Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires #3) by Lauren Asher

“Sorry. What did your mom used to say? Sana, sana, colita de rana?”

“Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana,” I finish for him with a small smile.

My mom always made any injury feel ten times better with a single little song. Cal remembering that…

It makes my chest feel all warm and tingly.

He looks up from my hand. “Do you have tweezers and a needle inside?”

I do not like the sound of that whatsoever. “Nope.”

He grins as his hand reaches out to trace the slope of my scrunched nose, drawing a sharp breath from me. “Liar,” he whispers close enough for me to smell his aftershave. His proximity sends my every cell into hyperdrive, making me feel as if my body was plugged into an electric socket.

He gives his head a shake and pulls away. “Let’s get those splinters out before you chicken out and end up with an infection.”

I cross my arms and lift my chin. “I’m not a chicken.”

“You cried once because of a papercut.”

The tips of my ears heat. “To be fair, it was a really deep cut.”

“You’re right. It was nearly fatal, if my memory serves me right. I’m almost positive if it weren’t for that Hello Kitty Band-Aid, you might have not made it.”

I flip him off, although my lower belly warms at him remembering the tiniest details like what kind of Band-Aid I had on.

“Does that count for the swear jar?” His wide grin makes my heart jolt in my chest.

“Jerk,” I mutter under my breath as I walk around Cal and into the house.

“I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” He disappears around the corner, leaving me to gather the supplies. I find everything I need in my bathroom. My mom took enough splinters out of my hands for me to know the drill.

I return to the kitchen to find Cal sitting at the island, completely unaware of my presence as he watches a YouTube video describing how to remove splinters as painlessly as possible. He pauses and replays a specific part twice before moving on with a satisfied nod.

My chest clenches at the intense look of concentration on his face. This is the reason why I want to create distance between us. Because it’s the little things Cal does—the things that most people might not even notice or care much about—that get me every single time.

Sober Cal is a dream. He is witty, charming, and nearly impossible to resist. It’s the drunk version of himself that I have a hard time accepting. That version is depressing, angry, and extremely difficult to love.

And it’s the version of him that I still resent years later.

I drop all the supplies on the counter.

“Ready?” He looks up with a smile.

I frown. “Please try to look a little less excited about torturing me.”

“There are plenty of ways I’d enjoy torturing you—all of which you would be excited for.”

My head empties of any coherent thoughts.

Are you surprised? You always knew he was a flirt.

Knowing and experiencing are two very different situations. My heart rate skyrockets as he taps the barstool next to him, and I fall into it with the grace of a newborn foal.

Cal gets up and washes his hands like a doctor prepping for surgery before returning to clean the tweezers and needle with rubbing alcohol. I shut my eyes as I place my hands palms-up on the counter.

The first prick of the tweezers picking at my skin makes me wince.

“You still like sitting out on the dock at night?” Cal asks.

I appreciate the distraction. “Yeah.”

“What about Cami?”

“I have—had—a baby monitor before I tripped.”

His lips turn down into a frown. “That thing is a death trap.”

Another pinch against my skin has me grinding my teeth together. “Then why were you out there?”

“Because one of us was blessed with a gift called balance.”

I pop one eye open to give him the stink-eye. “You scared me, and I ended up tripping over a nail that was sticking out.”

“This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen.” He shakes his head with a sigh before returning to prodding and poking at my hands.

“It’s not that bad.”

“You have about twenty splinters embedded in your skin that say differently.”

I can’t tell if his annoyed tone is due to the splinters in my hand or the fact that he is the only one available to take them all out.

“One down. Nineteen more to go.”

Motherfucker.

“There. All done.” Cal solidifies his place in hell as he wipes my hands with rubbing alcohol.

“It feels wrong saying thank you after you tortured me for an hour, but thank you.”

“It was twenty minutes tops, you big baby.” He doesn’t make an effort to let go of my hands yet.

“You smiled when I screamed, you psychopath.”

“It brought back good memories.”

I smack him in the chest, only to wince when my sore skin makes contact. “Ouch.”

“Let that be a lesson that physical violence is never the answer.” He flicks my nose.

“Says the man who tried to choke a police officer.”

His nostrils widen. “We’re back to this again?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever let that go so long as I live.” I pull out my phone and show him the photo Isabelle sent me.