Page 26 of Dessert Flirt Repeat
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She starts to nod. “Yeah. Fine.”
Her gaze remains glued to her phone as she swipes her finger across the screen so fast, I can’t even read the comments.
“Becca, stop,” I say gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she mumbles, still swiping so fast that the text is a blur.
I set my hand on her forearm. “Hey. It’s okay. We can take a break.”
She pulls her hand away and folds it in her lap, along with her other hand.
She’s clearly upset, and it’s because of me posting that stupid comment asking for video suggestions. I should have asked her first to make sure she was okay with this. But no, I jumped the gun and made a decision without her, and now, because of me, she’s uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She looks up at me, bewildered. “For what?”
“Clearly my idea to ask for suggestions was a terrible one. You’re uncomfortable.”
She shakes her head quickly. “Gage, no. That’s not at all how I feel. It’s just that suggestion, with the whipped cream, it’s, um…” She hesitates, then takes a breath. “This is going to sound ridiculous, I’m sure. But whipped cream is kind of a sore subject.”
“How do you mean? If you want to talk about it,” I say.
Her expression eases, and her shoulders lower. I’ll admit, I’m curious as hell to find out what happened. But I also know it’s none of my business. But maybe it would help if Becca talked it out. And I only want her to talk about if she feels one hundred percent comfortable doing it.
She leans back and tugs at her braid. “This is kind of embarrassing.”
“I’m the king of embarrassing shit. Promise whatever you’re about to say, I’ve done something that’s ten times worse.”
A tiny smile appears. My heart slingshots around my chest. It feels really fucking good getting her to smile.
“Like what?” she asks.
“I once got black-out drunk in college at a party, stripped all my clothes off, and fell out of a first-floor window. I landed in front of the girl I’d had a crush on most of the year and cracked my tailbone. She wasn’t impressed,” I say without missing a beat.
Becca honks out a laugh, then covers her mouth a second later. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“Don’t be sorry. I deserved to be laughed at. I was a dipshit who couldn’t hold my alcohol. Lesson learned.”
Her smile fades, and she glances down at her hands, which are folded in her lap. “I’ve actually done the whipped cream bikini thing. For my ex. Pretty recently.” She swallows. I watch the slow movement down her long, delicate throat. “We had been in kind of a rut. We were both busy with work and hadn’t had a date night in who knows how long, so I thought I’d spice things up and surprised him when he came home from work. And it backfired because that’s the night he told me he had met someone else. So there I was, totally naked, covered in whipped cream, while my boyfriend confessed to cheating on me and broke up with me.”
A weird surge of emotion crashes in my chest. Sympathy for Becca in that heartbreaking moment. Anger at her ex for being such a piece of shit. What kind of douchebag cheats on a woman like her? Yeah, I may not have known Becca for very long, but it’s clear she’s a kind person who works hard to keep her business going. I mean, Christ, she’s forced herself out of her comfort zone filming sexy TikTok videos to save her ice cream shop. She’s sweet and giving and charitable and generous. And this prick had the nerve to cheat on her?
Arousal is the third emotion that completes the weird-as-hell emotions cocktail inside of me. Is arousal even an emotion? Whatever, not important. I don’t have the brain space to deal with that, not when I’m actively trying not to picture how sexy Becca would look with whipped cream all over her tits, between her legs, and across her perfect bubble butt.
Becca sighs, slumping forward. “And then a couple days after Ben broke up with me, he emptied our joint bank account.” She aims her gaze at me. “That’s the same day I got drunk and DMed you. I was desperate because I was heartbroken and had no money and no idea what to do. I felt so betrayed.”
The anger inside of me has leveled up. I wanna cross paths with this Ben asshole so I can confront him and ask him what the fuck kind of low life he is to steal from and cheat on this angel.
A string of curse words rests on the tip of my tongue. But I hold back. Becca’s in the middle of opening up about this personal and upsetting moment. I bet it was hard as hell to work up the nerve for her to do that, and I don’t want to ruin it.
“I know it’s silly, but that whipped cream bikini suggestion just brought back all those emotions from my breakup,” she says. “It just reminds me of how I fell short—in my relationship and my business.”
Her hand is in mine before I know it. I don’t even remember making the move to touch her. It just happened. This primal need to comfort and protect her surges through me.
“Becca, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. Your ex was a piece of shit for treating you like that.” There’s a bitter taste on my tongue as I speak of what that guy did to her. I want to spit it out, but I hold back the urge. “But I need you to know something: you didn’t fall short. Not even close. He’s the one who cheated. He’s the one who stole from you. I hope he gets hit by a fucking bus for what he did to you.”
