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“At work?”
“Yes.”
My jaw ticks, anger overtaking the bewilderment and frustration, and I take her hand from my face and push it away. “What about my head, Lainey? You going to fuck off out of there, too?”
She recoils a little, but soon gathers herself. “I’m not trying to tempt you, Tyler.”
“You don’t need to fucking try, Lainey. That’s the problem.” I take a swig of my drink and contemplate ordering something stronger. I’ve said too much. Listened too much. I should have walked away outside that bar. I never should have agreed to this, because that line has been crossed, and we haven’t even fucked. “Let’s forget we ever had this conversation,” I suggest sensibly. “I think it’s best all round.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and I hear her steps as she leaves, but I don’t look. “Good night.”
I hold up my bottle in goodbye and then sink the rest of my beer. I should be patting myself on the back for getting through that without caving in to my want. But I’m not. What I’m doing instead is figuring out a plan to get me through this until the want fades. Until I can look at Lainey Summer and not want to bend her over. Or kiss her. Or rip her clothes off. Or listen to her talk. Or obsess about figuring her out. God, if Sal could fire her for at least one day so I can get this out of my system, and then reinstate her, that would solve all of my problems and ease my conscience.
Even if I could, I shouldn’t.
Why?I HEADED STRAIGHT HOME AFTER Lainey left me in that bar. It’s Friday night, for fuck’s sake. I should be out living it up, playing hard after working hard all week. But no. I’m lying on my couch in my boxers, a bottle of beer in my hand, watching a sport that I’m not interested in and listening to my thoughts that I shouldn’t be interested in.
My phone rings, and I look down before rejecting Pamela’s call. Then it rings again, and I reject that one, too. Just the fact she’s trying to track me down should install some comfort. At least I haven’t ruined my reputation after my poor performances. But I find no consolation, only uneasiness. Because now, more than ever, I’m agonizing over Lainey Summer, especially after her not-so subtle warning to stay away.
Why? I don’t know, and it’s pissing me off because it only adds to the fucking intrigue.
A knock at my door doesn’t move me from my couch, my exhausted mind not prepared to take me from my comfortable position to turn away whatever woman has come knocking. I haven’t the energy to move, let alone muster up an excuse. I take a sip of my beer, ignoring the follow-up knock. But by the time I’ve finished the whole bottle, whoever’s at my door hasn’t given up and the knocks are becoming louder, more persistent. Rolling my eyes, I drag myself up and stroll sluggishly to the door, peeking through the viewing hole.
My lungs deflate in a second.
And my heart ping, ping, pings.
And my dead cock shows signs of life.
And my skin prickles.
Don’t open the door, Christianson.
I withdraw and stare at the wood, my hand twitching, ready to reach for the handle.
Ignore her. Pretend she’s not here.
Why is she here?
The door is open before I can think better of it, and she’s staring at me, her face blank.
Lainey. My nemesis.
“What are you doing here?” I ask with a lack of anything else coming to me.
“I don’t know,” she answers, her throat pulsing from constant swallows. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”
“I can’t,” I confess, fighting to move myself back, away from her, as opposed to forward. Closer to her. Nearer. Touching the flames. But my skin is burning no matter how much distance I put between me and the fire. “You work for me, Lainey.”
“I know.”
“Which means I can’t go there.”
Her little chin raises and her shoulders square. Then she nods on a deep breath, backing away. “Okay.”
Okay? She’s leaving? Again? What is her fucking game? Tempt me. Walk away with ease. Fuck, no. “So you’re going?”
Her head cocks. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to fucking deal with this. You came here to fix the situation, so fix the fucking situation.” Anger. Oh, boy, this woman can stoke it.
She shakes her head, turning away. “No. We’ll both have to carry on suffering. I shouldn’t have come.”
Before I can tell myself not to, I’m in the corridor, grabbing her arm to stop her. She gasps, flying around, her hair fanning the air around her. “I can’t do that,” I grate, walking her back into the wall. “And neither can you.” She’s looking up at me, her expressive eyes full of want. I’m past the point of denying her. Of denying myself. “I think we both need to get this out of our system.”
