More than Once

3

She looked damn good, too. Her hair was different—still short, but more of a light gold instead of platinum blonde—and I remembered tangling my fingers in it to yank her head back and devour her neck. All the piercings that had run up and down her ears were gone, too, which was a shame. Not that it made her any less sexy.

She rang up the scarf, examining it, letting the silk slide through her fingers. “This is a nice scarf. She’ll like it.”

“Glad you approve.” I took my time pulling out my wallet and flipping through it for some cash. “It’s amazing to see you again. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call you or anything—”

“It’s fine,” Becca said, although her voice suggested otherwise. “I didn’t call you either, after all.”

“I was planning on calling you, I swear. I’ve just been really busy and—”

She stared at the register, biting her lower lip. “That’ll be $26.52.”

“Oh. Of course.” I counted out the bills slowly, trying to delay the moment as long as I could. The people behind me were really getting anxious now, sighing, shuffling, and making other annoyed noises. I handed Becca the cash, and my fingers brushed against her slim wrist. Her breath hitched and her eyes met mine again.

A memory flashed: My hands circling her wrists, holding her arms down above her head. Her legs wrapped tight around my ass while I slammed into her. Her voice at my ear, begging for it harder, faster, rougher.

That day had been one of the worst in my life, but that night had been one of the best—all because of her. But when it was over, we’d both walked away without another word. I should have contacted her, but I’d been too broken up after what had happened with Tara. I hadn’t been ready to get involved with another girl back then—and still wasn’t, really.

The longer I’d waited to call Becca, the harder it was to get in touch. I wasn’t sure she really wanted me to contact her either. I’d even convinced myself she wouldn’t remember my name.

But she did.

She gave me the slightest hint of a smile. Finally. “It’s good to see you, Andy—er, Andrew.”

“It is. You look…” My gaze ran up and down her body, and the heat between us flared to life, still as intense as it had been five months ago. “You look incredible.”

“No, I don’t, but thanks.”

“You do.” I was itching to touch her again, even for only a second. A piece of her hair was out of place, which seemed like the perfect excuse. I reached forward and smoothed it back slowly while I kept my eyes locked on hers. “Hey, since we ran into each other, would you like to—”

An older woman with big hair pushed her way over to us. “Taking another break, Becca?”

“s**t,” Becca muttered. She turned to face the woman. “Not a break, Marcie. I’m just saying hello to a friend quickly.”

Marcie crossed her arms. “Looks like a lot more than that.”

“Oh, yeah? What does it look like?”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Looks like you’re hitting on one of our customers here.”

Hang on. If anything, I’d been hitting on Becca, not the other way around. “No, I—”

Becca shoved my scarf in a bag and thrust it at me, giving me a fake, sweet smile. “Here you go, sir. Have a nice day.” She turned back to Marcie. “Got a problem with that?”

“You’re damn right I have a problem. You’re holding up the line with your shameless flirting.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll throw his bag at him and tell him to get the f**k out of here. That what you want?”

Marcie gasped and glanced behind me at the line, which had gone silent. “Missy, I’m tired of your attitude. Get your stuff and get out of here. Your paycheck will be in the mail.”

Whoa, that escalated quickly. I flashed the woman a friendly smile. “Hey, it’s my fault, really. I was the one talking to her and holding up the line. Don’t take it out on Becca. I’ll leave right now.”

Becca tore her nametag off her shirt and slammed it on the counter. “No, this is good. I was ready to quit this shithole anyway.”

Marcie huffed, while everyone else in the store watched it all go down and another Christmas song started playing in the background. “We don’t need girls like you working in our store,” she said. “You’re just like the last one we fired. Your type is always trouble.”

“My type?” Becca asked, standing up straighter. “What type is that?”

“Trashy,” Marcie said under her breath, her eyes narrowing.

“What did you call me?” Becca’s face turned bright red, and she strode toward Marcie with her hands clenched in fists. I didn’t know what she would do next, but it couldn’t be good. Even if the woman deserved it for calling her that.

I blocked Becca’s path and looped my arm through hers. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

Becca growled, but she let me direct her away while Marcie apologized to the people in line behind me. A security guard followed us while we took a detour into the employee lounge for Becca to grab her leather jacket, then headed for the exit through an aisle in the women’s department. With all the clothes strewn about the floor, it looked like it had been hit by a tornado. No wonder she was ready to quit.

Once we got to the parking lot, Becca kept going without a word, through the falling snow that had picked up since I’d gone inside. She stopped in front of an older Buick and let out a frustrated yell that echoed through the cold air.