Page 15 of R for Rough

Ugh, I wanted him so bad.

“Cocoa and Deadpool,” he murmured pensively. “Cute.”

Cute?

“With all due respect, Sir, Deadpool is badass,” I said frankly. “I’m number four, by the way.”

He chuckled and turned onto my street, where number four was way too close.

My time was up.

The truck grew silent as he slowed to a stop in front of my door, and I had zero desire to leave the car and head up to my empty little loft on the third floor.

“Well…” Crap, I was getting awkward. “Um, thank you for the ride.”

He nodded with a dip of his chin and rested his forearms along the wheel. “No problem. I’ll wait till you’re inside.”

Oh God, he couldn’t say such things. My heart exploded with yearning to the point where I almost wanted to cry. I really didn’t wanna go up there and have another evening on my own. Not when I could so clearly envision him coming with me. Maybe he’d remind me to brush my teeth. Or kiss whipped cream off my upper lip. Or tuck me in…

Fuck. This actually hurt.

I swallowed and mustered a weak smile before I opened the door and jumped out.

“Good night, Sir.”

His quiet response came right when he averted his gaze. “Good night, Tracy.”

Call me little one, please.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to hear that.

CHAPTER 5

Griffin Lawson

Maybe I shouldn’t have driven him home last night.

I caught him looking all the time.

That was a problem. Or rather, the layer of composure that’d been peeled off his every expression—thatwas my problem. Because when Tracy showed what he was feeling, I was confronted with what I’d done to him up until I had left.

I’d hurt him.

A hurt Little or Middle was enough of a kick in the gut. A hurtTracy…?

I assumed it was our tentative ceasefire that’d allowed him to lower his guard, which was another kick someplace sensitive because it showed how my old behavior had put him on edge. In my bitterness, I’d been so fucking careless. I’d turned the workplace of his dreams into a nightmare in which he’d had to walk on eggshells.

I did my best to keep my distance as soon as the restaurant opened its doors, but it wasn’t easy. Before the first dinner rush, I spotted him in the window of the door leading to the kitchen.He instantly grew apprehensive about being caught, but he smiled and waved a little.

When I took a quick smoke break out back, he poked his head out and asked, “Am I stressing you out? You said you only smoke when you’re stressed.”

When he came out to the bar to hand over side dishes and apps, he made awkward attempts at figuring out where we stood.

“I’m so glad we’re friends now. We are friends, right? I mean, at least, I stand a chance at becoming your friend? Fuck, shit, ignore me. This isn’t the time.”

“For table six, medium-rare, sorry about before. I won’t bother you during work. It’s too much, isn’t it? It’s too much. You don’t have to answer.”

“The grilled vegetables on the side for ticket fourteen. Can I get you anything? Water? Soda? Asking as your coworker, not a future work friend.”

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