Bashful Read online

  “Doesn’t it smell amazing? It’s one of my favorite things to get here,” Jordan exclaimed, dipping his toast point into the vat of nastiness. Pulling out a large dollop, he shoved it into his mouth and chewed. “Don’t wait on me. Try a bite. I love a girl who can put food back—in moderation, of course.”

  Shivering with disgust, I made a valiant effort to keep my face from contorting and barely scraped the surface of the hors d’oeuvres. I held my breath the entire time I ate the small bite, willing it to get past my throat quickly. I pulled his glass of wine away from him and gulped it as well, gesturing to the bottle near the end of the table.

  “Too much salt? Did something get stuck in your throat?” he asked, pouring a refill.

  “Mhmm, sal-foo-mouth,” was all that came out as I forced more wine down my throat to get rid of the taste.

  Jordan put his hand on my back, tapping with his palm like I was choking.

  “No worries, the next course is way different. You’ll love tetines. It’s a delicacy. Very light and spongy.”

  Sixteen

  I WAVED FROM THE TOP steps as I watched Jordan drive away. What a douche. The Styrofoam box full of leftovers that he insisted I take home was heavy in my left hand as I unlocked the door with the other. Dropping the box on the counter, I collapsed on the couch and flicked the clasps of my heels to unfasten them.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I called. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed, but first, there was hell to be paid.

  Evie padded out of her room, hair in a fishtail braid and a pore strip on her nose. “So soon? It’s only nine-thirty. Why are you back already? Didn’t want Jordan to put his banana in your fruit salad?”

  My eyes narrowed into slits as I scrunched my brow and chucked the shoes near the coat closet. Nice try, Tinder traitor.

  “Stomach problems.” Yeah, we’ll go with that. “Fortunately, Jordan felt so guilty that I wasn’t feeling well that he’s going to text me for another date soon.” I leaned back onto my elbows, using my bare toes to point to the food I brought home. “There’s your thanks for setting me up with him, by the way. He took me to Catin.”

  “Oh, fancy! Cheers,” she said, bouncing over to the kitchen. Pulling a knife and fork out—shocker—she cut into the entrée. “So, what was he like? Did he sweep you off your feet?” Lifting a large bite to her mouth, she chewed for a lengthy amount of time before swallowing the lump. “Interesting. What was that?”

  “Take another bite first, really let the flavors roll around on your tongue,” I said, encouraging her as she placed more on her fork and into her mouth. After another bite, I decided that revenge had been successful and put her out of her misery. “The date was awful and Jordan talked about himself the entire time. He also eye-banged the hostess. OH! The delicious food I brought home? Tetines. That’s French for cow udders.” I stood as she gagged, walking back to my room to get out of my dress and into something comfy. “You’re welcome,” I yelled, closing my door.

  Maybe I should’ve given her that Ex-Lax smoothie I kept talking about for dessert—at least then she’d be able to get the udders out of her system faster.

  I was still laughing as I shimmied out of my bandage dress and let it pile on the floor. After hanging it back up, I rummaged through my dresser for an old tank and sleep shorts. There was something about worn cotton that always comforted me. It was still early, but I wasn’t yearning to do anything but veg for the rest of the night. Grabbing my laptop, I rested my back against the pile of decorative pillows at the head of my bed. The sound of running water broke the silence, and I smiled devilishly. Evie was totally brushing her teeth. Pushing my headphones in, I typed Gilbert and Sullivan into the search engine and jotted down notes for a paper that was due in a few weeks.

  An hour or so had passed when a small white box popped up in the left corner of my screen. It was Bash, messaging me on Facebook.

  Bash: Facebooking while on your date? Must be hitting it off.

  Callie: I’m at home, actually. The date ended early. Turns out that French food and I don’t agree.

  Bash: Please tell me you puked all over him. Exorcist-style, preferably.

  Callie: It might have been more appealing than the entrée I received, but sadly, no. No vomit was involved. I faked a stomachache so he’d take me home. He was a dick.

  Bash: Kudos for at least getting some acting practice in. I’m impressed. I’m sorry your date sucked.

  Bash: What are your plans for the rest of the night? I’m bored. Tucker abandoned me for some guy named Harold. HAROLD, Callie.

  My fingers hovered over the keys, contemplating if I should ask him to come over. Evie had gone out with some of her ballet friends, so it wasn’t like I’d be disturbing her. I knew we were friends now, but it seemed desperate to hang out with him two nights in a row—not to mention a little pathetic that I’d be inviting him over after a date. Was there some sort of rulebook for this?

  My brain listed so many reasons not to, but my fingers moved of their own accord.

  Callie: What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t rescue you during such a travesty? I guess we can try that Netflix and chill thing again. My bed isn’t as comfy as yours, though.

  Bash: Trying to get me in bed again so soon? I told you, I’m not that kind of guy.

  Callie: OMG, fine. We’ll do it on the couch.

  Bash: Giggity. Be there in twenty, Knight in Shining Armor.

  Callie: Bring movie choices.

  Callie: And chips. And candy.

  I closed the lid of my laptop, standing to return it to the charger on my desk. Last-week-Callie would be running around like a freak, tidying up and putting on a cute outfit. New-Callie, though? I was going to wash my face, turn on the TV in the living room and relax until he arrived. If Bash wanted to be friends with me, he was going to accept me in all of my hot-mess glory.

  Seventeen

  A SOFT RAP AT THE door signaled Bash’s arrival to my place. “It’s open,” I countered, too comfortable under my pile of blankets to leave the couch. He swung it open, squinting at me while shrugging out of his leather jacket. It was obvious he was assessing my dressed-down appearance—hair piled on top of my head in a not-so-cute version of a messy bun, all my fuzzy broken flyaways sticking out in odd directions. My face was washed free of makeup, and the thin brown frames of my glasses rested on the bridge of my nose. I hated wearing my contacts at night.

  “I come bearing gifts, but I don’t think you can see them from your blanket fort, Sweets.”

  Setting his bag on the floor, I watched him right himself as I scooched down further into my fleece haven, only my eyes exposed now. Bash crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, focused on me like a zoo animal.

  Damn, his biceps look huge from this angle.

  Mumbling a response through the fabric, I realized my comments were wasted, as were my hand gestures. Since standing up wasn’t going to happen, I just shook my head and furrowed my brows. There. That would get the point across.

  He unlocked his arms, stretching them over his head. “Okay, then, caterpillar. Better get ready to break out of the cocoon, because I’m coming for you!” Warming his hands together briskly, he took a running start and lunged at me in a full-on Superman pose. I braced myself as he landed, the slight pressure barely felt because of the padding. Bringing his hand close, he tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear before tugging down the layers of blankets from my face. We were so close now. I could feel his warm, minty breath tickling my skin. He lifted his head higher, his lips a mere few inches from my own, and my body betrayed me with butterflies. Blood rushed to my core, the sudden pulsing making me squirm under him. A one-sided smirk graced his lips, his dimple deepening right as he ripped the covers off me.

  The cool air immediately hit my exposed skin, my nipples pebbling through my thin tank top. “Warmth-ruiner! You are such a—a big floppy donkey dick!” I said, wishing my tone matched my super awesome insult. I shoved him playfully, l
aughing when he held his hands up in defeat. His shoulders bounced up and down with mirth as he retrieved his bag and sat down next to me as he unzipped it.

  “I have to say, that’s one I’ve never been called before. You’ve wounded me, Callie.” He clutched his shirt above his heart, wincing in pain.

  “What, a big floppy donkey dick?” I asked. Surely, he hadn’t, considering my weird-ass brain had gone Tourette’s a moment ago.

  He sat up straight, face grim. “No. A warmth-ruiner.”

  Wide-eyed, laughter burst out of my mouth and it wasn’t long before he was joining in, too. The biggest thing I’d learned so far in this born-again friendship was to never assume what would come out of his mouth. I loved being kept on my toes, gobsmacked by wit—to be surprised and challenged.

  Once we calmed our breathing, Bash tossed a bag of gummy bears to me before bringing a small stack of DVDs over to the coffee table. Grabbing the first one, I chucked it onto the floor and watched as it slid a few feet away.

  “I hope you aren’t attached to material things, because that movie is fucking garbage,” I explained, pointing to it.

  Horror filled his eyes. “You don’t like The Notebook? I thought it was ingrained in your DNA as a female to love romance and Ryan Gosling. It’s like automatic panty-melting stuff for you,” he retorted.

  I’d never seen him look so confused and hurt before, like I just told him I enjoyed kicking puppies.

  Looking down, I picked at a cuticle while I pretended to read the back of the next DVD. I loved a good girly movie, but watching one with Bash would be too much for me. I liked him, and after my disaster of a date, I knew I needed to just cool it with the hearts and flowers stuff for a while. “Meh. It just doesn’t do it for me. I’m not really into the romance scene right now—plus, the book is better.”

  “I’m floored. You keep surprising me, Callie Miller,” he said, flicking my glasses. “Like these glasses—I had no idea you wore them. You look adorable.”

  Adorable? Adorable is a kitten falling out of a basket. Adorable is a baby giggling. Adorable is not what I’m about. “I’m not adorable,” I pouted. He lifted his hand, running the pad of his thumb along my jutted lip. I tried my best not to enjoy it, but my insides didn’t get the memo. The small flutter in my stomach grew exponentially until he finally pulled his hand away, allowing me to finally exhale.

  “Put that lip away. Just let me compliment you. That’s what friends do, right?” He reached down and grabbed a movie from the bottom of the pile. “How about this one?”

  My lips upturned, a huge smile lighting up my face. “Big Fish? I LOVE that movie! Put it in, put it in right now!” I squealed. I shot up from the couch and heard a “that’s what she said” as I pranced to the kitchen, filling a bowl with tortilla chips. Pulling the salsa from the fridge, I asked Bash for his drink request as he crouched in front of the TV console, setting up the movie.

  J

  Blinking rapidly, I tried to focus as I woke up. The DVD menu screen was the only light in the room, and I looked over at Bash. His head was tipped to the ceiling and his mouth was opened ever so slightly. The blinking lights from the TV highlighted his features—instead of a hard contrast, they looked softer, pliable.

  How come guys always get the long, beautiful lashes?

  I must’ve shifted at some point in the night as I was currently stretched across the length of the couch, my fuzzy-sock-covered feet resting in his lap. Craning over the edge of the couch, I peeked at the clock on the microwave. It was just after midnight.

  He looked comfortable, so still and serene. I imagined Bash as a little boy, the same features strewn across his face while dreaming of something happy. I didn’t have the heart to wake him or ask him to leave mid-sleep. Plus, friends let friends sleep over.

  Cautiously, I removed my feet from his body and covered him up with a blanket from the pile that had fallen to the floor. Leaning in close, I brushed a barely-there kiss to his forehead and pushed a lock of dark hair from his face. I tiptoed back to my room, slipping under the cold sheets. My body was wracked with goose bumps from the frigid cotton, a stark contrast from the warmth I had with Bash on the couch. I willed him to wake up and climb into bed with me, the thought remaining until sleep reclaimed me.

  Eighteen

  I SMACKED MY ALARM CLOCK, shutting down the demonic beeping I hated so much. I stretched lazily, yawning as I sat up and glanced at the clock. It was weird for me to feel so refreshed at six in the morning. I’m sure the smell of coffee wafting through the air helped, though. Pulling my favorite zip-up hoodie from the closet, I padded out to the kitchen. “Morning, E I stopped, standing rigid as Bash cooked shirtless in my kitchen.”

  Holy shit. He was shirtless in my freaking kitchen. His defined abs were like a damn honing beacon. It was too early in the morning for me to have any self-control. I couldn’t look away.

  “Good morning, Sweets. Want an omelet? Sorry, I went ahead and raided your fridge—you know me and food,” he joked, patting his stomach.

  Having trouble speaking, I nodded slowly as I continued to stare. His pecs were perfect—firm, not too bulky, and thankfully, no hair on his nipples. His abs flexed when he flipped the omelet in the pan and I bit my lip to keep myself from touching them. I couldn’t stop staring at the small trail of dark hair and that damn irresistible V muscle that disappeared below his sweatpants. Licking my lips, I fought the urge to walk around the counter and stick my hands in his pants just to find out where it led.

  “You-your shirt,” I stuttered, wiping my forehead. Is it getting hot in here?

  “Yeah, I spilled coffee on it. Can you do me a favor? I think I might have gotten burned right here,” he said, pointing to his lower left side. “Can you check it for me?”

  Already checking, dude.

  I flushed—there was no way he could miss it. I scurried over and placed my hands on his stomach, keeping my gaze focused anywhere but his face. His skin was hard and warm underneath my small fingers. I wanted to explore further; the struggle was real. I mentally slapped myself, pulling my hands away like they’d been zapped by an electric shock.

  “Uh, no, I don’t see anything. You’re good.” I smiled, turning quickly to grab a coffee cup from the top cabinet. Jumping onto the counter, I landed on my knees as I reached to the top shelf for my “fun mugs.”

  “What the hell are you doing, woman?” Bash asked from behind me, laughing his ass off.

  Furrowing my brow, I snatched one and turned my head. “I’m five foot one, buddy. How the hell else was I going to get a cup down?”

  Bash took one small step in my galley kitchen, lifting me off the counter and setting me down on my toes. “You could just, I don’t know, ask for help,” he answered, our eyes locked.

  “You’d better not be burning my omelet, mister. I’m hungry,” I said, squeezing around him to fill my mug with morning deliciousness.

  “Right,” he said, hurrying back to the stove.

  Once Bash finished plating both omelets, he ushered me to a barstool and sat to my left. I cut a large bite, my stomach growling at the smell of onion and melted cheese. Bash looked at me for approval as I lifted the forkful to my lips, my tongue running along the seam in anticipation.

  “Oh my Goddddd,” I moaned loudly. My head rolled backward, eyes closed at the pure deliciousness I was tasting. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” If it was possible to have an actual orgasm from food, I’d be climaxing right now.

  “My dad. He’s been perfecting his recipes since I was a kid, and I always loved to watch. My other dad would always go home during his lunch just so he’d get his favorite panini. He said they were more addictive than crack. I think he still has one every day for lunch.”

  “Wait, your dad and your...dad?” I wiped my mouth with a napkin.

  He nodded, never breaking eye contact. It was obvious he was worried about my reaction, his body rigid as he waited for me to make the next move.

  I was sh
ocked, sure, but it wasn’t because he was raised by two dads. I thought back to freshman year and realized he’d never really brought up his family. It was obvious he very rarely shared this information, and it meant a lot that he was trusting me with a piece of his heart. I smiled, gained my bearings quickly, and went to cut another bite of my omelet. “Well, props to your dad. This is freaking amazing. I’ll take that panini next time, chef.”

  Bash’s shoulders relaxed immediately, a huge grin spreading on his face. I licked my lower lip, wishing I could do the same with the deep dimple on his cheek. “I’ll do that, Callie. Just warning you, though, once you have panini-crack, you’ll never go back.”

  Pretty sure he was one hundred percent right about that.

  Nineteen

  AFTER OUR FIRST REHEARSAL, IT was clear Bash still needed some one-on-one time to really get his confidence going. I’d offered to meet him after dinner this week at MacArthur to work on a couple of the more difficult scenes, and he’d taken me up on it.

  I walked into the Black Box and turned on the lights. Bash would be here in ten minutes, and I was glad I got here early enough to compose myself beforehand. After our little sleepover, I’d made a point to distance myself from him a little bit. It was way too easy to be his friend, and I felt myself getting too comfortable. I couldn’t set myself up to fall again.

  When Bash walked in, we got right to work and went over the first scene. It was obvious he’d been working hard at memorizing the lines, but he was stiff and robotic in his delivery. He groaned in frustration.

  “I just don’t get it. I’ve watched like twenty performances of this on YouTube, and for whatever reason, I can’t emulate the other Aidens.”