeny tiny blue-ringed octopus?” She snorts, trying to hold back her laughter.

  I roll my eyes. “No, it’s all the other fucking huge shit in there that can—and would most definitely—eat me. I’m fucking delicious, don’t you know?”

  She erupts with laughter. Tears stream down her flushed cheeks as she attempts to calm herself and catch her breath, only for another round to take her under again. Then, I watch in slow motion as she tilts to the side and falls off her stool.

  “Reagan!” I’m crouched at her side instantly. She’s still laughing but rubbing her butt, too.

  “I’m good!” she says quickly. “My arse took the brunt of it. Lucky I’ve got extra padding.” She winks as I help her back up and onto the stool again.

  “Jesus, woman, you need a crash helmet or something,” I tell her, shaking my head and going back around the bench to start cooking our food. What I don’t say is how sexy I think that extra padding is. Instead, I nudge her coffee over and eye her. “Try not to burn yourself.”

  “Funny,” she mumbles and flips me the bird.

  When I finish making our omelettes, I slide into the seat next to her. “Bon appetit.”

  “You’re quite the chef, aren’t you? I wish we’d met a long time ago; I could have been using you for your culinary skills all this time.” She sighs dramatically.

  I shove a forkful of the cheesy eggs into my mouth, then watch her do the same, grinning at me as she chews.

  “Sho goog,” she says through a mouthful.

  Shaking my head, I turn my attention to my plate and shovel in some more before I accidently tell her just how cute I think she is.

  My plate is empty before hers—not surprising, seeing as I fixated on my food to keep myself from doing or saying anything stupid. After rinsing off my plate, I drop it into the dishwasher along with a couple of cups and plates she has sitting on the side of the sink.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says, her eyes following my every movement.

  “I don’t mind. Keeps my hands busy.”

  She cocks her head to the side. Her loose hair falls over her shoulder, forming a blonde curtain. “Why do you need to keep your hands busy?”

  Her plate is now empty, and I grab it, rinse it, and then place it in the dishwasher, too. “Dishwasher tablets?” I ask, glancing at her over my shoulder.

  She licks her gorgeous lips, then points to the cupboard under the sink. “In there,” she breathes and bites down on that full bottom lip.

  Fuck me. Is she trying to seduce me? Because it’s totally working. I want to walk over there, wrap my fingers in that mass of blonde, and tug her head back until she’s staring up at me with those incredible eyes, then kiss the shit out of her.

  I swallow hard and push my thoughts away. It’s with superhuman strength that I keep myself in line and turn her dishwasher on. Leaning against the bench beside it, I slip my hands into my pockets. “Need me to change your dressing?”

  She blinks a couple of times, then shifts her gaze to her foot. “Umm, yeah, if that’s okay? You don’t have to; I can ask—”

  I hold my hand up, stopping her. “I’ll do it. I don’t mind.” I smile reassuringly as I open another cabinet and retrieve the extra dressings the hospital gave her. I really just want to be able to touch her in a non-creepy way.

  My attraction to her has grown exponentially over the last couple of days, and it’s unnerving. What if I banged her and she wanted it to keep happening? That’s not my thing. We live next door to each other; it would get awkward as fuck. I don’t want that for us. So, I need to keep it in my pants and keep her as my friend.

  The word friend feels strange—a chick as a friend. It’s a foreign concept to me, but I’m willing to give it a shot. I like Reagan way too much to fuck things up between us.

  Rhett is an amazing cook. He made an omelette taste like a gourmet meal.

  I can’t stop smiling at him, even though he’s currently changing the nasty dressing on my foot. Keeping my focus on him ensures that I don’t look at my foot and risk seeing blood. Just thinking about what he’s doing—touching that area voluntarily—makes me a little swoony. Not in a bad way, but in a “he’s so amazing to be doing this for me” kind of way.

  “There you go. All done. And you’ll be pleased to know the skin has started knitting together, so you don’t need to worry about seeing blood anymore.”

  I blink at him. “That was quick. Thank you.”

  He shrugs his wide, sculpted shoulders. “No problem. It’s what I’m here for.” He winks at me, and I swoon again.

  This is ridiculous. I’m a puddle of goo and all he did was cook for me, make me coffee, and change my dressing. Actually… having mushy feelings for him after doing all that is only natural, right?

  “You okay? There wasn’t any blood; you shouldn’t be feeling woozy …” he says. The look in his eyes conveys his worry.

  I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. I was just thinking, is all.”r />
  He raises a brow. “About what? You looked all spaced out.”

  My lips purse. Usually I have no issues sharing what’s on my mind, but I think I’ll freak him out if I tell him I’m having seriously swoony thoughts about him. I clear my throat. “Oh, you know, just normal stuff.” I shrug. “I think I might be due to get my period in the next couple of days. I’m feeling hormonal.”

  His eyes widen. “Right, okay then. On that note, I’ve gotta be going.” He glances at his watch. “I’ll be late if I don’t get on the road pretty soon.”

  At least I threw him off from my actual thought process. “Okay, thanks for checking in. And feeding me, and the coffee, and company.”

  A lopsided grin tilts his lips, and I internally swoon again. He’s so freaking sexy. And he’s not even trying to be, which makes him even sexier.

  “You are very welcome, Reagan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says as he stands. Then, he bends down and presses his lips to my forehead and walks away.

  I sigh, watching his behind as he strolls out of my apartment.

  He is beyond sexy. And that arse? I want to bite it. I’m an arse girl, always have been. And his is amazing.

  I hear Rhett knocking and, unlike yesterday, I’m not waiting at the door for him to arrive. I’m still hobbling down the hallway on his tenth knock. “I’m coming. I’m coming!” I yell loud enough for him to hear me through the door.

  Leaning on my now much prettier crutches, I swing the door open.

  “Mornin’, gorgeous,” Rhett drawls, propped against the door frame.

  I smile up at him. I love how much taller he is than me. “Morning. Like the modifications I made to my ugly crutches?” I ask, tilting them back and forth so he can get the whole effect of the pretty sparkles glinting in the light.

  His eyes move down my body, inch by inch, then they slide over to my crutches. “What the fuck?” he asks, a frown forming between his brows.

  I grin. “I was bored last night. So, I bedazzled them!”

  “I see,” he says softly.

  “Do you like them? I mean, I know they’re still butt-ugly, but they look better, right?”

  I can’t describe the look on his face. It’s not pained. Maybe it’s indifferent? I’m not sure.

  “Well, I don’t not like them,” he finally says.

  Meh, I don’t really care if he likes them or not. I think they look way better, and that’s all that matters. I shrug, shuffle out of his way, and let him pass me.

  “What I do like are those PJs,” he says as he squeezes past me.

  I look down and see the lightning bolt stretched across my chest. “Me too. You like The Flash?”

  “I’m more of a Batman guy myself, but I can see the appeal of being Flash fast on occasion. I have always wondered, though, is he able to pace himself at times? Like when he gets excited?” He pauses and turns to eye me. “You know what I’m sayin’? Does he, like, lose control and fuck Flash fast? ’Cause that would suck.”

  In all honesty, it’s something I’ve contemplated myself. “I’ve thought about that, too. I would hope not, but who can say?” I shrug. “Makes no difference to me; he’s not my type.”

  Rhett tilts his chin. “He’s not?”

  I shake my head. “No. Speed isn’t an attribute I’m looking for in a potential bedmate.” I laugh at his perplexed expression.

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “So, what are you looking for?”

  That’s a great question—one I’m not sure how to answer. My lips pinch as I consider it. What am I looking for? Him! my sex-deprived brain screams. Then my daddy’s words echo in my head: “Don’t settle for friendship if you feel more for him.”

  I’m ninety-nine percent sure I want more from him. So, I mentally pull up my big girl panties and tell him the truth. “Well, if I’m being honest, you’re my type. Physically, for sure. And from the little I know of you, you tick all the boxes in the personality department, too.”

  I watch him carefully. He doesn’t say anything, and I worry I’ve overstepped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m a sexy beast. I know it, and you have eyes, so you know it, too.” He winks.

  “Umm, okay. Well, that right there.” I point at his mouth. “What just came out of there—not an attractive quality in any man. Even one as sexy as you.”

  He grins. “Noted. Now, I need caffeine.”

  And that’s the end of the conversation.

  He strides into the kitchen and is pulling things out of the fridge by the time I make it to the counter and take my seat to watch him weave his culinary magic. I could watch him move around my kitchen all day long. A grin tugs at my lips as I imagine him doing just that—but naked.

  It’s Thursday, and I’ve adjusted to this little routine Rhett and I have going. I wake up at six, pee, and then make my way to my front door right in time for him to start knocking. I swing it open the second his knuckles connect with the wood.

  He’s leaning on the actual door this morning and tips forward, losing his balance. He tries to grab at the doorframe to stop us from colliding, but it’s no use. His heavy body falls into mine, and I topple backwards. Rhett curls his arms around me, one at my waist, one behind my head, and we hit the ground with a thud.

  All the air leaves my lungs in a rush. I swallow and try desperately to take a breath, but it doesn’t work. He’s still pressed flat against my chest, making inhalation impossible. My eyes widen as I struggle, and I start slapping at his back to get him to move.

  “Fuck, Reagan. I’m sorry,” he rambles, pushing his upper body up with his arms braced on either side of my head.

  Relieved, I relish the air rushing back into my oxygen-deprived lungs. He’s staring down at me now, and I can only imagine what’s going through his mind. His eyes hint to a million different thoughts—all of them tantalising. But he just stays there, frozen.

  Slowly lifting my hand, I press it to his jaw. My fingers feather over his stubbled cheek, and he closes his eyes. When my thumb grazes his bottom lip, they flash open again—the heat in them just about burns me alive. I want him to kiss me so, so badly. “Rhett,” I sigh his name, and he leans into my touch.

  His hot breath skitters along my wrist, sending tingles up my arm. Our eyes remain connected as he lowers his head, closing the gap between our mouths. He pauses a whisper away from my aching lips. “Reagan,” he groans my name, then finally his mouth crashes into mine.

  The feel of his lips is intoxicating… and right. So, so right. But it’s not enough. I need more, but he pulls his head back when I try to deepen the kiss.

  “I don’t do girlfriends. I don’t date. I don’t hang out. That’s just not me, Reagan. But I want you so much,” he confesses.

  My stupid emotions rise to the surface. I am not a fuck-buddy kind of girl. It’s just not who I am. But that’s all he wants. I can see he’s holding back; there’s something he’s not saying. He knows I want all the things he doesn’t. My eyes sting, and I squeeze them shut. I don’t want him to see that his words have hurt me.

  He’s been so amazingly sweet to me, and there’s no reason we can’t be friends. Keeping my eyes closed, I push my palms against his chest, letting him know I want him to move. He does so immediately, then takes one of my hands in his and helps me stand.

  I lean against the wall as he scoops up my crutches and slides them under my arms. I’m thankful when he turns away from me, closes the door that’s still wide open, and then makes his way down the short hallway.

  But he pauses at the end. Keeping his back to me, he says, “You are the coolest chick I’ve ever met. If anyone could make me want to change my ways, Reagan, it’s you. Maybe one day, but I’m not there yet, and I refuse to give you less than you deserve.”

  Then he’s gone.

  Dropping my head back, I stare up at the ceiling. Of course I would find an amazing, sexy, funny, and sweet guy who can handle me at my worst, but he doesn’t want me the way
I want him. I take a few minutes to collect myself. He didn’t say never, right? And we haven’t known each other long. Maybe I just need to let things unfold on their own.

  Nodding to myself, I push off the wall and go to find him.

  I find him in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee already made and a perplexed expression on his handsome face as he leans back against the bench. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his ankles are crossed.

  He lifts his head when I enter. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. His eyes lock with mine.

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. You were honest with me. I can’t fault you for that.”

  He snakes one big hand up around the back of his neck, rubbing it. “Yeah, but I just …” He sighs and looks back down to his boots.

  “Hey, it’s all good. I promise. I know where you stand, and that’s okay. As long as you know where I stand, too,” I tell him.

  His eyes lift to mine. “Where exactly do you stand? Just so there’s no confusion going forward for either of us.”

  My lips lift in a shy smile, and I shrug. “I like you. I’m comfortable around you, and I don’t feel so awkward and out of place when I’m with you. So, yeah, I would like to see if there’s more there. But I’m not going to push you for something you’re not willing to give. I’m fine with friendship if that’s all you want.”

  Rhett watches me closely as I speak, nodding along. “Friendship is good. I’ve never really been friends with a chick, but I’d really like to try with you. I mean, we’re friends already, aren’t we?”

  I can’t contain my grin. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Okay, good.” A relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get some food into you.”

  Pulling out the stool I sat on yesterday, I hop onto it and rest my chin in my hand as I watch Rhett buzz around my kitchen, smiling to myself.

  “What’s that look about?” he asks over his shoulder, not stopping what he’s doing.

  “Just because you don’t want me doesn’t mean I can’t still admire the view,” I tell him, grinning when he drops the spatula he was holding.