Page 7 of Claiming Becca

“Anytime, Shortcake.” He calls me that nickname again.

“What is with the name?” I ask him as he guides me out of the shop. I wave goodbye to Laura. She winks at me and mouths, I told you so. I narrow my eyes at her, ignoring the stupid flutter of my heart.

“You have pink hair now, and you’re short.” He beams at me like he came up with something clever. “You know, like Strawberry Shortcake,” he clarifies.

I chuckle. “Well, technically, Strawberry Shortcake has red hair like strawberries. Her outfit is pink, though,” I explain to him.

His mouth pops open. “What?!” he asks in shock, and I chuckle.

“She had a friend, Raspberry Tarte, with pink hair,” I explain to him, and his face scrunches up in distaste.

“I’m not calling you Tarte.” I laugh at him and shake my head.

“You could call me Bec like everyone else,” I remind him. He shakes his head and wraps his arm around my shoulders again as we walk down the street.

“Nope. I’ll always call you Becca, and now, Shortcake,” he says. I can’t stop the grin that takes over my face. We stop at his truck and turn to wait for Bass and Angela to catch up, but they’ve stopped down the street. They’re in a heated discussion or argument. Connor and I exchange looks.

“I don’t understand what he sees in her,” I tell Connor.

He snorts. “You and me both. She is…” He trails off.

“A bitch,” I finish for him.

He chuckles. “Yeah, that,” he replies.

I shake my head and lean against Connor’s truck while we wait. “He’s trying so hard to make something of his gym, and I swear she works against him every chance she gets. He asked her to fill the position he gave me first, and she said no. Then, when he asks me, she throws a fit. I don’t understand.”

He shrugs as he leans back beside me. “I hate to break it to ya, but she’s always been like that,” Connor says. Sighing, I shake my head. Hopefully, he’ll open his eyes one day.

Connor turns toward me, leaning his shoulder against the truck. “Do you know what you’re supposed to do if a dog attacks you?” he asks.

I squint at him, trying to keep up with the subject change. “No,” I reply, drawing the word out.

He grins. “You stick your finger in the dog’s butt.”

A snort leaves me. “What? Why?” He runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it behind my ear. I ignore the shiver that tries to skate up my spine.

He leans in like he’s telling me an important secret. “Because it will shock the dog so much he’ll stop attacking you.” I throw my head back, laughing.

Stepping closer to him, I arch an eyebrow. “Or the dog will continue to attack you, and when people come across the two of you, they’ll know why he attacked you.” He arches an eyebrow in question. “Because you stuck your finger in the dog’s butt,” I exclaim.

He throws his head back and laughs, then wraps his arm around my shoulders again, pulling me close. I swallow, ignoring the flutters that erupt in my stomach. Glancing down the sidewalk again to see if Bass and Angela are done with their discussion, I see the black Mercedes Benz I haven’t seen in almost a year. My heart jumps into my throat, and I fall to my knees on the sidewalk. Grabbing Connor’s hand, I try to pull him down with me. Instead, he looks down at me in amusement.

“What are you doing?” Connor asks. Before I can say anything, gunshots ring out. Connor yells at Bass to get down, and then he’s on top of me, shielding me.

I cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s been a year since I’ve felt like this. Connor’s arms squeeze me, so I focus on that instead of the screams, gunfire, and fear coursing through my body. After what feels like an eternity, the gunshots stop, and Connor jumps off me. He grabs my face and puts his forehead on mine. I clutch his forearms and suck in a breath.

“Are you alright?” My ears are ringing, but I understand him well enough. I nod, trying to ignore the trembling in my legs. He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be right back.” Before I can respond, he takes off toward where the car drives away.

“Connor, no!” I cry out after him, but he doesn’t listen. Turning, I make sure Bass and Angela are okay. He’s helping her up, and she’s crying hysterically. Bass practically drags her to the truck.

“Stay here. I’m going to follow Connor,” he tells us. She begs him not to go. “I have to, Angela. He’s my best friend.”

“I’m your fiancée!” she cries out.

I glare at her. “Shut it, princess! Can you think of someone else besides yourself for two seconds?” She stares at me in shock, but Bass doesn’t hear because he’s already off.

“I just got shot at,” she mumbles.

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