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Brock
My eyes flick to the studio door. Gwen?
Nope.
It’s Leo.
He closes the door behind him and walks to the table. He’s weighted down with the gym duffel and computer bag slung over his shoulder. The bags slap against his side. “Hey, don’t look so happy to see me.” He gives me a smirk. “What, you still sore about losing that basketball game?”
His thick neck, built shoulders, and brawny, powerhouse body reminds me of a bulldog. The same goes for his vigor and the sour mug face he gets when he’s giving me a hard time. Like now.
“I wasn’t even sore at the time, dude,” I say.
I can’t help but look over at the door again. It’s still closed.
When will Gwen get here?
I sent her a text asking her to come up ten minutes ago.
Will she pop her head in, or will she step all the way through the door?
I hope she comes into the studio.
I want to see her again.
I only half listen as Leo jokes with Jordan, who’s here at the table with me. Leo rambles about how I’m probably still salty about the last time he beat me at a one-on-one basketball game. Jordan, more brainy than Leo, tosses in a few wise-aleck comments.
Finally, Leo can’t stand my silence anymore. “Yo. You gonna sulk or get ready for the podcast?”
“I’m not sulking about that game,” I say, my eyes still pinned on the door. “I let you win, anyway.”
“Yeah, right.” He pulls one of the shiny silver microphones toward him and connects it to a cord from his bag. “I know you’re still crying about it. Your jump shot was weak. You knew it, too.”
Jordan leans his lanky, lithe form back against his leather seat and stretches his tattoo-covered arms up behind his head. He restlessly swivels his chair. “Nah. He’s not upset about losing that game or his jump shot, dude,” he says to Leo. “He’s all tense and quiet because he’s waiting for his cute new assistant. She’s on her way up here.”
“What?” Leo raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “That’s what’s up?”
Jordan chuckles, too, and keeps up his narration of my life. “He’s been waiting ten minutes on this girl. You should’ve heard him describe her. His temporary executive assistant is pretty in a girl-next-door kinda way, and we have to be nice to her. He’s protective of her already. That’s how I know she’s trouble. For the past ten minutes, he’s been checking the door like some lovesick puppy.”
“Hey,” I say before he can go on. “I’m right here. You gotta talk like I’m not around?”
“Jordan’s talking ‘cause you’re not,” Leo says. He drags his laptop out of his bag and sets it up. “So, another new assistant. And she’s pretty in, what, some modest, effortless way?”
“That’s got nothing to do with anything.”
“See?” Jordan jokes. He takes his black-rimmed glasses out of their case and fits them on. “Told you, dude,” he mutters to Leo. “He’s protective of her.”
“So, hot new assistant…” Leo mutters with a chuckle.
Now, he’s trying to get a rise out of me.
It works.
“Would you quit it, Leo? And, Jordan, dude—you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not watching the door like a lovesick dog. Not even close, man.”
But then—I can’t help it. My eyes flick over to the door again.
My buddies know me well. Too well. Right now, they’re probably reading the desire etched on my face.
