Cherry Bomb (Brighton #1) Page 6

  “Nice visual.” I smirk.

  He flips me off. “Laugh now, smart-ass, but you’re going to be the one who has to tell patrons Brighton Steak and Brew ran out of fucking steak.” Marco scowls at me, then pinches the bridge of his nose.

  My smile quickly drops. Customers don’t care that the fancy French chef messed up the meat order. I’m the one they’ll see, which means I’ll get the brunt of their irritation, along with the shitty tip. “Can you just go on and cut me now?”

  “Nice try. He’s changing the special to chicken cordon bleu. I need you to tell the hostesses, and for fuck’s sake, push the goddamn chicken,” he barks, stomping off towards his office.

  I roll my eyes. Even when I’m not in trouble, I’m still in trouble. I make my way to the hostess stand. Rachel, a Brighton U grad student, is there wiping down menus. “Bad news,” I say thumbing to the menu board at the entrance. “Chef changed tonight’s special to chicken cordon bleu.”

  Rachel groans dramatically, tossing the sanitizing wipes aside. “Of course, he did.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” I chirp. It seems like everyone is in a mood. I absently wonder if mercury is in retrograde. That would certainly explain a few things. Rachel bends to grab a chalkboard marker and I snag one of her pens while she isn’t looking.

  “I saw that.” A deep voice chuckles behind me.

  My skin ignites as I turn in slow motion to see the man who has occupied my thoughts since we met. “Are you stalking me or do you just like overpriced steak?”

  He runs a hand down his jaw, then eyes me as if weighing his next words. “I’m actually meeting my daughter for a late lunch.”

  “Oh,” I say, “why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

  “Because I didn’t know earlier. She emailed me an hour ago to tell me about the change of plans.”

  I blink at him. As a practice, I don’t believe in coincidences, but in this case, it has to be, right? There’s no way. “Your daughter…she likes the food here?”

  “I don’t really know. We haven’t formally met.” His cheeks heat to an adorable shade of pink. Normally, I’d swoon over such a strong and domineering man blushing, but all the blood is rushing from my brain into my chest, and I feel like my heart is about to explode.

  “Umm.” Ignore it. Ignore it and run away. Ignorance is bliss. My heart yells to my brain.

  We’ve ignored red flags before, and look how well that turned out, my brain quips back. Before I have a chance to listen to either of them, my blonde-haired, blue-eyed best friend bounces in and comes to a stop next to the man who spent the better part of last night with his cock in the various holes in my body. A man who has her exact same eyes.

  “Umm, Cash?” Her voice is unsure as she looks up at him.

  Cash nods. His eyes glaze over with an emotion I can’t quite place. “Yeah.” His voice breaks. My heart breaks. “Thank you for coming.” The way he says it, the amount of gratitude that laces his tone, lights a spark, igniting the last shred of hope I had. Before, it was a coincidence, now it’s a fact. The guy who spent last night and most of this morning, pushing my body to its limit is Arden’s dad.

  “Oh, hey, Cherry…” she says as if she only just realized I was standing there. Her eyes, blue, like her father’s, find my gray. There’s an unspoken message in them. One I can’t seem to decipher. “This is my…this is Cash. He’s my…my dad.” She turns back to Cash. His eyes blaze with curiosity. I can’t tell if he’s put it together yet. “Cash,” Arden continues, “this is Cherry. My roommate and best friend.”

  Cash

  “I’M SORRY, SAY THAT AGAIN?” My eyes flit between Arden and Cherry. Just saying both their names in the same sentence makes me feel like a pervert.

  “My roommate,” Arden repeats, cocking her brow at me. Her forehead wrinkles and she makes the same face my mum used to make just before she chastised me for not listening. Under normal circumstances, I’d think it was adorable, but I’m too busy trying not to lose my shit. I fucked my daughter’s best friend. I stuck a strawberry inside her cunt, and if I’m being honest, I want to do it again.

  Bloody hell, if it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.

  I scrub a hand down my jaw, taking a moment to gather my wits, before opening my mouth to speak. You can do this, Cash. Subject. Predicate. Noun. Verb. Say something. Anything.

  I have two choices here. I can pretend like I don’t know Cherry and risk pissing her off, or I can be honest and risk ending my relationship with my daughter before it even starts.

  Either way, I need to open my goddamn mouth.

  I blink at them.

  Then I blink again.

  Speak, you idiot.

  Before I can make an even bigger ass of myself, Cherry extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr.?” Her almond-shaped gray eyes widen a fraction. It’s subtle but enough to knock me out of my stupor.

  “Davidson,” I reply, playing along.

  “Mr. Davidson,” she repeats in that low throaty voice of hers that speaks straight to my cock. My eyes drop to her lips briefly before I drop her hand.

  Cherry clears her throat, elbowing my daughter. “Come on.” She reaches over and grabs a couple of menus. “I’ll seat them in my section, Rachel.”

  Arden follows Cherry deeper into the restaurant and I look up to heaven. “Lord, help me,” I pray, following behind them. Once we’re seated, Cherry runs down the specials, then leaves to go fetch our drink orders.

  The silence that follows is the most uncomfortable few moments of my life. I thought it was Cherry’s presence making things awkward, but now that she’s gone, I’d give anything for the distraction. Anything to melt the icy glare coming from the other side of the table.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” I say, finally managing to string a coherent sentence together.

  “So you’ve said in the four emails you’ve sent since yesterday,” she mutters under her breath.

  “I know, but it means that much to me.” I’m not sure what I’d expected from this inaugural meeting. Nineteen years is a long time to be absent from someone’s life. I’ve missed birthdays and holidays and milestones. I’ve missed the chance to teach her how to ride a bike and to kiss her scraped knee. The chance to scare off potential suitors. I’ve missed her growing up. It was stolen from me. All because I spent one summer with an American girl with more money in her trust fund than I’d ever thought I’d see in real life.

  “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.” The dining room is quiet. Arden and I are seated near a window, overlooking the street. People pass by, some on skates, others walking leisurely towards shops and restaurants. Families, couples, all living life.

  The West Coast is so different from New York. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it, but looking across the table at a smaller, more feminine version of myself, I know it’s worth a try.

  After another minute or so, Cherry comes back with our drinks, which gives us a slight reprieve from the awkwardness. I order the chicken cordon bleu, and Arden gets a southwest salad.

  A look passes between them. Some unspoken language shared between friends. I don’t know either girl well enough to decode it, and the thought drives me mental. I want to know every inch of each of them, albeit for very different reasons. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I can’t have both?

  “So, how are you getting on at university?” I ask, desperate to end the silence.

  “It’s great.” She smiles tightly, then turns her head out the window.

  “What’s your major?” I try again, clearing the discomfort from my throat.

  “Undecided.”

  “Oh, well, you’ve got time to figure it out.” This is bad. Worse than bad. Silence stretches on and I can’t bring myself to meet her gaze. My eyes wander to the four lads who sit down at the table across from us. Their smug expressions tell me they’re at that untouchable age, postgraduate, but still young and cocky. I remember when I was one of
them. Jax, Logan, and I ran around the city like we owned it. It’s funny how time changes things. Ten years ago there was nothing more important to me than making a name for myself on Wall Street, and fucking models straight off the runway at Bryant Park.

  And now, here I am, with a nineteen-year-old I barely know, and another one I know biblically. Cherry approaches their table. The head dick eyes her like she’s a piece of meat, and my jaw ticks in annoyance. I watch intently, as he shoots her a shit-eating grin and flashes a shiny Rolex.

  A low growl escapes my throat, causing Arden to turn her attention from the window back to me.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “Yes.” I bob my head up and down, feeling like the world’s biggest prat for getting jealous of some wanker hitting on Cherry, when I should be trying to engage with my daughter.

  “So, umm, what brings you to town?” Arden asks, refocusing my attention where it belongs.

  “You.”

  “I thought you had a job interview?” Her inflection rises an octave, and her brows lift in surprise.

  “I haven’t been a hundred percent truthful.” It’s the first honest thing I’ve said since meeting her. Lies are disappointments dressed up as contentment. I lied to Arden, Mandy lied to me, but we’re all fucked by the truth in the end.

  “Shocker,” she mumbles, but I brush it off.

  “One of my mates from uni has a business here. It’s expanding faster than he’d planned and he needs help on the financial side.”

  “Sounds like you already have the job.”

  “I do,” I say slowly.

  “So, you’re moving to Brighton? When?”

  “Yesterday, technically.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me?” she says, trying to hold her composure. The skin around her mouth is taut, and her posture rigid. It’s clear she wants nothing more than to tell me to go fuck myself, but years of ingrained manners stop her from voicing those words.

  “I just want the chance to get to know you.”

  “Why now? Why not nineteen years ago?”

  “Because I didn’t know you existed nineteen years ago.”

  “That sounds convenient.” Arden sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. The guys at the next table over laugh over something one of them says. The rest of the restaurant buzzes with life while I sit here, trying to re-write the only history she’s ever known. I can’t blame her for her skepticism. If the roles were reversed, I’d hate me too.

  “I know it sounds like bullocks, but it’s true.” I pause, and my mind takes me back to that night some ten years ago when everything changed. “The first time I saw you was at a charity event for the children’s hospital. My firm purchased a table, and I remember being so bloody chuffed that they asked me if I wanted to go. I got a plus one and everything.” Arden’s lips purse as if she’s trying to recall the memory. “You had to have been nine or ten at that time. Anyway, the night was winding down and I ran into your mum outside the restroom. There was a little girl with her. One with shocking blue eyes and pale hair.” I lean forward, emotion clogs my throat, but I push on. “I knew in my gut, the moment I saw you, you were mine. I tried to make contact, but your mother whisked you away before I could get my mouth to work.

  “That night, I went home and Googled her. I spent two hours learning everything I could about you. Competitions you had won, dance recitals—everything. What I couldn’t find any information on was your father. It was headline news when your mum and her husband started dating, but you were five then. The math worked out, but it was more than that…I knew it in my heart. I tried calling her every day for a month. I even threatened to take her to court, which pissed her off royally.”

  “Sounds like her,” she reluctantly agrees.

  “They were some of the wealthiest people in the country, and I…I was a tosser from London, who had only just begun to make a name for himself. It took years before she’d even admit that you were mine, and it wasn’t until you were seventeen that I was finally able to contact you.”

  “That’s not the version I heard.”

  “I’m not here to make your mum the villain. I just want a chance to know the woman you’ve become.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say. I mean, it’s a lot to unpack right before mid-finals.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Cherry comes back then and drops off our food. “You don’t have to say anything,” I assure her. “It’s a lot to process.” She nods and spears a piece of lettuce with her fork. We eat in a thick silence. I’d hoped my revelations would soften Arden to me, but it seems they only served to calcify the layers around her heart. What if I’m too late? What if I uprooted my life in this grand gesture that she never asked for and never wanted?

  “Thank you for lunch,” she says as we make our way to the front of the restaurant.

  “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

  Her shoulders slump, and she blows out a long, exasperated breath. “I’m really busy, with school and extracurriculars.”

  “I get it, but you’ve got to eat sometime, right?” I sound like a junkie desperate for a fix.

  “Fine. I can’t promise we’ll have like Sunday dinners or anything, but I guess, we can try.”

  “Whatever you want. I’m willing to do this on your terms.”

  “I’m going to tell Cherry bye.” She points a thumb behind her. “I guess you can email me or something.”

  I nod and watch as she disappears back into the dining room. At least it’s a start.

  Cherry

  “The douches at table twenty want another round,” I huff, plopping down on the wooden stool. As if this day weren’t bad enough, I’ve got to deal with a table full of dudebros checking out my ass, while they brag about money, I’d be willing to bet was inherited—not earned.

  Frank, the bartender, spews a string of curse words under his breath and grabs the muddler. “What grown men order mojitos?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t hang around long enough to ask. The one in the blue polo gives me the creeps.” I shudder just thinking about how he stopped me on his way back from the restroom, placing his hand lower on my hip than socially acceptable. I tried to remain professional until he asked if I liked to party. I dry heaved and told him if he touched me again, I’d have Marco, who’s trained in martial arts, break his hand in three places.

  Frank goes to work on the drinks and I hang out at the bar. The restaurant is quiet and I’ve been avoiding Cash and Arden’s table as much as possible. Of course, my hot hookup is Arden’s dad. It’s like the most Cherry thing I’ve ever Cherry’d.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice says from behind. I turn to see Arden making a beeline towards me.

  I can’t read her stoic expression, but her hands give away her discomfort. Arden doesn’t fidget. She is prim and proper, a stickler for manners and always, always, has impeccable posture. “Hey, how’d it go?” I ask, gaping at her as she cracks her knuckles.

  “It went. He’s moving here apparently, and he wants to get to know me.” She stares over her shoulder, munching on her bottom lip as if she’s waiting for him to come running after her. “His story is different than the one I’d heard growing up.”

  “Do you believe him?” I ask. I don’t know Cash much better than Arden, or really at all, for that matter, but he doesn’t strike me as a liar.

  “I don’t know. I mean, the only thing my mom ever said was that he was a boy she’d met on holiday, and that they were young and he didn’t want to be a father. I don’t know who to believe. I just know I’ve spent my whole life without him and now he’s moving here.”

  “But that’s good, right? That’s best-case scenario? He wants a chance to make up for lost time.”

  She looks down at her feet, then back up to me. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Frank puts the drinks on the bar, and I squeeze her arm. “I gotta take this to my table, but we can talk more when I get home?”

 
; She nods sullenly and wraps me in a hug. “Thanks for being you.”

  I hug her back, hard, hoping like hell she can feel my love, then watch as she leaves. I grab the tray, drop the mojitos, and wander out towards the Garden. The sun shines brightly overhead. Wrapping my arms around my body, I inhale the fresh spring air.

  “You’re her roommate, huh?” a deep voice rumbles from somewhere over my shoulder. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Both excitement and dread twist their way into my veins. I turn, and the face that the voice belongs to doesn’t help temper my biological reaction. God, he is gorgeous. His jaw looks as if it were sculpted from stone.

  “You’re her dad.” My clit throbs as I say the words. My body’s first response to meeting my best friend’s dad shouldn’t be a throbbing clit, yet here we are.

  He prowls towards me. His fingers brush a few unruly locks away from my face. The moment his palm collides with my cheek, a rush of energy courses through me, landing in the pit of my stomach.

  Butterflies. Fucking butterflies. At this rate, I’d prefer the pulsing pussy. At least that’s badass. At least then I could pretend last night was just a random instance of no-strings-attached sex. At least then we could make a clean break.

  The butterflies are a very bad sign. A sign that, despite my best friend finally getting to have a relationship with the man who’s responsible for the other half of her DNA, I’m definitely going to bang him again.

  “I can’t lose her.” I breathe out the words like a prayer.

  “I’ve barely just got her,” he says, brushing his lips across my forehead, as if we weren’t in the middle of the restaurant floor.

  “But…” The word hangs in the air like an apple dangling from the tree of knowledge. “I can’t deny my attraction to you…though, your genetic similarities to my best friend is probably why I feel so comfortable with you.”

  “Really.” He chuckles. He leans in and his lips press against the shell of my ear. “I had hoped it was my tongue worshiping your cunt that made you fall for me.”