You're to Blame(30)

“He loves you,” I whisper against my better judgement. He may love her, but I want to be the one to fix her problems. Someone needs to explain my feelings to me.

Charlotte dabs the delicate corner of her eye. “Yeah, well, he told me all the time.”

“But words don’t mean shit unless there’s action behind them.” I finish the thought. I don’t know much about love and relationships, but one thing I’m certain of is if you have a girl like the one standing in front of me, you don’t do shit to make her cry.

“Exactly, but enough of that.” She waves her hands and shakes her head, telling me she’s hit her limit.

“You know what will help this hangover of yours?” I slide off the edge of the bed and stand.

“A tranquilizer?” This girl is funny.

“A giant, greasy breakfast.” My finger brushes against the small sliver of skin exposed when her tank top rides up just enough to show that perfect patch of skin I’d give anything to kiss. The intimate touch draws her eyes to my hand. “Now, get dressed. It’ll be my treat.”

I leave the room and lean my head against the closed door, hidden while I collect myself. Dammit. My fist softly pounds the drywall.

Rachel sits with her legs crossed over each other and a large blanket covering every inch up to her neck. She glances at me, abandoning some housewives reality show.

“So, you like my girl, don’t you?” The grimace on her face as she chugs the Pedialyte makes me laugh.

“You ready to go?” Charlotte drags into the room and kisses Rachel on the crown of her head. “You want to go grab breakfast with us?”

“No, you two go on without me.” She winks at me then lifts her head to address Charlotte. “Next time, let’s cool it on the tequila.”

“Deal.” The two of them high five.

I place my hand low on Charlotte’s back to escort her to my truck.

“I know just the place we can go,” Charlotte announces once we are inside the cab.

Her directions take me to a rundown diner. The booths are worn with age, and the brittle faux leather cushions are cracked and torn. The place gives hole in the wall a brand-new meaning. The service, though, is quick and friendly.

Within seconds of sitting, we place our order and enjoy fresh, hot cups of coffee while we wait.

“We’re friends, right?” Charlotte smooths the initials carved into the corner of the table.

“Sure.” Fuck, where is this going?

“Can I ask you something, then?” She grabs a straw and stirs her coffee. “Who’s the blonde girl? The one from the hospital. I saw her last night at the bar.”

Well, shit.

“Stacey.” Let the questions end here. I don’t want to lie to her.

“Who is she to you?” Is it jealousy I hear?

“She’s no one to me. She’s something to someone else.” I look away at the crowd entering the small diner, hoping Charlotte will stop the inquisition.

“Here you two go.”

I’ll be dropping a hefty tip on our waitress who just saved me from this conversation.

Charlotte’s eyes widen at the buffet of food she ordered. The way her fork twirls over each of the plates trying to decide which bite to take first is adorable. The girl likes to eat.

With the first taste of the pancakes, she moans, licking the raspberry syrup from her bottom lip. What kind of fucking hell is this I’m living? I’m going to be rubbing one out tonight to the sound of her eating those damn pancakes.

She looks up from her newly empty plate and eyes what I have left.

“I’ll give you some of my sausage, Charlotte.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip. “If you want some.”

Charlotte stands slowly, her petite body leaning over me. Even hung over, her beauty is overwhelming.

“Maybe some other time.” She plucks at her shirt, fanning herself with the cool air.

“I’m a little offended you didn’t want even a nibble of my sausage.” I poke her in the ribs as we walk out of the diner.

“I like being around you,” she blurts out. She’s refreshing, and somehow manages to keep me alert. Just when I think that’s it, she gives me just a little bit more. She’s an addiction I’m more than happy to have.

“Likewise.” I help her in the truck and jog around to my side. Charlotte gawks at me. “What?”

“Do you usually open car doors for people?” Why is this girl looking at me like I hung the damn moon?

“People, no. Women, yes,” I answer with a chuckle. “I think Randy would be pretty pissed if I tried to open the door for him.”

“It’s nice. My dad always does it for my mom.” Something magical glistens in her eyes at the memories.

I imagine Charlotte as a little girl, watching on as her father held the door open for her mother. She admired the way her mom leaned in for a quick but sweet kiss and in that moment, Charlotte sent up a prayer that one day a man would do the same for her.

“Jacob must have done it for you.” I’m such a masochist.

“Maybe every once in a while.” She grits her teeth tight enough, I think they’ll crack under the pressure.

“You’re lying,” I say, turning the keys. I pop the truck into gear and pull out into traffic.