Best Served Cold

“I look forward to it.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – CHASE

And I did. I looked forward to it.

If Rae was messing with me, she wasn’t hating me. Every second she spoke to me was a second closer to her keeping me in her life. I didn’t give a fuck how I was in it, just that I was.

Every moment we spent together solidified the one thing I knew. She was still attracted to me. Whether or not she wanted to admit it or accept it or take that any further, she was attracted to me.

She tried to hide it, but I saw how she reacted to me. I saw the things she tried to hide.

Every time she blushed, she dipped her head to hide it, but she couldn’t hide the pink flush that colored her neck.

Every time she bit back a shiver, she couldn’t hide the way goosebumps erupted on her skin.

She thought she could.

She thought she was clever. She thought she had control over her body, but she was wrong.

I couldn’t control it either. I couldn’t control the way my heart beat a little faster at the mere mention of her name, never mind actually seeing her. The sound of her voice captivated me in a way I couldn’t explain. Even when she was throwing sass like it was her damn job.

In her eyes, it probably was.

I left the broom propped against the wall and looked around the store. It seemed hollow now that everything was out in the open and Rae knew the truth.

And I didn’t really care. I realized that. Looking around the empty space, I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was good at making ice cream—I didn’t make it. I didn’t have the vision or the passion that Rae did.

Not once had I ever gotten ice cream in my hair because I’d been so in the zone.

I couldn’t remember all the ingredients for a chocolate fudge sundae half the time.

I didn’t want to lose this space, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else I could do with it when Rae reopened. She hated that it was an ice cream store, but there had to be another option.

I liked running my own business. It gave me the freedom to do what I wanted and when.

I just needed to figure something else out.

I used the dustpan to pick up the dirt on the floor and dumped it into the trash. Three knocks sounded at the door, and I looked up to see my sister standing there with Chelsea.

I unlocked the door to let them in. “What are you two doing back here?”

“Need any help?” Marnie asked, hands in her pockets.

I shook my head. “I’m good. Why?”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “She wanted to know how your conversation with Rae went last night. She also wants to know what was in the minivan-sized box.”

“You weren’t supposed to tell him right away.” Marnie snorted and walked to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of Coke.

I raised my eyebrows at her as she popped the caps off the glass bottles. “Are you paying for those?”

She paused. “Sure. I’ll deep-clean the freezer tomorrow.”

“You’re damn right you will.” I perched on the edge of a table and folded my arms. “I don’t know what was in the box. She didn’t open it when I was there.”

“You were gone a long time.”

Chelsea smiled slyly. “Yeah, you were.”

“I’m the boss here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Marnie said. “But I’m your bratty teenage sister, so I’m allowed to annoy you.”

“I can fire you.”

“But you won’t. That would get in the way of you trying to get Rae back.” She smiled smugly. “So? How did your conversation with her last night go?”

I pushed off the table and walked to the counter to clean it. “That’s none of your business.”

Chelsea sighed. “It went bad.”

Marnie nodded. “Yep.”

I gritted my teeth and rinsed a dishcloth in the sink behind the counter. I didn’t need to wipe the countertop down, but I needed to not talk to two teenage girls about my problems.

Why the fuck was I even entertaining it? Jesus. My life was falling to shit if they were my only potential confidantes.

I needed a life.

“We aren’t discussing this,” I said firmly. “It’s none of your business.” I threw the cloth in the sink. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”

“When we’re older? You’re only eight years older than me,” Marnie grumbled, flicking her hair.

“Exactly. Which means I knew how to be an irritating brat when you were still screaming for someone to give you attention,” I shot back. “Come back to me when you’ve had a relationship with someone who doesn’t sell pot out of his mom’s garage.”

She sniffed. “We’re not dating.”

“That’s true,” Chelsea piped up. “They’re not.”

“All right,” I said, shrugging. “So, if you’re not dating the local teen pot dealer, what are you doing at his house on a regular basis?”