Page 122 of Seven Year Itch
He flings his hands up in the air and stomps away, walking down the sidewalk next to where I’m parked in front of Dakota’s shop.
I turn my eyes to Wyatt who’s propped on my truck watching the show like he’s just missing his popcorn.
“Little help here?” I bark, and with a heavy sigh Wyatt walks over and takes Luke’s place.
Thankfully, Luke makes himself useful and opens the door so we can maneuver the giant custom piece into The T-shirt Shop. I direct us over to the corner where I know it’s going to go, and we set it down, both sweaty and out of breath and irritated beyond belief.
After we’ve brought the second one in, I glance over at the checkout counter and spot the young girl I’ve seen in here before. She looks at us like she couldn’t give a flying fuck what we’re doing in here.
“Is Dakota here?” I snap, annoyed that the girl has nothing to say.
“She’s in the back.” She goes back to flipping through her magazine, and my teeth clench in irritation.
“Guess I’ll go get her,” I murmur under my breath as I stomp my way around the counter, heading through the back door to retrieve the woman whose face I can’t get out of my damn head.
The last time I was here, I fucked her on the worktable where customers make tie-dye T-shirts. I somehow ended up with blue dye all over my arm, and we laughed our asses off and considered doing a Papa Smurf role-playing exercise. Anything to add a checkbox to that PowerPoint we were so infatuated with.
I remember the day I was here suspecting that, maybe, Dakota was trying to add things to our list to prolong our arrangement together. The more things to explore, the more fun we got to have.
I was good with that.
I didn’t want us to end.
I wanted us to go on forever.
What a fucking moron I am.
“Hey,” I call out, and Dakota jumps a foot in the air at the sound of my voice.
Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, and she presses a hand to her chest. “Calder, what are you doing here?”
“Can you come out here and tell me where you want these shelves?” I turn away, unable to make eye contact with her because just the glimpse of her in my peripheral hurts something deep inside of me.
“I didn’t know you were bringing them today,” she says, walking over toward me. The smell of her perfume makes my chest ache with a deep need that fucks with my head.
“I didn’t know I needed to call ahead.”
She stops, and I can feel her staring up at me, silently willing me to look at her, but I refuse.
With a frustrated noise, she walks past me out into the shop, uttering a clippedhito Wyatt and Luke before standing in front of the giant shelf, arms crossed, head cocked, eyes tight, and lips pinched.
“They’re fine where they are.”
I cut her a look. “Just tell me what you want.”
“I said they’re fine. They look great.”
“Bullshit, they’re not fine. Just tell me.” I stomp over to the shelfand prop my hand on it. “An inch to the left? Three millimeters to the right? What do you want adjusted?”
My brothers’ eyes both widen, and their shoulders inch up under their ears as they prepare to duck and cover from the mighty wrath about to unleash. I’m poking the bear, but I don’t give a fuck. These shelves are heavy, and Miss Bossy Boots here always has an opinion, so I’d rather just get it over with than deal with her throwing her back out trying to move them after we leave.
Dakota’s eyes narrow as she steps closer to me, her chin raised high as she hits me with those striking blue eyes of hers that still make me weak in the knees. “I know you want me to go allKarenon you so you can fulfill the prophecy you have in your head about what an evil bitch I am, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, Calder. The shelves are great exactly where they are. In fact, they’re perfect. I can’t thank you enough for how much work you did on them. I’ll go write you a check right now and include a nice big tip for the delivery.”
“Don’t fucking bother.” I storm toward the door.
Our fingers brush as our paths cross, and I flex my hand, stung by the brief contact, and irritated by the urge I have to reach out and grab her whole body and press myself against her. I miss the feel of her against me. I miss her fucking touch. Her fucking voice. Her fucking everything. I miss her.
“Thank you!” she calls to my back with a cheery fake tone.
