Picked(24)

“But life runs a little smoother when you have a plan, don’t you think?” he asked, sipping his wine. Oh god, he was gorgeous.

Focus, Cass. You can’t fall for a wife hoarder, I reminded myself.

“My life runs smooth enough, I suppose.”

“You trying to convince me or you?” he asked over the rim of his glass. “Excuse me.” Becker smiled, dropped his cloth napkin and retrieved his cell phone from his shirt pocket.

I looked out over the starry night, feeling content. I liked being around Becker. He made me feel good about myself and he made me laugh—a lot. When I turned to look at him, he was staring right at me. I smiled and waited for him to finish his conversation.

“Okay, what are you? I mean. Do you drive for Becker or just cook for him?” I asked Mason, now serving our salads. OMG! They looked amazing. The food alone was enough for someone to want to marry Becker. Hell, I’d marry him for that.

“I’m sort of Becker’s Jack of all trades. I didn’t prepare any of this,” Mason admitted. “And I am also Becker’s brother. We created Picked together.”

“You did? Hey, why can’t you drive yourself around? Why are you making your brother do it?” I asked with a frown. They both laughed, but it wasn’t the same kind of laugh as when Matt did it. Theirs were genuine.

“I was trying to impress you.” Becker smiled and Mason left. I think he sensed a moment.

“You were?” I softly asked. Shit. What the hell was I doing? I was supposed to be studying his living arrangements, not feeling… feeling, whatever the hell this was.

“Yup, did it work?”

I tilted my head and smiled. I couldn’t answer the question. He was flirting and I was afraid to flirt back. I wasn’t afraid of the flirting, I was afraid of the embarrassment that permeated my cheeks when I tried it. I sucked at flirting. Once, I was with Justine at some little dive bar and tried to flirt. I told the guy he looked just like Brad Pitt but not as cute. Thank god Justine was there to step in. My mouth didn’t shut up while I tried to catch up, rambling on and on about how I meant you’re cute, just not that cute. I sucked at flirting.

I had the best night of my life with Becker. He was so pragmatically down to earth. I could get tangled in Becker’s web so easily. I wasn’t expecting that. I was expecting him to be more stuffy, conceited, and arrogant. He wasn’t at all.

We didn’t just eat a fancy, five-star meal sitting amongst the stars. We laughed, teased, talked, flirted—yes, I said flirted. That seemed come more natural with Becker, too. I was a little sad when I thought it was coming to an end. Becker stood, and waited for me to stand with him. He took my hand and I breathed a long breath. I didn’t want to go home yet.

“Let’s go play putt-putt golf,” I blurted.

“Where?” Becker asked.

“There’s a place over on Rockport Cove. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah, but they’re closed.”

“So. I know the owner. My friend Justine, her dad owns it. I’ll send her a text and tell her we’re going there.”

“Okay,” Becker agreed. “I was going to suggest dessert and coffee at Wafers.”

“Playing putt-putt in the dark is more fun.”

I almost wished I would have been patient and kept my mouth shut. Sitting and quietly staring into his pool blue eyes sounded like a lot more fun than being silly. Justine and I used to always find stuff to do. Silly stuff. Things we could do on that side of town. It wasn’t until my grandmother passed and Justine turned twenty-one that we started venturing into the hustle and bustle of the city’s nightlife.

I was still only twenty, but Justine insisted I go, too. I hated it. I still do. The music is too loud, I don’t like to be grinded on by total strangers, and I ended up going home alone—except once. I left with a guy named Brady. Brady stole my virtue that night, and I fell madly in love. That was until our third date, or hookup I should say. It wasn’t a date to him. He was married.

Mason hugged me in the driveway. “I’m glad you came. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. Thank you, Mason.”

I slid in the passenger seat of Becker’s car. “You’re a millionaire, driving a Buick, what’s up with that?”

Laughing, he responded, “You’re a very inquisitive little girl.”

“Why are you always laughing at me? And I am not a little girl.”

“You make me laugh. I love it. And I like this Buick, it’s a very comfortable ride. It’s probably my favorite out of all my cars.” It was very nice, I was just expecting something a little more extravagant from a millionaire.