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“Fran, I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this, but there is nothing between Mr. Coldwell and me. He’s my boss, and that is all.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “He’s my boss too.”
Okay…
My phone rings and before I pick it up, she grabs the headset, holding it to her chest even though she’s placed the call on hold.
“We’re friends. That’s all.” Francesca stands, shaking out her loose dress. It’s different from the bodycon outfits she used to wear when I started here almost two months ago. “And beneath the mercurial veneer, he’s a good guy.”
“I’m sure,” I tell her simply as I take the phone from her and hold it to my ear. “Thank you for stopping by.” I take the call off hold and answer it.
Walking out of my office, Fran looks back with a soft smile. It’s like she’s trying to impart some kind of feeling to me. It’s a pointless task because I refuse to be the stupid mouse any longer.
* * *
The game is in the last quarter. Lacie is practically falling off the edge of her seat on one side of me, as is Damon on the other. I’m not one hundred percent sure what is going on, but the place keeps going crazy every time a player gets close to the semicircle by the hoop.
The atmosphere is electric, and with seats being so close together, I feel Damon’s energy pulsing through him. Every time he moves, his body touches mine. Our thighs graze or our arms press together and my heart races like I’ve been running up and down the court.
Ever since my meeting with Francesca three weeks ago, it’s become harder to stop myself from crossing the line I’ve drawn between us in my thoughts. I think of Damon more than I care to admit. My lonely moments are filled with thoughts of what might have been if I hadn’t walked away the night he asked me out for ice cream.
I take a sip of my soda to stop myself obsessing over what coulda, woulda, shoulda, but instead I find myself completely engrossed with the way his skin stretches over his muscular forearms when he clenches his hands around his water bottle.
“God, look at those arms…” Lacie groans. “I love a man with strong, ripped arms.”
Shit. I look away from Damon and over at her, but she’s gripped by the action on the court. Seems as though my gawking hasn’t been caught.
“It’s like their muscles have muscles…”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, leaning forward to put my soda down on the floor. And when I sit up, my hand catches on Damon’s thigh. I pull away instantly, but it does nothing to diminish the buzz from the contact.
Our eyes lock and it doesn’t matter how much I try to distance myself because there’s a pull that draws me back to him. We’re a breath away from touching, and that wisp of space is more painful than anything I’ve ever felt. The reckless longing in my chest is suffocating.
I hate it, and I hate it even more that when his hand falls down to my calf, I feel the touch rushing through my veins like it’s giving me life. I detest that all I can think about are all the other times he’s touched me and kissed me. My body aches like it’s still raw from him. As though the memory of his touch is engraved into my DNA, like history marked in the echelons of time. A constant evolving reminder of what has been and what could be.
However, in this moment, I’m a fluttering butterfly caught up in his net, and the bizarre thing is that I don’t want to be set free. I’m a willing prisoner. A compliant victim.
It’s impossible to breathe as my throat swells with the trail of his fingers to the crook of my knee. And just as I’m about to self-destruct, the place goes up in roars. Lacie’s hands grasp my arm as she pulls me up to her. I’m not really sure what’s happening until I glimpse the scoreboard.
“We won! We fucking won!” she screams right in my face. I can’t seem to shake her up, and her happiness is infectious in a way that I can’t help but celebrate with her.
It takes a while longer for her to come back down to earth, and by the time I manage to break free to find Damon, he’s gone. Something inside withers with disappointment. Was he as happy as she was? Did I miss my chance to see him without his carefully controlled front?
Chapter 10
Damon
It’s impossible to ignore Ava across the room. She’s probably the most casual woman in here with her loose-fitting jeans and low-cut Henley. And still, she manages to look better than all the other women in their ostentatious clothes and high heels. She and her friend look like the only two normal people amid celebrities and fame seekers.
“Hey, man.” Warner bumps my shoulder as he walks into the room. “Good to see you again.”
“You too.” I take his proffered hand, and he pulls me into a rough handshake. “Nice game.”
“It went all right. We should’ve done better.” He scouts the room, and when he finds Lacie and Ava, he makes a start for them. “Has Lacie spoken to you yet? After what Robert said about what you guys are doing for his book, I wanted to set up a meeting with you.”
I pause within safe distance from the two women so I can speak without being overheard. I don’t want Ava to create some false illusion from what I’m about to tell him. Whatever’s happening between us is getting complicated, and if I don’t play my cards right, it could get messy. We’re pushing and pulling, and I cannot allow myself to care beyond what she can bring to CPM.
I can’t. Doesn’t matter how blurred our lines become.
