Page 21 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

TRIPP

“Hydroponics is too refined.”

I lift my eyes from the phone in my hand to check Mesa’s reaction. She’s at the kitchen table with her laptop next to a mug of tea she hasn’t touched in a while. I don’t think she likes the suggestion from the exec on the other end of this virtual meeting.

I knew this was on her schedule, and I should have shown up later on tonight. But anticipation got the best of me and I came over early. We have a few things to discuss, she and I.

She sits tall and confident. The papers in her hand ruffle as she places them neatly to her left.

“Respectfully, if a ten-year-old can learn to grow basil in a coffee can, they’re more than capable of tackling hydroponic tomatoes,” she defends.

“Maybe. But it’s still too research-heavy. Can you just stick to our container gardening idea?”

“Containers are a decent alternative since most of the kids on the app don’t have backyards,” she points out.

“But as the original creators, we’re hoping to raise the standards of science this time around.

You called it an update , did you not? If we move forward creating opportunities for learning that are too surface-level and similar to the first version of lessons, we’re under-serving the more advanced portion of our users. ”

I stare with a practically unhinged jaw. It’s no secret that Mesa has always been able to outsmart anyone while being hot as hell doing it. She’s never been as hot as she is right now, though. I catch myself before biting my lip like an idiot. Although, it’s a better alternative than drooling.

“That may be true, and I see your point. But you’ve bundled a lot into one checkpoint proposal, Ms. Riley,” the exec counters.

“You’re asking me to approve more than a lesson plan on growing plants with nothing but water and fertilizer.

Are you forgetting the additional AR components? Won’t that slow down the interface?”

Mesa slowly shakes her head. “Not if we build it to preload regionally based on zip code. School enrollment data should be on your radar, too. With district approval, of course. Classrooms have different resources than these kids do at home. Planting season and weather patterns are a huge factor as well. The information we’re giving them simply won’t work without their location. ”

A minute passes while several men discuss what she said in a hushed tone. I try to follow the debate, but my brains are no match for hers.

“I’d be happy to invite the developer to another meeting if you need help understanding,” Mesa adds with a smile.

She makes it look sweet, but I know better. Those are shark’s teeth, and I fucking love it. Good luck with that, boys.

I chuckle and let out an impressed huff. Her eyes flick to mine. They widen slightly as if she can chew my ass without a word for not staying silent like we discussed. I hold up my hands in retreat.

“No need,” one of the men cuts back in. “You’ve given us plenty of information, and we see the upside. Thank you for your time. We’ll get the approval sent over on Monday.”

“Excellent. Have a wonderful night, gentlemen.”

A ringtone-like beep signals the end of the meeting, and Mesa lets out a long breath of relief. I have to laugh out loud when she fully lets her guard down and pulls her hair from its sophisticated bun. It cascades over her shoulders, and I clench my fist.

I’ve always respected fierce women. But I like that Mesa is ruthless in a way that isn’t unsettling. The problem is that I’d like to see more of it in other ways. While I pin her hands behind her back, for example.

I shift in my spot on her couch as the confidence I had when I first arrived starts to lower.

After hanging her blazer over the nearest chair, she ruffles her long, thick hair. That leaves her in nothing but a black tank top, and I smirk. Tea in hand, she walks to the living room. I prop my feet on the coffee table when she plops down next to me.

“Try this,” she says, holding her tea toward me. “It’s lavender honey and totally homemade.”

I bring the warm mug to my mouth, smelling it first. So far, so good, but when the liquid falls over my tongue, I raise my brows.

“You made this?”

“Yes! Good, right?”

“Mouth-watering,” I answer.

It tastes like a dryer sheet. Either my palate is far from sophisticated, or I’m not a tea person. Either way, I won’t say that out loud. Not right now, at least. Not before I need her to know I’m not in the mood for teasing or exchanging jabs like usual.

I hand back the drink and give her a closed-lip smile. With the tank top she’s wearing, my eyes land on the smooth skin around her exposed collarbone. Drifting up, I scan the contours of her face.

“You look really pretty,” I admit out loud.

“I do? I don’t know about that.” She waves off my comment like I wasn’t being serious. “But thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself, except for your face. Yikes.”

Our familiar jests put me at ease until I remember I shouldn’t keep things light if I want her to think the rest of what I have to say to her tonight isn’t a joke.

“God, I’m freaking drained,” she all but whines. “If my brain leaks out of my ears tonight, just mop it up for me.”

I laugh, despite hating how tense she is. Yet again.

Now would be a good time , my subconscious tells me.

“You’re running on fumes.”

“Pretty much,” she agrees with a sigh. “Next weekend, I’m not working overtime or taking late meetings again like this. I swear I’m going to live in a fantasy world the entire time where jobs and consequences don’t exist.”

“Promise?”

She lifts her eyes to mine with a questioning look. “Yes. Why?”

“Because I’m about to hit you with something that I know you’re going to think is ridiculous, but I need you to just hear me out.”

“This is about me sleeping over again last night, isn’t it?” Her hands fly up in front of her like she’s surrendering. “I’m probably overstepping.”

My only issue with her sleeping over is that I want to hug her all night. Normalize friends who cuddle. I shake my head slowly, and her eyes light up with another guess.

“Is this about the desk thing? I already told you I don’t need you to get me one for when I hang out at your place and have work to check on. I’m not missing anything important while I’m there. The couch or kitchen table is literally fine if I need to open my computer for some reason.”

I love it when she anxiously babbles.

“No desks,” I say. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

She laughs nervously, and I stay as steady as I can, holding her stare.

“You’re freaking me out. Is this leading somewhere weird? Because your voice just dropped like three octaves, and you’re looking at me like you’re starved and considering biting a chunk out of my thigh.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Close.”

“What?” She bursts into laughter again and swats at my arm. “What the hell are you getting at?”

“I’m not going to set you up with some other guy and then tell you how to screw his brains out without getting attached,” I blurt out.

Her cheeks instantly flush. “Oh.”

I should feel bad for putting that look of disappointment on her face, but deep down, I’m not sorry. Keeping other guys away might be a self-serving agenda on my part. But if anyone else is going to have her, I damn sure won’t be helping it happen or speeding along the process.

“Why not?” she whispers, eyes darting.

I scoot closer, and she doesn’t back away. If anything, her energy pulls me in.

Energy never lies.

After brainstorming this conversation last night, I worried about my nerves when I finally got the chance to bring it up to her. My hands might shake, my brow might sweat, and I’d blink twice as often. I might look at her pretty face for too long and get caught off guard.

But I don’t feel any of that. Instead, I’m valiant. The blood rushing through my veins is chock-full of pent-up adrenaline and pure want rather than fear. I’m taking it as a good sign.

“Do you trust me?” I ask, despite not answering her last question.

“Yes.”

My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. That answer should be enough. Her trust has always meant more to me than anything else. It almost makes me reconsider tonight’s plan and walk away.

Something in my eyes must clue her in to my thoughts because her lips part, and she can’t decide whether she wants to look at my mouth or my hand braced on the couch that’s dangerously close to hers.

Her tongue flicks out, slow and thoughtless, dragging over her bottom lip and pulling it between her teeth.

Jesus .

Every rational part of me burns to ash. My voice is low when I give her an instruction.

“Close your eyes.”

She obeys without argument or hesitation. It nearly undoes me. My fingers dig into my palms, trying to stay grounded in my own damn skin.

“Now, don’t overthink,” I say, scooting even closer. There are just a few inches between the outsides of our thighs now. “Just answer honestly, okay?”

She nods twice and then, just like I practiced this morning in the mirror, I start in on the necessary questions to set this up right.

“Some random guy at the bar would never know what you need or what you like. Not like I do. Right?”

Her eyes suddenly flick open, but I frown and she closes them again just as quickly. She nods, but I need her words.

“Say it.”

“That’s right,” she whispers.

I should never be allowed to set the pace in a serious conversation. Not a second goes by after her answer before I jump right into the next one.

“Good,” I say, quieter now. “And even though you asked me to help you set it up, you didn’t really think I was going to go through with it and willingly give a stranger a chance to hurt you, did you?”

She hesitates, then slowly draws out her one-word response. “No.”

“I’m not fucking doing that,” I reiterate, just to make sure it sticks in her head. “I care about you enough to protect you. Do you believe that?”

She nods while forcing her eyes to close tighter and pressing her lips together. There’s not a chance in hell I’m stopping now. Her shallow breaths come quickly as I blurt out my next question.

“No one knows you like I do?”

That one slips out off the cuff. Was it necessary? Probably not. But I couldn’t help myself. I want it to be true. If she says no, I’m not confident I’d survive hearing it.

Her lips curl into a soft smile before answering this time. “Yes.”

I’m very chill about this. So chill as I bounce my knee, my fingers twitch, and my chest feels like it's exploding.

“So, you agree I’d take care of you, then?” My voice is rougher now, like my dwindling stash of resolve is officially gone. The next part of my question comes out like silk wrapped around a threat. “And that if anyone is going to fuck you right. . .”

I lean down just enough to let my breath fall over her lips.

“. . . it’s me .”

Her eyes snap open, and gone is their sweet green hue. Her pupils are blown so wide it almost knocks me off my axis.

For a second, neither of us breathes.

Then I add, barely above a whisper, “It’s me. Say it.”

Her perfect mouth parts like she’s caught between gasping and speaking but is too stunned to choose.

I move even closer. Close enough to feel her breath stutter against my throat. I place one hand on the back of the couch by her head and the other behind her on the arm rest, caging her in—but not touching. Not yet.

“You’re going to have to help me understand the logistics on this,” she says, voice nearly cracking.

“Simple. You practice indifference while I play with your body until?—"

“That’s not what I meant,” she rushes out, fumbling over her words now. “I mean, isn’t there a simpler solution? Letting you . . . do whatever it is that you do and then acting like you haven’t seen me naked the next day would be awkward. We’d be weird around each other.”

“I won’t make it awkward. I’m not risking friendship for sex. Just making it better.”

Her tongue darts out, and her breathing picks up again. I don’t think she hates the idea. The subtle way she squeezes her thighs together and the heat coursing through her eyes is impossible to miss.

When I tilt my head so that our foreheads are almost touching, her hands flex in her lap like she’s itching to use them but doesn’t know where to start.

Good. She feels the same pull that I do. The inevitability.

“Someone will give you what you need. Shouldn’t it be a guy you’re safe with? Someone who knows you best? It’s me,” I say, voice thick now. “And just because I’ll have plowed you while you’re face down in a pillow doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.”

Maybe I shouldn’t leave out the part where I’ve been slowly dying for months in the worst dry spell of my life and she’s the only person I have any interest in fooling around with, but that detail doesn’t seem totally necessary to disclose right now.

“Say it’s me.” I pause, letting her think.

Her eyes haven’t left mine once. The pulse in her neck is pounding so hard I want to taste it just to see if it thunders the same on my tongue. I’m not the most patient man in the world, but I dig deep for some fortitude while waiting.

Then—finally—words float out of her mouth. Breathy but sure.

“It’s you.”

I back away instantly because the pounding in my chest turns so rampant, I think I might pass out. My hands run slowly through my hair, and I let out a heavy breath before meeting her eyes again.

No amount of practiced composure could have helped me when she lifts the bottom of her tank top and pulls it over her head. My hands go to the top of my head, and I inhale sharply.

Oh, shit. Now? I only practiced what to say. As far as what I’d do to her if she said yes, well, I didn’t get that far in the planning process.

A hot spark—small, but strong—lights in my chest. The same one I’ve been grasping to find again for so long. Fuck having a plan. It would have gone out the window the second I saw her like this anyway.

I take her in from the slight curve at her waist to the black bra keeping me from seeing all of her. And just like that, my old instincts take over.

I roll my tongue over the top row of my teeth and lower my arms. My eyes glaze over and narrow slightly. I smirk as she leans toward me, but I hook my finger through the center of her bra to stop her.

“Not yet.”