The Gratitude Guarantee (Boyfriend in the Bargain #4)

19. Zach

19

ZACH

“ R emind me again why you have to do this tonight?”

I’ve mostly been quiet, just reading articles on my phone and sipping my cocoa in the saucer chair I pulled up beside her bed. But after almost two hours of watching her work diligently, I can tell the hot chocolate high is beginning to wear off. Her exhaustion is plain on her face and in her increasingly sluggish movements.

She arches her back like a cat, and I can actually her vertebrae crackling as her spine straightens after so long bent over this chore. “Because my boss said I have to get it back to the office by five pm tomorrow,” she replies, a hint of annoyance in her voice. I can’t tell if she’s annoyed with me for asking or him for demanding this of her.

“So, what happens if you don’t get it done by tomorrow?”

I’m expecting her to tell me that it will delay a court appearance or something, so I’m shocked when she bluntly tells me, “Then I’ll lose my job.”

I blink at her, trying to comprehend. “Really?”

“Yes.” Her simple reply holds a weariness that goes deeper than one missed bedtime. It makes me wonder if this isn’t the first time the guy has pulled a stunt like this on her. She reaches for her phone and taps a few times before handing it to me.

As I read the email she received this evening, my hand tightens on the phone and my blood starts to simmer. I don’t know this guy, but I know enough about Brenna to be confident that she doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment or his high and mighty tone.

“I see,” I say carefully, avoiding her eyes as I hand back her phone. I don’t want to distract her with my anger. It seems that she does indeed need to get this done tonight.

“Ugh,” she says, twisting from side to side. “My back is killing me. I should have done this at a table or desk.”

Now that I can help with. Setting aside my empty mug, I stand. “Move over. I’m going to give you a shoulder massage.”

She looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “What? Why?”

“Because it will help you feel better,” I say with a slight frown. It seems pretty self-explanatory to me.

“You don’t have to do that.” I’m growing accustomed to that refrain by now. And to refuting it.

“I know, but I want to. Unless you’re uncomfortable with that level of touching. I know some people are sensitive about getting even a professional massage.”

“No, it’s not that.” She bites her lip, regarding me with wide hazel eyes. I’m not sure what she’s searching for, but she must see it because she slides forward to make room for me behind her. “I’d love a massage. Thank you.”

“Great. I guarantee you won’t regret it.” I wiggle my fingers at her with a smile, then perch on the edge of her bed and lift my hands to her shoulders. I start gently, cautious of hurting her by exerting too much pressure. But when she lets her head hang forward and gives a little sound of relief, I press more firmly, gliding my thumbs up the back of her neck and kneading the knots at the base of her head. I work my way down to her shoulders, digging my thumbs through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt into the muscles around her shoulder blades, until she finally speaks.

“You’re gonna have to stop before you put me to sleep,” she says, popping one eye open to squint over her shoulder at me. She straightens and I let my hands drop to my lap as she scoots around to face me, rotating her head to test out her neck and shoulders. “That feels so much better. Where did you learn to do that?”

I shrug. “Would you believe me if I said that’s the first time I’ve ever given a massage?”

She huffs a laugh. “Nah, I bet you’ve given your girlfriends plenty of massages. It’s a good move, FYI.”

“I really haven’t,” I tell her. “I’ve, uh, never actually had a girlfriend.”

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Really? Never? But you’re, like, twenty-eight or twenty-nine, right?”

“Thirty, actually.” I keep my voice casual, but inside I feel myself closing off. I don’t know what made me blurt out a confession like that. I know how people react, and I don’t know why Brenna should be any different.

“Huh.” She looks at me with thoughtful eyes. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

“I just haven’t found anyone that I connected with enough to ask on a second date.” No sparks , I almost say, but that seems too personal. Too specific. Especially when I think I felt those elusive sparks for her earlier today. Or yesterday, now, I guess.

“You’ve never been on a second date.” She says it slowly, a statement rather than a question. Her brows knit together as she thinks. “So does that mean you’re a one-night stand kind of guy?”

“What? No!” I probably sound more offended than I should, given that it’s a logical conclusion for her to draw based on the limited information I just shared. “I’ve never…spent the night with someone.” Oh, what the heck, why not just get it all out there at one time? “I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

Now she looks truly surprised. “Never? Not even once?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “But you want to find someone? Like, you’re not actually opposed to having a girlfriend?”

“Definitely,” I tell her emphatically. “I just want to make sure I have the right person. I don’t want to string anyone—including myself—along if we’re not headed toward a permanent relationship.”

“Does this have anything to do with you not dating right now?” She’s taking this better than I expected, displaying a careful curiosity now that the initial surprise has passed.

I nod. “I was just getting tired of putting myself out there over and over and not finding her, you know? So I decided to take a break for a bit.”

“Okay...” Then her eyes widen and she looks horrified. “Oh no, now I feel terrible.”

I frown in confusion at this. “Why?”

“Because the first time you’ve ever had a girlfriend was pretending with me. And I dragged you to a crazy family holiday filled with crazy competitions and now you’re staying up late to help a crazy lady get her work done.”

I quirk one brow. “Seems like you think this is crazy.”

She points a finger at me. “I’m being serious. Why did you agree to this?”

“Because I wanted to help you,” I tell her seriously. “Why is it so hard to believe that I just genuinely wanted to help you with a tough situation?”

“I…don’t know. I guess it makes sense, really. You’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.”

My heart expands at her compliment. We’re sitting in silence now, staring at each other, but it’s not uncomfortable. Instead, there’s a kind of hum in the air, a pull between us, an attraction that’s hard for me to deny. My pulse picks up speed as warmth rushes over me.

But there’s still a conflict within me, cooling me like a bucket of water splashed from the inside out. What if I’m only attracted to her like this because I removed all other options by enacting the dating ban? What if the sparks I’m feeling are a case of wanting what you can’t have? It seems like quite the coincidence that the moment I stop dating I would find my soulmate. I have to be careful here. After all these years, I will not allow myself to be hasty now. No matter how bad I might want to close the distance between us and see if her lips taste like the hot chocolate we shared, I have to take things slow and be sure. Sure of what I feel. Sure of what I want. And sure that she wants the same thing.

I drop my eyes and clear my throat.

Brenna jumps up a little too quickly, clasping her hands together. “Thank you for the massage. I’d better get back to work. This contract won’t finish itself.”

The false note of cheeriness in her voice does nothing to distract me from the moment we just had, but she’s right.

Then something occurs to me.

“How much do you think you have left?”

She surveys the binder on her bed. “I’d guess another hour and a half to two hours.” She looks up at me. “You can go back to bed now. You promised you would if you got tired.”

“I was thinking we should both go to bed.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not an option,” she grumbles, flopping down and adjusting her pillow so she can lean against the headboard.

“I have an idea for how you can go to bed now and finish this later without missing out on anything tomorrow.”

Her eyes jump to mine, hope and skepticism warring in her expression.

“All you have to do is let me do the driving back to Nashville tomorrow and you can finish this up on the ride. It has to be turned in by five, right?”

“Right.” She sits up straighter. “You wouldn’t mind driving?”

“Not at all. We’d just need to make sure to leave by one-thirty tomorrow to give us some margin in case of traffic. You can still go shopping and have lunch before we go.”

Brenna’s face lights up in a smile that practically glows. “Zachary Dawson, you’re my hero.”

I feel my ears burning and I brush her off. “I wouldn’t go that far. So it’s a plan?”

“Yes.” She nods firmly. “It’s a brilliant plan. I’ll still miss decorating for Christmas Friday afternoon, but that’s not too bad, right?”

I force a smile. “Yeah, that’s pretty good.” It’s not good at all. It makes me sick that she’s going to miss out on a family tradition that I can tell is important to her on account of her “demanding boss”, as she put it earlier. But it’s not my place to make judgments. As I’ve reiterated many times today, I’m just here to help.