Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(4)

“She died.”

I pause with a burger extended to her and tilt my good ear toward her. “She…died?”

Well, fuck.

How am I supposed to pop the question now?

Forge ahead, Marine! my balls bark at me, because they’ve been feeling neglected since I retired. Don’t pussy out now!

“They both did. She and her husband. Apparently fairly tragically. Smells like karma. I didn’t follow her—not after that horrible thing she said about your hammering skills not being able to arouse a gender-confused monkey, which was just rude—but I accidentally saw a review she posted of a baby sling last week where she tore it to shreds because it didn’t make her baby feel like he was sleeping on a pillow of clouds and the fabric was a shade too teal for anyone to not want to puke after looking at it. Who says stuff like that?”

“Unhappy people.”

She puts her phone down and takes the burger and drink. “I guess. She was just so awful to everyone. How long before she would’ve one-starred her own kid for being a kid, you know?”

Take charge and get her warmed up for the question, Marine! my nut sack orders. I clear my throat and unwrap my own burger. “Sunset’s pretty.”

Becca smiles. “Okay. Moving on. Got it. Do you know every time we’ve had burgers here, it’s always been insanely crowded, and there’s always been an open window seat?”

That’s more like it. “Meant to be. Obviously.”

Ooh-rah! You got this now! my balls cheer.

She bites into her burger.

And then she moans.

On a scale of my leg just got blown off to porn star orgasm, this moan ranks at a this burger just made my panties wet.

And I’m intrigued by Becca with wet panties. Let’s be honest here. The thought of regular sex definitely plays into taking the leap back into real relationship waters for the first time in six years.

It’s time. Time for the question.

I set my burger down.

Suck in a heavy breath.

And wait until she meets my eyes over her hamburger.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

She coughs, her brown eyes go wide, and a hunk of cheeseburger flies out of her mouth and lands squarely on one of the extra napkins.

I quickly wrap it up and hand her the next napkin while she thumps her chest and rasps out a wheezy breath.

“Gesundheit,” I say while I reach around to pound her—gently—on the back.

She lunges for her milkshake and sucks the straw, making her cheeks hollow in.

“Water?” I ask when she comes up for air. I’m already halfway out of my seat to grab a cup from the soda fountain.

“Jesus, West, warn a girl before you make a joke,” she finally says.

Aw, hell. My mother’s a comedienne. I know the art of timing. I also know the art of bombing.

Becca freezes. “You…weren’t joking.”

And I thought it was hot working on that gym renovation without air conditioning this afternoon. I clear my throat. “About getting you a water? I never joke about water.”

“About…the, erm, dating thing.” She tries to smile again, but she looks more like she sucked down a raw oyster that’s decided it wants to live and is clawing its way back up her throat while she pretends she’s not going to puke.

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to brush it off.

Tell her I’m kidding. Laugh. Move on. That I’m following in my mother’s footsteps.

Hell, the saving face thing to do is to laugh it off.

So I nod. Force a laugh. “Yeah. You got me. Sorry. Bad timing.”

Her high cheekbones are going scarlet. She lifts the Beach Burger milkshake cup to her face like she can cool them off, and I know she doesn’t believe me. “West, I—I don’t know what to say.”

Flex your muscles! Do a headstand! Save an old lady from choking! my balls bark at me. Send her a dick pic! Show her what she’s missing.

Clearly, my balls aren’t always that bright.

“That’s not a yes.” I swallow hard, because fuck, this hurts worse than that time O’Leary dropped a dumbbell on my foot right before a twenty-mile rucksack run.

This wasn’t supposed to hurt. It’s supposed to be logical.

We make good friends. I fix leaks under her sink. She cooks me dinner. We’ve both been burned by love before. Who wants that when you can just go for comfort and companionship?

She’s shaking her head. “I just—I don’t—god, this is so hard.”

“You don’t see me like that,” I fill in for her. “It’s okay. Bad joke.”

“I—you—yes.” She slumps back in her chair. “You’re like—”

“A brother.”

Her mouth flounders open for a second before she seals her lips shut.

She was going to say it.

She was going to say I’m like a brother to her.

Of fucking course she was. That’s what I’ve been going for, isn’t it?

“You’re…very comfortable. And nice. And—very funny with jokes,” she finishes lamely.

She looks like she wants a portal to hell to open up and swallow her, because that would be less awkward than sitting here and telling me that I’m comfortable.