The Deal Dilemma
: Chapter 7

I jolt at the overly aggressive knock that could only mean one thing. Crew Taylor is at my door.

The same Crew Taylor who hypnotized me not nine-ish hours ago.

Seriously, he must have because of all the times I’ve dreamed of touching him, I would never dare, and I clutched him like I could. Like it was allowed.

I held on to him like he did me, tight, and skin to heated skin.

I obsessed over it all night, the why, the how, and the what the hell led us to that moment, but in the end, the answer was simple.

Crew is unpredictable. As kids, we all sort of sat back and waited to see what he’d do or say next. One day, he might say he hates wheat bread and the next, he was subbing out the white for it on his club sandwiches. Can’t stand a girl, and then out they’d come from behind the bleachers. Friends with a guy, and then punches him without sharing why. He keeps you guessing, and I’ve always enjoyed that about him.

Okay, that’s an outright lie. Sometimes it’s incredibly annoying, but whatever. Girls love a good mystery, so it’s probably why they all seem to love him.

That and the perfect skin, the muscles and the thousand other things I could tick off, but who has time for internal list making when the man consuming my mind is at my door, waiting for me to let him inside.

“You sure you want to come in, work more voodoo magic on me, ’cause I’ll warn you, I’m feeling a little empowered right now.”

He raises a dark brow. “Is that right?”

“It is.”

I shuffle out of the way, and he steps in, closing the door behind him.

“Do I want to know?”

“I doubt it.” I quickly move back to the stove, stabbing a small dough ball and nudge it off the butter knife with a fork, easing it straight into the small pot of boiling grease. “But basically, knowing I can put my hands on you and feel your hands on me without combusting, does a lot for the mind.”

In my peripheral, Crew’s head snaps my way, and when I look at him, his eyes are narrowed.

“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I’m on board with the role you’ve chosen, but you’re like top tier, so if a man of your godliness can enjoy any part of me, even a tiny bit, then there’s hope somewhere.”

His frown seems to deepen, but a sigh shortly follows, and he comes to stand beside me, wordlessly rolling one of the fried donut balls in the bowl of sugar. “I can’t believe you still make these things.”

“Every Sunday.”

“So same as always.”

I love that he remembers the small stuff. “The cinnamon and sugar ones make the perfect breakfast and after-dinner dessert. Without mom’s treats in reach, these are a lifesaver after a craptastic day.”

Crew nods, and we finish off the last few batches in silence, easing into the cleanup as if we still do this together each week when the last time he made donuts with me was the summer before my senior year when he and Memphis came home for a visit.

The last visit they ever made.

Crew kissed me and never came back…

That was almost five years ago, yet he still takes the lead on the hot oil because I’m “clumsier than my mom after her Booze and Books Club,” or so he would always say.

“I don’t spill at work,” I tell him suddenly, and then I think about it. “Well, I don’t spill much at work. I can’t exactly serve a tray of drinks, thank the bank for the hostesses, but still… I’ve only spilled directly on a customer a couple times.”

I peek at Crew, and while his profile shows a slight quirk of his lips, he doesn’t say anything when I sort of think he might want to, but again, who knows with him.

“At the café the other day,” he begins after a few quiet moments, “you said you made a pros and cons list.”

The metal tray full of homemade donut balls slips from my fingers, hitting the edge of the countertop I was trying to move it to, and I jerk forward, saving a good handful with my shirt-covered stomach.

“Oh shit.” Crew flies over, quickly nudging the treats back onto the tray and easing it down on the counter.

Looking to him, I admit to the obvious. “Okay, so I’m as spill prone as ever.”

Crew’s expression speaks for him, a loud ass “you think” printed across his face, before bending to clean up the mess I made on the floor.

Careful as possible, I peel my top off and shake it out over the sink to avoid inadvertently inviting a trail of ants to move in.

“There goes tomorrow’s dessert.”

“There’s a solid three dozen left unscathed. Even you can’t eat all these in a day.”

We face each other at the same time, and instantly, his attention snaps to my chest. “What are you doing?”

“It has food all over it.” Duh. “And while I am almost certain I can easily eat three dozen in a day’s time, they aren’t all for me. I made a dozen for Jess as a sorry I bailed on you gift, and I was planning on tracking you down today and giving you a batch for old times’ sake, but now you’ll just have to share mine.”

I wait for a smile, but his lips only press together more.

“How is it you’re afraid to hook up with a dude, but not afraid to stand half-naked in front of one?”

“One, I am not half-naked.”

His eyes snap to mine. “You’re only wearing shorts and a bra.”

“It’s sports bra and Spanx Sunday.”

“You’re not wearing a sports bra.”

“Yes, I—” I look down to replace my basic black bra. “Oh.” I shrug. “Well, whatever. You’ve seen plenty of naked people, so the sight of me in a bra shouldn’t even faze you.”

“Mm-hmm,” he deadpans. “So this whole never getting dirty with a man thing has nothing to do with your body?”

I jolt, feeling the sudden need to cover up.

“Should it?” I ease away. “I sort of thought my body was satisfactory enough, but if you think I need to—”

“No.” He flies forward, taking my hands and lowering them to my side with an urgent expression. “That is not what I meant. At all. Your body is…” He pauses, his head remaining still while his eyes look lower. “You have nothing to worry about there.”

“Are you sure, because your questions sort of suggest otherwise?”

“Trust me. I’m sure.” He holds still, then slowly releases my wrists. “I guess I thought maybe that was part of it. I’m just trying to figure this shit out.”

“What is there to figure?”

“Honestly, Davis, I’m shocked as shit,” he says suddenly, his hands replaceing his hips. “I would have thought you lost your virginity a long time ago, and not for any reason other than the things related to what I told you last night. Men want you. Men stare at you. I’m sure as fuck not mad about it, but it blows my mind no one pushed until you grabbed hold. And to be real with you, I’m beginning to think some have, but it went right over your head.” He shakes his own, his attention briefly flicking along my exposed skin. “You have no idea what you do to a man.”

My chest heats, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it from spreading, or from Crew instantly spotting—following—the path it burns up my neck.

I knew he meant what he said last night, Crew would simply not speak rather than ramble on about things that weren’t true. I knew this when I told him not to lie but knowing and hearing him talk about me in such a way was… a lot. I was nervous, anxious, excited. Basically a hot flippin’ mess.

He stretches tall. “I want to see the pros and cons list.”

Horndog meet cold shower.

A panicky laugh leaves me, and I round the kitchen, the long way. The way that takes me away from him. “I was kidding.”

He starts to step from around the small island, so I move as fast as I can, without running, and shut myself in my room.

Giant steps echo down the hall, and I squeeze my eyes closed.

“No you weren’t,” he accuses.

“I was.”

“Davis.”

“Oh my god! Fine!” I tear a shirt from the hanger, pulling it over my head, the second he pushes the door open as expected. “Yes, I did, but you cannot see it.”

He crowds my doorway, forced to tip his shoulders to the side in order to slip through.

He walks straight up to me, and I freeze, my eyes locked on his as he reaches out, guiding his hand around my neck.

A million thoughts run through my head, the first, loudest and most irrational being, dear god, please say he changed his mind and we’re getting naked right here, right now, but then he simply frees my hair from the collar, and his hand falls to his side.

So anticlimactic.

Crew scowls. “Why not?”

“Because I said.”

“So let me get this straight.” He crosses those big arms of his. “You’re willing to lie on your back and open up for me, but sharing your tick list is a no-go?”

Okay, wow. He said that.

And my, my, the visual that comes with it…

Crew

Davis’s cheeks grow an even deeper pink, and I’m tempted to push more.

“Look, if we’re doing this, shouldn’t I understand every aspect of why and how it makes you feel or something?”

“I do not think that’s necessary, no.” Her nose lifts into the air. “That would be like getting a new job, sitting down with the person who hired you, and asking them why they chose to be manager.”

“If that manager was asking for something real fucking personal from their employee, I’d say it’s very necessary.” A small frown creases along her forehead. “Come on, Baby Franco. I know no man has touched you, I know you want to be touched, and you straight up asked for my cock. How are we not passed the holding-back stage after all that?”

“Are you trying to make my skin catch fire?”

I ignore her and keep going. “According to you, you’re not thinking, asking, or looking for anything outside of the fact that you don’t want to be a virgin anymore. I get that, now tell me why.”

She chews on that lower lip of hers and turns to her nightstand, straightening items already straight to give herself something to focus on. “There’s not some deep thought process or reason, Crew, and maybe that’s the worst part, I don’t know.” She pauses, and when she turns to me, it’s with a soft sigh and timid smile.

“I’m twenty-one years old, graduating college in a couple weeks, and I haven’t done or experienced half of the things the people my age have, but I’m not dumb. I don’t have some naive notion to be like everyone else, and there’s no peer pressure involved. My mind isn’t stuck in high school repeating ‘all the girls are doing something and so I want to do it too.’ It’s nothing like that. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, all to pull them in close. Her gaze turns toward the empty hall and stays there. “This might sound really bad, shitty or trashy, I don’t know, but the honest truth is I want to have sex. I want to know what it feels like and not to feed some deluded sense of curiosity, but because I want to experience it. I want the excitement that comes from lust. I want the rush. I want the sense of closeness with a man. I want to drown in need, shake with desire.

“And this isn’t about being homesick or pitifully lonely. It’s like I said, there’s not a deep-rooted reason other than I want to. I’ve waited long enough. I’m ready to look into the eyes of a man while he makes me come undone, and I want to know how to do the same to him.”

I don’t realize I’m stuck where I’m standing, silently staring at her, until she looks over. The second our eyes meet, unease clouds her features, and she looks away.

The strange thing is I hear her, understand everything she’s saying. I’ve felt those same desires, still do here and there, so it’s not all the things she admitted causing my chest to feel a little tight, or my limbs a little heavy. All right, it kind of is.

Lonely. She said she’s lonely.

How long has she felt like that?

Why does she feel like that?

Why do I feel like that?

I have a gang of friends who ask for my time, and I work with a lot of people. My brother moved home a while ago, and yeah, we don’t always see eye to eye, hardly ever do in fact, but he’s here and we hang. Sometimes. I don’t have a woman of my own, but I choose it to be that way. A normal day for me is getting up, going to work, and going to bed. Shit, sometimes I’m so busy busting my ass trying to get ahead that I forget to eat and I’m stuck with beer nuts for the night. This last year was spent trying to get back on my feet, getting debts paid off and accounts into good standing. I haven’t paused long enough to think about life outside of the bar.

Not until she showed up in it and I carried her ass out.

I didn’t even know she drank.

Does she drink alone?

Spend all her time alone?

Growing up, it was always me and Memphis… and Davis. She never did have her own little crew. To know she’s never dated means she’s spent all her nights alone, but what about the rest of her time?

Work and school are important to her, so I’m sure those things keep her pretty busy, but what about after that? She did mention pizza night with her friend Jess, but there have to be more people in her life than those who have to be, and the one girl who lives in her complex. Right? She has a roommate; do they not go out together? I’m pretty sure there was a picture on the fridge of her and a couple girls at a concert, looked new enough.

Maybe one was Jess, and the other was Jess’s friend?

“Why are you still here, Davis?” I say suddenly, and I almost want to take it back.

I really want to take it back when she winces, her eyes cutting to the carpet. She’s quiet a long moment, and then she peeks up at me, her chin still pointed to her chest as she whispers, “Why are you still here, Crew?”

And isn’t that the fucking question.

Southern California isn’t our home.

It’s not the place we planned to stay forever.

I followed Memphis out here, and his baby sister did the same.

Now he’s gone, and look at us, two people who once knew more about each other than friends should, asking questions we should—and maybe did—already know the answers to.

But Memphis was home to us, until he wasn’t; he was the link between us, until he wasn’t, so how the hell are we supposed to leave this town now?

Apparently, the answer is we can’t, so instead, we live with the loneliness the night brings, knowing when we wake up… not a damn thing will be different.

I dare say it’s all Memphis’s fault.