“Cade. What happened?” I scanned his clothes—polo, work pants, boots. No apron. I didn’t see anything out of place, but instinctively I knew something was wrong. Then I spotted it. His knuckles were bleeding. “Oh my God, you’re hurt.” I lifted his hand in mine, wincing as a dart of sympathy pain shot through me.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the restroom. Much to my surprise, he didn’t stop me. Until I put a palm on the women’s restroom door.
“No.”
Once he resisted me, moving him became impossible. There was simply no way I could budge him when he dug in. He was like that physically. And he was like that mentally. Go figure.
I tried another tactic. “There’s no one in there. I just came out. You look like you need a minute, so why don’t you let me clean you up?”
He considered my offer, his eyes zooming in on a table with a couple our age sitting there. I went for the kill shot.
“Come on, people are staring at you.”
They weren’t, not really. But that couple did a neck-crane glance-over. I hoped it wasn’t because they’d overheard me. Cade caught sight of them and the next thing I knew, he was dragging me into the ladies’ room.
It was a onesie. When we were both in, I locked the door. Cade was standing, hands at his sides, eyes unfocused like he was reliving whatever had happened.
Given that Oak & Sage was a super-fancy restaurant, there was no paper towel dispenser. Instead, there was a basket filled with plush cotton towels. White. Which would be unfortunate for the person who was responsible for the restaurant’s laundry. I cranked the cold water on and wet the towel under the stream.
“What happened?” I repeated. I didn’t think he would answer me, and I was right. “Did you hit something?” I inspected his knuckles. Likely the blood wasn’t his. Upon closer examination in better light, I saw abrasions, but no deep cuts.
I hazarded a glance up at him. He shook his head.
Dabbing the wet towel against his knuckles gently, I muttered under my breath, “Well, I hope you didn’t hit someone.”
I heard a sniff and looked up again. The side of Cade’s mouth lifted into a smirk and then dropped.
“You hit someone?” I stopped cleaning him up. “Are you serious?”
He shrugged.
“What were you thinking? You can’t hit people because…”
I stopped midsentence when he snatched the towel out of my hand and finished cleaning his knuckles with twice the force and half the patience I had used.
“Cade, if you’re upset or if you get angry, you need to take it out in a more healthy way than punching somebody.”
He tossed the towel into the basket in the corner of the bathroom. Then turned on me and crossed his arms. My eyes accidentally skated over his ample biceps. Even in that unflattering black polo shirt, he was achingly attractive.
“Wuh-what do you suggest, T-Tasha?”
I didn’t react to his stutter. I was too focused on his tone.
“Try counting down from ten,” I said, as if his question hadn’t been rhetorical. He advanced toward me. “Slowing your breathing helps.” Another step. “Have you tried meditation?” The word “meditation” left my lips on a whisper, because now Cade was standing directly in front of me. I backed up to give myself breathing space, but there was nowhere to go. My butt hit the door.
“Or?” His voice was a soft rumble, and in an instant I remembered the way he used to be. The way he was at the frat party, when he wandered over to hit on me. But this version of Cade was completely different from that version. He used to ooze confidence. Now there was a dangerous quality to him, and it completely towed me in.
His lips lowered to mine and before I thought about why I was doing it, my eyelids closed. His scent swirled around me, piney and earthy, though I doubted it was cologne. Soap, I guessed. My chin tipped up and his warm breath cascaded over my lips, sending droves of tingles down both arms.
I swore I felt his lips touch mine in the briefest brush, but then the handle on the door jiggled, followed by a sharp knock. I reeled off the wood like I’d been shocked, sliding along his torso in my effort to escape. Escape what, I didn’t know.
Cade didn’t panic, but he did look more cautious than he had a moment ago.
“We should get out of here,” I told him in a harsh whisper. “Are you okay to go out?”
“Are you?” He spoke clear as a bell, those two words enunciated perfectly.
If I wasn’t so busy being turned on by our almost kiss, I might be impressed.