Cin Wikkid: April Fools For Love (2 page)

—My stomach’s growling looking at that—,
Rafe typed back.
—That must be Dalai Lama’s order. I heard he asked you to make him one with everything.—

She paused a moment, then got it and smiled. A sub with everything, and a Buddhist’s unity with the universe. One with everything. She typed,
—Ha.—

But privately, she glowed inside. She loved that he trusted her enough to share his humor.

An odd delay made her frown before another text bubbled up from him

—I have a picture, too.—

The single line looked strangely vulnerable.

—Cool.—
She wondered what he had for her. Another picture of Snoopy? An image of a sleek coupe?

Or a video?

Her heart beat harder in memory. Last week he’d shared a clip, proudly showing her he could do twenty-five push ups in one minute. She had to take his word for it; she hadn’t been counting, hadn’t even been
able
to count, after the video started.

The shot zoomed in on Rafe’s back from above. His muscles bunched and released under his thin tank shirt as he strained to pump out reps.

She’d replayed that clip several times in private, thinking all sorts of hot, sweaty thoughts. The ripple of strength as he bobbed up and down…her breath steamed in puffs on the air and her thighs heated just from the memory.

But after another odd lag, the image that popped up in her feed wasn’t Rafe’s back.

It was his face.

“Oh!” She nearly clapped in delight. She’d been hoping for a better picture of him. His chat head was mostly grin, his eyes scrunched to moonlike slivers, his head turned and tilted at such an angle that she’d had to imagine what he might really look like.

Now she could see.

Tousled black hair, jet brows sharp as ink slashes. Eyes a brilliant blue, so gorgeous they cut into her soul. She drank in his masculine beauty, including the tops of compelling cheekbones.

The rest of his features, though, were round, boy-next-door average.

And one other thing. His right cheek was a mass of puckers, as if his skin was a darned sock or made out of bubblewrap.

No text with it. No snarky
I really am ruggedly handsome
or
I’m Ironman.

Just the single picture, hanging there at the bottom of the message stream, almost as if it was holding its breath.

“Is that you?” She began to type the words, but hesitated pressing send.

While she wavered, a bubble popped up.
—It’s me. I’m scarred. Pretty badly.—

She’d gotten used to his almost-mind-reading and erased her text then quickly typed,
—Can you tell me what happened? Does it hurt?—
She pressed send.

Regretted it immediately. What if she’d said the wrong thing?

The screen froze, and for a moment, her breath froze with it. Was this something that pained him to talk about? If she’d hurt him by asking, she’d feel terrible.

A reply finally popped up.
—Doesn’t hurt any more. Stupid accident involving too much testosterone. But thanks for asking.—

Her breath unfroze, her body warming. Maybe he didn’t often talk about it, but he had with her.
—Thank you for sharing this with me.—

He responded with a sticker, a purring cat with a heart over it.

He’d posted
a heart
. Longing, sweet and thrilling, threaded her body like candy syrup. She shuddered with it.

Dial it down, Cin. You’re overreacting.
It was simply a cute little sticker. Didn’t mean he loved her.

Still, it was nice, and she liked it. She was about to search for a sticker to reply with when a line of alert appeared below.

Rafe is typing.

She waited, breathless for what he’d share next.

The message bubble, when it popped up, contained a single line.

—Can we meet?—

Chapter Two

“No, not those. Green, not black, and peppers, not olives. Honestly, you’re the worst sandwich girl ever.” The customer’s mouth thinned in disapproval, her red lipstick making the expression even more severe.

Cinderella, plastic-gloved hand dipped in the black olives, bit back a retort. Sandwich
girl?
She was twenty-two. She’d outgrown braids, skinned knees, and “girl” a long time ago.

But the customer had a point. Her head certainly wasn’t in the sub game.

Can we meet?

She wasn’t sure what exactly about that phrase scared her so much. She only knew that last night, she’d made some excuse about being too cold to text any more and shut her tablet down, shutting
Rafe
down, to run home to her bed, where she got barely a wink of sleep.

The wink she
did
get was plagued by erotic dreams.

Can we meet?

Getting up today, she was not only tired and cranky, she was hot and bothered.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she told the customer. “Let me give you this one free, and I’ll start over.” Pulling down another twelve inches of wheat bun, she scolded herself that she was reading too much into the situation. Most likely, Rafe simply found the more esoteric aspects of tax law easier to explain in person.

She sliced the bun in half then turned the bread to cut it open. If they met, they’d probably say hello. Shake hands. Nothing personal. At most, they’d slap each other on the back. Maybe she’d impersonally brush a stray black curl from his forehead. Although his hair did look silky soft. Maybe she’d thread her fingers through it, just to see. Slide her hand into his tousled locks, finding his hair warm and smooth. Her breath would quicken as she twined her fingers in his hair, pulling his head down to her, their lips touching with shocking heat, and she’d kiss the stuffing out of him—

Kiss?

She nearly sliced her fingers.

Acid dumped into her stomach, her mind clearing instantly.
Damn it
. She wouldn’t be able to thread her fingers through Rafe’s
anything
if she didn’t keep her mind on work.

Cin wasn’t a virgin, but because of the Steps, her encounters of the XY kind were few and hurried. She’d taken it in her stride, sure everything would fall into place once she was out of the house and found the right man to love. But now…damn it, it was too soon. She wasn’t ready.

And what if he doesn’t return my feelings?

Breathing deep, she managed to arrange neat layers of meat and veggies to the customer’s liking, although her hands trembled. She wrapped both the good sub and the original mess, concentrating on rolling and tucking the paper just right.

At least that answered what about the phrase “can we meet” scared her so much. For her, it didn’t bring thoughts of explanations and tax laws, but dreams of the weight of his arms curling around her, the sensation of his burning lips meeting hers for the first time…

“Are you going to take my card or are both subs free now?”

She lifted her gaze to see the customer standing there, credit card extended.

“Yes. I mean no. I mean, that’ll be seven fifty.” Flushing hot, she managed to ring up the order, controlling her hand so it only shook a little when she dropped the receipt into the bag.

As the customer huffed out, Cin retreated to under the “Order Here” arrow and tried to get hold of herself. That had been a near-disaster on several levels.

Rafe’s invitation
confused
her.

She wanted to meet him, with a desire so strong it frightened her—because she knew her desire was based partly on a lie.

He was comfortably surreal as a disembodied chat head. Oh, she knew there was a real man behind the chat, but there were so many gaps. And she’d blithely puttied them in with what she’d
wanted
to believe—including that he cared deeply for her, maybe even loved her.

Now she looked at the truth. He’d been kind to her, but, emotionally vulnerable, she’d blown it up into more. She’d known it and let herself get carried away anyway.

Shame threaded hot in her veins, clashing with cold fear. His love was a lie she told herself, but she’d started falling in love with him in return. And that was real.

She had feelings for a man she’d constructed from a chat head, text bubbles, and a hot vid.

What if they met? It was almost certain he didn’t have the same feelings. What if he treated her like just another student, or worse, saw her attraction and rebuffed her? She’d be
crushed.

But what if he does feel the same way?

She swallowed hard, clasping her forehead in one hand. In a way, that would be worse. Run ragged between a full-time job, classwork, study, and all her chores at home, where would she find time to nurture a relationship?

If Rafe didn’t really care for her, that would hurt. But losing him because she had no time for him? She squeezed her eyes shut. That would make her absolutely sick. Yet there was one thing worse.

What if Rafe sees me as the Steps do—a worthless nothing?

That would kill her.

“Hey. A little service here.”

Dropping her hand, she opened her eyes on a new customer, who, by his crossed arms and glower, had been waiting for her to notice him for a while.

“Sorry.”

This was impossible. She managed to slap together the customer’s order, ring him up, and make change. Without waiting for him to even leave the store, she stripped off her plastic gloves and fled the counter for the solitude of the ladies’ restroom.

Cin grabbed the edges of the sink, dropped her head, and tried to steady her breathing. She burned to meet Rafe because he had a nice smile and nicer muscles; because she wanted to touch him so badly she shook with it.

She wanted to dodge the meeting because she was scared.

Her mother’s voice sounded in her head.
Be strong and brave and honest.

Cin looked up, into the mirror. Her reflection seemed to mock her.

Where’s my good character now?

And really, that answered that, didn’t it? She’d have to say no to meeting, at least until she got her head on straight.

Good. Done deal.
She washed her face and returned to work.

But her relief was short-lived. On her break, when she took out her tablet to catch up on homework, she saw an email alert from Prince Industries.

Cold stabbed her. Had her job offer been withdrawn?

The head of HR had written.

—Just wanted to alert you. We’ve had an opening for an entry level accountant. Permanent full time. All accounting interns can apply, and we’ll wave the probationary period for the successful applicant.—

Cin’s heart rat-a-tatted. No waiting period? A full salary and benefits right away? She scanned the requirements.

—The successful candidate will demonstrate an ability to represent a client’s interests in an audit or administrative hearing by displaying superior self-presentation and communication skills in a mock hearing, to be scheduled no later than the first week in April.—

Cin’s blood iced. Book learning and knowing the material well enough to take tests was one thing. But for a mock hearing, she’d need to know the subject so well, she could rattle off answers in real time without breaking a sweat. She was nowhere near that good.

Rafe is
.

Her stomach dropped. She wasn’t sure if it was in excitement or utter terror. Because, yes, Rafe was that good. But not even he could teach her poise and presentation via chat, or even Skype. No way
anyone
could do that electronically.

He’d have to do it in person.

Electricity drilled her so hard she gasped. Pain or pleasure or both, she breathed through it. Mostly fear.

But…do I want this job?
Yes. With everything she was, yes.
Then, whatever fantasies I’ve made up about him, Rafe has proven he’s a brilliant tutor. He can teach me what I need to know—if I meet with him.

Ready or not.

Trembling, she texted him a request to rendezvous her next day off from work, at a coffee shop near her grocery store. She’d cover up the meeting with the weekly shopping run, if Mrs. Wikkid had left enough money in the debit account.

Her tablet dinged. Rafe had texted back.

—I’ll be there!—

Another bolt skewered her.
I’m in so far over my head.

Well, if Rafe burned her, shopping was also good for a broken heart.

On the appointed day, Cin walked briskly along the sidewalk, hoping the exertion would calm her roiling stomach. But the closer she got, the worse the buzz of nerves, and the more her feet slowed. She told herself it was because she was early, but arriving at the shop she glanced in the front window and was hit with a jag of surprise.

Rafe was already there.

He was in profile, exposing the left, perfect side of his face, smooth skin tented by a stark cheekbone. Her gaze was drawn to him like a moth to a bug zapper.

Heavens, he’s even more gorgeous in person
. Her lips ached to touch those austere features, her tongue, to trace them…

Stuttering to a complete stop on the sidewalk, Cin fought to get herself under control. She reminded herself he wasn’t that handsome, not really, not with his rounded chin, giving him a sweet, not sexy, look.

But there was something about him, his straight nose or razor cheekbones or noble forehead, that made her breath come faster as she stared.

Something that tugged on the strings of her heart.

Something almost…familiar. Her yearning dissolved in confusion. His profile reminded her of someone she’d seen before, in real life or newsprint or glimpsed on television as she worked, or
somewhere
…

His head tipped, as if he sensed something, and began to swivel toward her.

A surge of adrenaline kicked her away from the window. She scooted for the door, hoping he hadn’t caught her staring and possibly drooling.

Inside, he sat at a small table by the window, staring outside, exposing his injured cheek. Sympathy flooded her anew, seeing how extensive his scarring was.

His eyes swung suddenly toward her—electrifying cobalt blue hitting her like a sucker punch. Her breath went out with a whoosh, and none came to replace it.

Damn.

“Cin!” Seemingly unaware of the effect he had on her, he stood, beaming his familiar car’s-grill grin at her. “Nice to finally meet in the flesh.”

In the
flesh.
A bolt of desire shuddered through her. His voice was deeper than she’d expected from his chat head’s impish grin; a man’s voice, not a boy’s.

She managed a croaked, “Hi,” as she unbuttoned her coat. “Thanks for agreeing to come…”
Come.
Another shiver of lust threaded her. Good grief, was that her brain talking, or had her dampening sex taken over her vocal cords?

Rafe pulled out the empty chair, the one nearer the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when you changed your mind about meeting.” He stepped aside and waited.

It was really an inquiry, and, considering how selfish her reasons were, an opening for her to confess. But she wasn’t quite ready. Besides, she still hadn’t taken a full breath since catching sight of him.

Thankfully, when she stayed silent, he simply grinned again, and nodded at the waiting chair.

“Thanks.” She meant it for both the courtesy and the pass he was giving her on an explanation. With a deep, deliberate breath, she prepared to go hang her coat on the back of the chair.

She sucked in expensive cologne and warm man. The chair was suddenly a mile away.

Her legs wobbled as she crossed in front of him to reach her seat, becoming starkly aware of his sheer size. As a chat head, he had the same dimensions as anybody, and was mostly grin. As a real person, he was broad-shouldered and tall. Every cell in her body stood at attention, while her belly executed a classic-heroine swoon.

She more fell into the chair than sat.

Fortunately he was busy waving down the waitperson and didn’t see her splat-land.

“I ordered a couple coffees. An Americano for you, right?” He shot her a smaller version of his grin.

“Yes. Thanks.” Free caffeine was one of the perks of working at the sandwich shop. But she could rarely afford espresso drinks.

He cared enough to know one of her favorite treats. She loved her image of him but couldn’t have named one thing he liked beyond dogs and cars. It made her uncomfortably aware of how selfish she was being.

The steaming mug the server set before her, wafting the scent of stout espresso with just a hint of cocoa, hammered it home.

You want to know why I changed my mind? Not to connect with you or because we’re friends, but because I need you to do me a favor.

She had to come clean. “Look, about why I agreed to meet you—”