Page 72 of Love Me, I Dare You

Because he will. Nash has reminded me countless times he isn’t here to stay. Even went as far as once again begging me to promise not to fall in love, which essentially serves as a reminder not to confuse our time together as anything more than a need to be fulfilled. Nash won’t be my forever, not that I’m in the market for one, but can I really walk away unscathed at the end of this?

Those are the unsettling thoughts frantically flooding my mind, the ones that kept me up at night, the ones so loud I can’t bake a simple cupcake without burning it. I even took a bath in the small guest bathroom tub this morning to avoid waking him and having to explain why I was walking out on him.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I toss the burnt cupcakes into the trash bin beside the counter and grab a clean bowl off the shelf. “I have three weeks to make over twenty dozen of these and I can’t, for the life of me, get one right.”

Billie walks over to stand beside me, staring down at the mess of flour on the counter and the burnt cupcakes in the trash. “Those don’t look so bad.”

With a deep exhale, I tug my apron off and toss it onto the counter. “Billie, this is my tenth batch of cupcakes today. I’ve been at it for three hours.”

“Take a deep breath and relax,” she says, grabbing me by my shoulders, and leading me over to the stool leaning up against the wall. “Okay, tell me what’s going on, B? You never fuck up a recipe, especially one that means so much to you.”

“I fucked Nash.” I blurt out, but Billie doesn’t seem surprised. If I weren’t so frustrated with myself, I’d be annoyed at my predictability. Of course, she knew this was bound to happen.

Cradling my face in my palms to hide from her inquisitive stare. “Well, that much I figured was obvious.”

“What?” I ask, staring up at her through my open fingers.

Billie hovers over me, taking my hands in hers and tugging them away, but she doesn’t let go. Instead, she leans in closer, her expression empathetic and understanding as she tenderly brushes the flour off my face. “Sweetie, the two of you disappeared after our little performance and I saw the way he practically ripped you out of Jake Macallan’s arms. It wasn’t difficult to guess where you guys had run off to.”

I can’t hide the smile that creeps along my lips amid all this turmoil. “Billie, it was fucking incredible. Sex has never been so good with anyone else and I fear I may be ruined for every other man.”

Billie laughs, but she doesn’t shift her attention away from me. “Bailey, you already were. But I’m going to play devil’s advocate here, don't hate me. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Billie acts like it’s her job to make me second guess every thought I’m currently fighting in my mind. I can’t fault her for being the ever so attentive and understanding best friend whose job it is to ensure I’m making the right decisions. My best friend is the most thoughtful, empathetic and supportive person I’ve ever met. But the thing I love most about her is that she is brutally honest and would never let me knowingly make a mistake I’d regret without ensuring I’m completely sure of myself and my decision. She’s not the type to sugarcoat things nor pretend like she is unaware of the risks or consequences my choices could bring. Billie is loyal to a fault and as honest as her sweet southern little heart allows.

“I know it’s not, Billie, but I also don’t think I care. This is what I’ve always wanted. For Nash to come back to me, to look at me and realize he made a mistake when he walked away. Did I actually think it would ever happen? No. But now that it has,” I pause, unsure if any of this is true or if it’s just the heat of the moment and all the uncertain emotions running through my mind. “I don’t think I ever really hated him. I hated what he didto me and what it did to how I saw myself as a person and a partner in my relationships. I closed myself off to the possibility of happiness with someone else because I was so hurt he’d done that to us. Though now I realize I’m better because of it. Billie, I did things I probably never would have done if I’d played it safe and not forced his hand that night.”

Her bright blue eyes soften as a bright smile creeps over her lips. “You didn't force him to do anything then and I doubt you did now, B.”

“No, but I also left him with very little choice in the matter. Tell me any man who would have walked away from what I was offering.”

Billie smacks her lips but doesn’t argue what she knows is true. I know she understands everything I went through—how I unknowingly sabotaged every relationship I was in after Nash because I didn’t think I’d ever care about any of them as much as I had for him. Nash left me with a mountain of trust issues and insecurities that further grew the longer he stayed away and proved me right in assuming I wasn’t enough for him to want to stay and fight. Although he might have been forced out of Crossroads—a theory I find increasingly likely—yet he opted to stay away all these years. It seems everyone’s moved on except us.

Billie’s expression hardens, her tone more serious than I’ve ever heard. “You’re saying this is real? Not just some scheme to get even for what he did to you?”

“No, it was never about that.” Was my intent tonight to make Nash jealous? Maybe, but not because I wanted to get back at him for anything. It was more because I wanted him to be the one to break and feel as sexually frustrated as I was. He didn’t just get to stand there looking like fucking sex and sin and think I wouldn’t be affected.

Billie nods in understanding, though she doesn’t offer any opinions about whether she thinks I’m making the right decision or the biggest mistake of my life. “Why don’t you just go home and regroup?”

That’s not the best idea, but I won’t be able to get any more baking done today. Not with the uncertainty about where Nash and I stand, holding me back. “Home is where he’ll most likely be.”

“Has he texted you since you snuck out of bed this morning?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t have my phone on me.” Jumping off the stool, I walk over to the small office we share—more of a room with a small desk and two chairs where we keep our laptop in to go over schedules, payroll and order supplies—where I left my purse. Digging my phone out of the purse, I immediately tense when I see the missed text messages and calls from Nash.

Nash: Is this you walking out on me now?

My heart sinks at the possibility he might actually think that. Truthfully, I walked out on him, but it was more for my sanity—waking up beside the man I’m crazy about was giving me all these nonsense ideas—and not because I regretted any part of what happened between us. Or like Billie had suggested, because of some revenge plot.

Nash: The things I’m going to do to you when I see you because you left me in bed all alone this morning.

Nash: Looks like I wasn’t rough enough with you since you can still walk straight this morning.

Nash: Tell me, Angel? Can you still feel me between your legs? Are your thighs red and aching from the rough scruff of my beard as I devoured your sweet little cunt?

Instantly, the air in the room reaches dangerously high temperatures as a wave of heat washes over me, my face burning bright red as Billie hovers over me. I ignore her laughter as I grab my purse and practically run out of the cafe, stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the fresh autumn air.

The sudden rumble of an engine in the distance startles me, and the closer it gets, the faster my heart races along with the thrumming vibration of the motorcycle approaching from behind me.

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