Page 11
Chapter 11
Pretty Sure Gabe Finch Likes Me Now
Wade
It’s Saturday night, and my only company is a dog.
I pout.
“I don’t know why she doesn’t like me, Dougie.”
He whines in response.
“I’m very likable.”
This golden retriever has the nerve to sass me by moving those puppy dog eyes upward from where his head rests on my lap.
“What? I coulda sworn she wanted me to kiss her.” I stare at the ceiling and slide his velvety ear through my hand. It’s so floppy, the dark golden fur so shiny. “I’m so good at kissing her.”
It might be the best thing I’ve ever done.
Doug licks the air.
“You’re sweet, but no. I won’t be kissing you. Best save the slobber for your parents.”
Skylar and Jaeg had dropped the poor pup off this morning, desperate for some alone time. I wish I didn’t know what their alone time entails, but Sky is an oversharer.
Apparently, Doug likes to watch them make out and they think it’ll be traumatic if he sees anything else. Hell, I’m traumatized just thinking about it.
“Good boys don’t need to be seeing all that, do they?”
He agrees with a woof.
“I know. I like being called a good boy, too.”
Though I haven’t been a very good boy lately, I’ve all but wrecked the penthouse with the sole purpose of leaving Gabe no choice but to stay with me.
The night I slept in my bed after she did was the best sleep I had in months. Every trace of her presence on the sheets was washed away in the laundry too soon. But I was a determined man.
What else was I supposed to do? We agreed to sleepovers after public appearances, and she went and chose the bedrooms on the other side of the place. I wasn’t gonna sit back and let that happen.
Gabe Finch might be a thorn in my side, but she’s my thorn. And fuck, I don’t wanna die before I get to kiss her again.
So, I did what I had to.
I shortened a leg of the wooden bedframe by five centimeters. Who cares about the one-of-a-kind Danish design? I’ll get another made. In return, I got a pillow to the face at 1 am. Worth it. The way she paused before leaving my bedroom? I could see it. She thought about joining me.
I took a plier to the wiring of the heated mattress pad in the next room she chose, fraying the ends that went into the temperature control dial until it puffed a small cloud of smoke.
The section of foam and spring I cut out from the middle of the mattress lined up with where I split the slats beneath it— Hulk style— in Bedroom #3. The wearable Hulk fists don’t make a sound anymore, but who cares? Gabe had to be rescued, and I loved every second of scooping her out of that trap.
The pipe leaking in the washroom into the next bedroom over was a happy mistake. I meant to simply remove the shower head so that water sprayed everywhere when she turned it on, but instead, I messed up a pipe so badly that it ruined the room. Oh no, I’ll have to get the flooring redone. No matter. We forge ahead!
I couldn’t have planned the situation with Top Beer Cheese if I’d come up with it myself. In the past, we’ve played against one another in friendly charity games, so when their GM mentioned the state of their equipment to Jules, I leaped at the chance. In return, I asked for their old gear, which I conveniently consolidated in Gabe’s newest selection. Once I turned the heat in there up to thirty-two degrees and let the stench soak into the space, she wasn’t able to handle it.
And last but not least, I skipped an arm day to saw each of the last bedroom’s legs— not all the way —enough that the slightest movement would have it collapsing on top of itself.
The evilly genius plan is working so far, but I have yet to scheme up what accidental atrocity plagues the seventh bedroom.
I look at Doug.
Doug looks back.
My brows raise in suggestion.
“Y’know, every once in a while, dogs get curious and eat things they’re not supposed to.”
Doug snorts.
“And sometimes, if they eat something like, I don’t know, chocolate ” —the dog snaps his open mouth shut and drops his usually goofy smile— “it makes them sick. Sick enough to…leave a mess behind.”
He places a paw across his snout as if to hide his eyes.
“A very stinky diarrhea mess.”
He huffs at me, straightening his front paws at the ding of my phone notifications.
Freckles
Why did my PA send me a schedule for next weekend with time blocked off for a birthday party?
Me
Because there’s a birthday party
Freckles
I told you to cancel it!
Me
No can do
Me
It’s your birthday! We HAVE to celebrate!!
Freckles
We absolutely do not.
Me
Mostly because we already told everyone weeks ago that I planned to
Freckles
How is that my fault? You didn’t even ask me if I had plans.
Me
Do you have plans??
Freckles
No.
Freckles
But I could have!
Me
Now you do
Freckles
…
Freckles
Fine. Whatever.
Me
I like it when you’re nice
Freckles
Guess I’m gonna have to be meaner.
Me
I’ve told you this before but
I snicker to myself while searching for and selecting the meme GIF of Skeletor pointing and moving his jaw captioned with, “joke’s on you I’m into that shit.”
Just when I think I’ve rendered her speechless, she returns a GIF of an Elmo muppet with his arms raised, flames flickering in the background. The text reads, “I’M IN HELL.” I choke on my spit and hack out a horrendous, cartoonish laugh akin to Goofy.
Thank God no one was around to witness that.
Doug’s judgment comes down with a heavy side-eye, his worried expression making me chortle again.
“Judge me all you want, buddy. But I’m pretty sure Gabe Finch likes me now.”
I take it back.
And kinda regret giving her access to the penthouse.
No, no, that’s too far, but by the way, my kitchen has been turned into some sort of wholesale bakery at 4 a.m. two days before Gabe’s birthday party; she absolutely must hate me.
A KitchenAid whirs loudly on the back counter. Hair tied into a ratty top knot, haphazard swipes of flour marking her face and arms like war paint and donning a black apron that reads, “Don’t Test Me, I’ll Poison You,” Gabe moves through clouds of flour and icing sugar, which have appeared on every surface.
She frantically mixes the contents of one bowl, then turns to stir a pot on the stove before catching a few lemons escaping from the chaos by rolling off the marble. Raspberry-colored goo hisses and pops, splattering on the backsplash. She wipes her hands on the towel tucked into her apron string and lowers the heat before moving on.
It smells as delicious as she looks, but all the racket this early in the morning is enough to send anyone running away screaming. Good thing I’m not anyone.
Gabe doesn’t notice me nearing.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
She jolts and nearly drops the bowl of batter and whisk. When she regains composure and balance, she rubs the back of her hand against her forehead and sighs. “Eating ass. What does it look like I’m doing?”
My heart stops. “You do that?”
“I’m. Baking,” she grits through her teeth.
Okay, maybe now’s not the right time to ask, but we’ll be discussing this ass-eating situation later. Would I eat her ass? Absolutely. Would I let her eat my ass? Not sure if it’s a yes, but it’s not a no.
Oh, God. This morning wood has taken over my brain. She won’t even let you kiss her. Forget about anything else.
“ Why are you baking?” Sphincter clenched, I make it to the island and attempt to lean on it, but there’s not an inch of space. Dozens of already poured lemony cupcakes in trays sprawl the counter. “And here? It’s four in the fucking morning.” The heels of my hands dig into my eye sockets before dragging down my face.
“Your kitchen is bigger, and I thought you would’ve already left for the gym.” Her hand uses a scoop to drop batter into empty cupcake liners. “I bake when I’m stressed, and you throwing this stupid birthday party has me stressed .”
“Jesus. Who’s gonna eat all these?”
She returns a sarcastic laugh and keeps scooping. “That’s a problem for future-Gabe. Present-Gabe needs to finish this last batch before moving onto the icing.”
“If they’re any good, we could use them for the party. I’ll talk to Mathieu?—”
“What do you mean, if ?” Gabe’s face returns to her signature glare and scowl. “I’ve been baking since I was thirteen years?—”
The red goo bursts again. We both yelp.
“It shows.”
She rolls her eyes, and my hard-on is not going away. I wanna push every button this woman has.
“How dare you? They’re delicious. And having them at the party is the first good idea you’ve ever had.”
Seriously, why do I like it when she insults me?
When she backpedals to turn off the stove, I hustle over to trap her between me and the edge of the counter, socks slipping in the white powder speckling the floor. My arms post themselves on either side of her hips. She shrinks away like the distance between us. I drop my head slightly to meet her at eye level.
The proximity sends my heart racing faster than it did at her sass, the flowery smell of her skin mixed with the sweet lemon in the air.
“Oh, Freckles. I have a lot of good ideas.”
Her breath hitches as her gaze flicks down to where my clothed cock remains upright. A muscle in her jaw tightens.
“Get that thing away from me, Pretty Boy.”
“I love that you think I’m pretty.”
She scoffs. I stop the noisy exhale by pressing the tip of my nose to hers and speak into her parted mouth, keeping my hips angled away.
“And by the way, I don’t plan on giving it to you until you’re begging for it.”
Her chest heaves as I draw space between us once more, reaching into the next drawer over to retrieve my car keys.
“You’re lucky I have to go work out.” I flick her apron with my index finger before sauntering to the door to put on some sneakers. “Or else I’d have to pin you down and make you call me pretty again.”
Gabe clears her throat and calls after me. “Those lines don’t work on me!”
“You’re a terrible liar.” My keys jingle in hand as I wave her off. “And don’t forget to wear something nice on Friday. It’s a party, after all.”
“Can’t look too nice, or your little problem will never go away.”
I stop in the foyer and adjust my boxer briefs. “ Little problem? Is this you begging for a reminder?”
Freckles groans. “ No .”
I give it a rest. The door creaks under the weight of my shoulder. “Will you be here when I get back?”
She shakes her head. “I’m working.”
A hint of solemnity replaces the usual fiery spark in Gabe’s eyes. I rub the dip of my sternum, where a heartburn-like sensation grows. I really need to figure out how to make this woman smile. Annoyance will do for now. Anything except sadness.
“See you Friday, Freckles.”
I don’t wait for a snarky response, but as her profile disappears from view, her eyelashes flutter over her exasperated face.
Relief sighs out, and a satisfied smirk paints my face for the rest of the day.