Page 33 of Cocky Choices: Zoe Cocker

“I’ll call you,” I repeat, giving her my best smile.

Tom watches me and nods goodbye.

I don’t reciprocate.

Huh. Suddenly I feel a renewed sense of purpose and excitement for the future. I can’t wait to build a life with my trustfund, Zoe, and then a job I actually give a shit about… but more importantly, a lifehe’snot in.

FIFTEEN

Zoe

Istand behind the counter of my little Florist Shop, watching Caleb give me one final wave before he disappears into Little Five Points, a neighborhood that doesn’t see a lot of suits like his. Two girls in their twenties turn to watch him walk by, and grin to each other, lifted eyebrows and all. I don’t blame them for looking. He is very handsome. I have a new fiancé who’s got a lot of grand ideasandnew orders to fill, all for the Bentworths. That’s a lot of new…one far more overwhelming than the other.

Tom asks, “You need any help?” leaning against the counter with that lopsided grin that makes my heart skip.

“With?”

“Putting the orders together.”

I blink at him. “You want to help me?”

“Sure, why not?” He pretends to roll up his sleeves — he’s wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt — comically ready to tackle the task.

“The orders aren’t that difficult, but if you’d like to help, that would be fun!”

Tom follows me into the refrigerated room and I load up his arms with all the color I need. A rose falls and I bend to pick itup, glancing up to find his eyes locked on me. “Put it right on top,” he says, voice intimate.

I lay it gently on the others and yank my hand back, “Ouch! A thorn got my middle finger!”

“Lemme see,” Tom says, and I hold it up for him, a drop of blood appearing on its tip. “Have a First Aid kit?”

“I do!” He follows me to the sink and I direct him, “Lay those down so we can trim them.”

“You got it, Boss.”

I throw him a smile over my shoulder before opening the cupboard of cleaning supplies, a fire extinguisher and my First Aid kit.

Tom takes it from me, “Can’t be bleeding all over the customer’s flowers, now can we?” he winks, opening the plastic box showcasing various medical supplies like gauze, a thermometer, tape, ointments. Poking through the bandaids, he holds one up specifically made for finger cuts. “Here we go. Give me your hand.”

I lift it up, looking at the small wound. “Is the thorn still there? It hurts.”

Tom brings my middle finger up for closer inspection. “Yes, there’s a little piece right…here!” He snatches it out and I yelp. “See, if you do it quickly, it hurts less. You okay?”

“Splinters are the worst,” I mutter. “So much better when they’re gone.”

He brings my finger to his lips and sucks it, shocking me speechless. “Saliva heals it and stops the bleeding.”

“Oh,” I whisper, watching him in awe. “I could’ve done that.”

His cheeks redden. “I acted fast.”

I shrug wistfully. “It’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

His lopsided grin peeks out as he tears open the bandaid’s wrapper, peels off its plastic protector and oh-so-gently wrapsmy wounded finger. “There you go, Boss.” Our eyes lock. “All patched up.”

I burst, “We have to get the orders done! They need them tonight.”

“Them?”

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