Just a Little Crush (Crush #1) (23 page)
Read Just a Little Crush (Crush #1) Online
Authors: Renita Pizzitola
“I also know Ryder didn’t deserve it either. I know about my dad.” He sighed. “Well, I’ll let you get back. I’m glad Ryder managed to fix what I fucked up.”
“He’s a great guy.” I smiled at Ryder, who looked ready to spring into action at the first sign of my distress. “Well, I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah. See you.” Noah headed into the crowd.
I sat back down in my chair.
Ryder slung his arm around me, while Mason and Fallon stared expectantly.
“He apologized,” I said.
Ryder was the only one who didn’t look surprised.
“I still don’t like him,” Mason grumbled.
“Me either,” Fallon added.
Well, at least they finally agreed on something.
I slid my hand onto Ryder’s thigh and he reached over with his free hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Are you two okay now?” I asked.
He sighed. “He’s my brother and roommate. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m still pissed but I’ll get over it. He’s trying. He apologized to me too. It will get easier with time, I guess. It helps that he apologized to you.”
I smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re working on things with him. He told me he knows about Jeff.”
“Yeah, Paige told him. She’s sick of all the family lies. If Mom and Jeff are going to stay together, we might as well put it all out there. Of course, Paige is also pissed with Noah for turning over the website information to begin with. But, really, it’s not just his fault. The site never should have even existed, but she blames Noah for the legal involvement. If it was up to Jeff, Noah would get a slap on the wrist, but Paige talked Jeff into making him work part-time at the firm to pay back the legal fees. Jeff’s pretty agreeable right now…considering half his money is at stake since the prenup is void.”
“How does Noah feel about working there?”
“If anyone asks, he’s claiming it’s an internship. And since he plans to be an attorney one day, he’ll slap it on his résumé and, as always, things will work out the easy way for him.” He shrugged. “But, of course, Paige is having fun with it. She calls him her coffee-boy and he hates it.” He chuckled.
“I bet.”
Fallon cleared her throat. “So, uh, these shots aren’t going to drink themselves.”
I turned to her. “Sorry. I got distracted.”
She raised her glass. “We need to make a toast.”
“Okay, to what?” I asked.
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin.
“How about to friends,” Mason offered, looking at me.
I smiled and nodded. “I like that.”
“And forgiveness,” Ryder added.
“And happiness,” I whispered.
Fallon swirled the liquid in her glass. “This is one big freaking lovefest. Okay, to friends, forgiveness, and finding happiness.”
“You should add something,” I said.
She sighed.
I studied her, noting the way her gaze drifted up for a second.
Her shoulders slumped a bit, but then she snapped out of it and raised her glass. “To no more bullshit.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Mason lifted his glass.
“I think we all will,” Ryder added as he held his shot up.
We clinked glasses then I gulped the pale yellow liquid. Ryder had chosen something sweet and not too strong for my benefit but it still burned going down.
Ryder turned toward me. “So I’m calling my tattoo guy to set up an appointment to get some more work done—if you’re still interested in that kitten tattoo, now’s your chance.” He grinned.
His smirk was ridiculous sexy, and my attempts at a scowl were useless. “You still don’t think I’ll do it. Well, for your information, I’d love to go with you. Set me up an appointment too.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I want one. Hopefully you won’t be too disappointed that I’m not getting a kitten. I have something else in mind.”
“Unicorn?”
“Pegasus.”
“Perfect.” He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll tell him you’re interested but when we get there if you change your mind or aren’t ready to get one, there’s no pressure. I don’t want you to rush into something permanent.”
“Maybe I like the idea of permanent.”
Ryder leaned back. His lip ring vanished into his mouth as he studied me. A slow smile spread across his face and he leaned toward me.
The warmth of his mouth on my neck sent a chill racing down my back. His lips brushed my skin as he moved to my ear.
“If it involves you,” he whispered, “I love the idea of permanent.”
“What do you think?” Brinley angled her body sideways. Her shirt bundled under her arm as she hugged it around her chest.
My finger grazed her ribs, coming to a stop just under her newly inked skin.
Dane, my tattoo guy, had done excellent work, as usual, but I hated the way her skin puckered and reddened, angry from the needle’s relentless pricking. She hadn’t complained though. I was impressed with how well she held it together. Though I don’t know why; she’d more than proven her strength.
The small tattoo resembled an infinity symbol with a spirally number three intersecting it. It stood for new beginnings. It was beautiful. And perfect.
Like her.
“I love it, even
if
it’s not a kitten.”
Laughter floated from her lips, carrying my heart with it. This girl had me so wrapped around her little finger, it was almost embarrassing. But truth be told, I didn’t mind. I loved being entwined with her. I loved her.
“Let me see yours.” She slipped her hands under my shirt and raised it over my chest.
She ran a fingernail under the freshly applied bandage and gently peeled it back. One touch from her was all it took to lose my mind. She knew it too. We stood near the shop’s entrance, but being the middle of the day, and a Wednesday at that, the store was empty except for a handful of artists. Too bad we weren’t alone.
“I love it.” She tilted her chin and smiled. Through the window-filtered sunlight, the light sprinkling of freckles over her nose was visible. All seventeen of them. “What do you think?” she asked.
I glanced down at my redone work. The newest blackbird represented my fuckup, but after some fine detailing thanks to Dane, it was now a sparrow. My Brinley-bird. What I once wore as a reminder of my pain, I now wore as a symbol of freedom. Some people say sparrows also represent true love. To me, it will always represent the girl who, thanks to a little game of chance, swooped into my life and tattooed my soul.
To Mom for standing by me, and Dad for watching over me.
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my amazing agent, Suzie Townsend. I could never truly express how grateful I am for your help, support, and encouragement. You really are the best, and I’m so glad you wanted to see Brinley and Ryder’s story told just as much as I did!
I also want to thank my critique partner Camden Leigh. Camden, you are irreplaceable! You are my sounding board, my first editor, my support system, and, of course, my friend. Our writing journeys have been full of the unexpected, but having you there with me makes it all bearable.
To my friends and family—thanks for putting up with me. The life of a writer can be difficult at times, but you stand by my side with words of encouragement (or in the case of my girls, a stiff drink). I’m lucky to have my life filled with people like you.
And, of course, my editor, Junessa Viloria: thank you for loving this story! The first time we spoke and you enthusiastically shared your thoughts on Brinley and Ryder, I knew
Just a Little Crush
had found its perfect home. Working with you has been a writer’s dream, and I know this story—along with the ones that follow—are in great hands. I also want to thank the rest of the team at Penguin Random House. You do so much work behind the scenes—from editing to design to PR and marketing—this book wouldn’t be what it is without you.
And to all the other wonderful writers who offer kind words or just an ear to listen—Thank you! The writing community is one I’m truly glad to be a part of. I’d also like to thank the readers, reviewers, book bloggers, and everyone else who helps make this community what it is. You are all amazing!
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IKEN
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IZZITOLA
is an author of New Adult contemporary romance and Young Adult fantasy. When not writing, she can be found feeding her caramel macchiato addiction and reading just about anything she can get her hands on. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband and two children.
Just a Little Flirt
By Renita Pizzitola
I’d always wanted to be beautiful. Not just above average pretty, or I-want-in-your-
pants sexy. No, more like, Audrey Hepburn. Classic. Flawless. The kind of beautiful that people can’t help but admire. I wanted to leave a boy in awe. In breathless wonder as I passed. And then I wanted that boy to chase me down, vie for my attention, and battle his way into my heart because to know that kind of beauty and live without it would be tragedy.
But anyone who knew me knew that I wasn’t “that girl.” I was the girl guys took to bed, but never home. The one who made them feel good for a moment, but never a lifetime.
For college boys, I was basically the revolving door to sowing their oats. And I was okay with that…or, at least, I used to be. But the second I’d stepped through the doors of Memorial Hospital, I’d left it behind. This internship was my future, an opportunity to stay in Texas with a promise to never have to move back to Colorado.
Problem was…the hospital elevator had other plans.
Waiting at ground level, I pushed the up button and stared at the shiny metal doors waiting for them to glide open. Nothing. I glanced up at the glowing number four begging for it to start its descent to one. But it didn’t budge. How long did it take for people to get on?
I checked my phone. My earliness could quickly creep to tardiness if the elevator didn’t hurry. Or made multiple stops. Or I got lost. Shit. The warmth of panic rose, creeping up my neck and singeing my ears. With a deep breath, I forced the anxiety back into submission and scanned the area for a stairwell.
Bingo.
I scurried toward the stairs, praying the three flights wouldn’t do me in. Exercise had slipped off the agenda in my freshman year, replaced by too much tequila and too little sleep. But really, it was only a few stairs. I could do this.
As I pounded up the second flight my breathing grew shallow. And by the time I’d rounded the last lap, my calves burned and a fine coat of perspiration dotted my forehead. Were stairwells air-conditioned? Didn’t help that it was summer. And I was in way too much clothing. Good God it was hot. The dress pants and button-down started to cling to my skin.
Forcing my legs to move, I sped up, ready to just be done.
A guy’s voice echoed around the corner.
I made the last turn and stepped right to avoid him. With his phone pressed to his ear, he didn’t seem to notice me. He spoke animatedly, either excited or mad, but as I slipped past he threw his arm out to the side. And I ran smack into it.
My body buckled as my gut took a direct blow into one solid freaking forearm.
“Shit,” he murmured, lowering his phone. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” His eyes were huge as they assessed me for damage. Nice eyes, too. Dark blue. Like indigo, which contrasted nicely with his honey-blond hair.
Unfortunately, all the wind had been knocked out of me, so all I managed was a nod and a super-attractive choking gasp.
He pressed his phone to his ear. “I’ll call you right back.” He slid it into his pocket and reached out to me. “I didn’t see you. God, I’m so sorry.”
I finally managed a response. “It’s fine. I was rushing, and not paying attention.” Which was a lie, but I just wanted to run. This guy was hot and I was a sweating, heaving mess.
Once steady on my feet, he pulled his hand back and studied me, his gaze flicking from my mouth to my eyes to my hair, back to my mouth.
I suppressed an eye roll. It might seem like he was ensuring I was okay, but I’d had enough interest from guys to know when one was checking me out, evaluating his probability to score. They always seemed to like their odds. Rightly so.
If I were on campus or at a club, I would have flirted back, since he was an attractive guy, but I was here for work. So instead, my defenses sprang to life. I couldn’t let my reputation around campus make it into this hospital, not even for Mr. Sexy Arms.
His gaze lowered even further, fixating on my chest.
What little patience I had vanished. “Like what you see?”
His eyes popped up and he stared at me. His face reddened. “I, uh. God, no.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, not like that. I—”
“Whatever. I’m going to be late.” I spun away.
“It’s just your shirt…”
Yeah, yeah. My shirt. Even dressed professionally, it didn’t seem to hide the fact a body resided under it. With my hand on the heavy metal door, I shoved it open.
He murmured another quiet curse then called out, “You lost a button or something.”
Now
that
I hadn’t expected.
I glanced down. Sure enough, my shirt had split open, revealing my bra and a bit of stomach.
Damn it. The button was gone. Probably laying on the ground near Sexy Arms, but I couldn’t go back and look for it after making an ass out of myself. I shoved open the door and stepped onto the third floor. Gripping my shirt closed, I searched for a bathroom. Thankfully, one was nearby.
With my head tucked down, I slipped inside, then stood in front of a mirror to survey the damage. The midsection of my shirt was completely splayed open.
Tears welled in my eyes. This wasn’t happening. Not today.
I dug through my purse as if a safety pin would magically appear. Considering my lack of preparation for basically
everything
, who knew why I thought I’d find one?
Okay. Deep breath. I could figure this out.
Maybe I could button around the missing one. It would be lopsided, but it’d be closed. Or I could just keep my hand there all day. Yeah, like that would work.
With no other option, I rebuttoned my shirt, leaving the collar askew and one side hanging longer than the other. The final result: I looked like I got dressed in the dark…while drunk.
“Fuck!” I shouted in all my unladylike glory.
There was a light tapping on the door.
Geez, someone probably thought I was having a medical emergency. This was a hospital after all. I rolled my shoulders, took a deep breath, then opened the door.
Holy shit. It was Sexy Arms. Holding a shirt?
“Um, I didn’t know if, you know, it was fixable and you said you were going to be late, so I figured it was important. Here.” He shoved a white T-shirt in my direction. “It will be huge on you but it’s in one piece and it’s the least I can do after almost taking you out, and disrobing you.”
Then he grinned and, holy fuck, it was hot.
When I didn’t respond, his smile slowly faded. “You don’t have—”
“Where did you get a T-shirt?” I blurted.
His face reddened again. “It’s actually my undershirt. Which is why it’ll be huge, but I just couldn’t
not
help since it’s my fau—”
I yanked the shirt from his hand. “Thanks.” I spun to change but paused, catching the door before it slipped shut. “You know you’ll probably never see this shirt again.”
He smiled. “It’s okay. Keep it.”
I shrugged. “Okay.” I let the door close, pulled off my shirt and replaced it with his. And he was right. It was huge.
I tucked as much as I could into my dress pants and rolled the sleeves. In the end, it still looked better than my cockeyed shirt had. But far from good. Whatever. I checked the time, shoved the button-down into my purse, and rushed out of the bathroom, slightly disappointed to see Sexy Arms had vanished, then raced down the hall to Conference Room A.
A slender woman greeted me. “You must be Fallon Carr.”
Clearly she’d figured out who I was by elimination. Everyone else had arrived, seated like good little interns. Shit.
With a smile, I nodded. “Yes. Sorry I’m late.”
She glanced at a clock. “Looks like you’re on time to me.”
And for the love off all things holy, the clock on the wall was a few minutes slow. It was the first thing to go right for me since stepping into the hospital today.
“Take a seat. We’ll begin shortly.” The lady gestured to a chair then leaned over a laptop. The screen behind her lit up with a slide from her presentation.
I walked down the aisle and planted myself in the first open chair, embarrassed to stand too long while wearing my new shirt.
“Okay then.” The lady walked around to the front of a table and leaned against it, semi-sitting. “First off, I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Victoria Aguirre. This is my eighth year working as a Child Life Specialist and my third year heading up the internship program.
“I’m pleased to announce that this year we have a Child Life Aide position opening up in August. This internship is, foremost, a learning experience, but, that being said, your desire to learn, your work ethic and the relationships you build will help determine if you’d make a good member of our team.” She smiled. “We’re big proponents of hiring from within. Which means, we’d love to place one of you into this position.”
A paid position? That job would top waitressing or working at the campus bookstore any day.
“Any questions so far?” Her sleek black ponytail swished as her gaze panned the room. “Okay then, let’s begin. Please stop me if you have questions or need clarification.”
As she spoke, I glanced around at the other people in the room. We totaled three girls and two guys. And something told me they wanted this as bad as I did. Gazes glued to Victoria, bodies leaned in, slight smile creasing their mouths. Heck, we probably all salivated the second she said they’d hire an aide. Well, everyone except the guy slouching in the farthest corner, spinning his pen over his fingers like a drumstick. No competition there. He’d probably shoot himself in the foot before the end of this six-week internship.
The other male in the room looked a bit cutthroat, shoulders squared, an I-got-this smile affixed to his lips. An overachiever. Someone who wanted to win just for the sake of winning. His female counterpart sat to my left. I’d noticed her the moment I walked in. Her dark blond hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Her makeup perfect, outfit crisp, nails polished, everything in place as she diligently took notes. I hated girls like her.
Which only left one more competitor. I glanced over my shoulder and spotted her, head tucked down. Dark hair hanging over most of her face. Maybe after the presentation, I’d get a better look.
I rotated my head forward and caught a whiff of an intoxicating smell.
Oh my God. Was it the shirt? How had I not noticed before? I’d been in such a hurry, I must have turned off my senses but now they were back on and, holy hell, it smelled delicious.
I ran my hand through my hair, and casually tugged the collar up. With a tilt of my chin, I sniffed the shirt. It was a clean scent, sweet with a spicy undertone and just a hint of something else. My skin prickled on the back of my neck. Whoa. That was sexy.
Images of those nice arms, leading to what was probably one hell of a chest, wearing this shirt and smelling like this panty-dropping cologne combined with…what was that? Hot-guy musk? The guys I hooked up with tended to smell like beer or cigarettes, or a delightful combination. But this was incredible. The college me would’ve hunted him down after this presentation and shown him how you really disrobe someone in the stairwell. Regardless, he wasn’t getting this shirt back.
Victoria led into her Q&A session, while I tried to pay attention instead of having imaginary, yet vivid, sex with the hot guy in the stairwell. Back pressed into the cold wall while his hot body pushed flush against me. His sexy arms would pin me in place, one slammed against the wall by my head, the other gripping my thigh as he wrapped my leg around him. And his mouth. It looked like the kind that could do magical things. Very magical.
Tried, but failed.
Was it really hot in here? Weren’t hospitals usually kept freakishly cold? I straightened in my chair, trying to lift my head away from the fantasy-inducing aroma of the shirt.
Victoria handed me a packet, fully snapping my attention back to her.
“This packet contains everything from the PowerPoint. The last page has my contact info. You are always welcome to send me an email.” She clasped her hands together. “Well, that’s the end of my spiel. Now, please feel free to hang out for a bit. You will be working together for the next six weeks, so introduce yourselves and get to know one another.”
Though introductions were a tad on the awkward side, it still only took me ten minutes to assess my fellow interns. Turned out my initial assumptions were pretty dead-on. Lindsey—painfully shy and probably my closest ally. Tyler—fell ass-backward into this internship, probably didn’t really deserve it but would pull ahead because that’s how life worked for him. And the final two, Claudia and Blake. It was safe to assume they were still riding high from the moment they reigned supreme as king and queen of prom or some shit like that. They were flawless. Life handed them things because beauty deserved perfection, right? But I didn’t do perfect.
Though Mr. Sexy Arms had been pretty damn near perfect. And I’d totally do him.
Except, of course, I was leaving that girl behind.
