Except it’s not.
Not really.
Nobody with that jawline textshope your Friday’s treating you goodunless they’re wearing a half-smile while they type it.
My heartbeat ramps up like someone hit a speed button on my cardiovascular system.
I type back, carefully:
Elena: All good here. Just another corporate Friday. You?
I set my phone down, trying to look busy in case the entire building is watching me.
The reply comes seconds later.
Colt: Same. Training clients. Pretending I don’t miss my credit card already. Feels weird not having it.
Feels weird not having it.
I bite my lip.
Why does that sound…personal?
Focus, Elena. Respond normally.
Elena: You’d survive. You probably have Apple Pay.
Colt: Yeah. But still. There’s something about having it back that I’m… looking forward to.
My body does a full internal meltdown.
Okay.
That isnotinnocuous.
That is criminally close to flirting.
That is flirting wearing a suit labeled NOT FLIRTING and hoping I won’t notice.
Who am I kidding, though? We’re stomping all over theno flirtingzone at this point.
I type back before I can think:
Elena: Well you’ll get it tonight. Don’t worry.
He sends something immediately.
Colt: I’m not worried. You seem like the type that I could trust with big things. Just…counting down a little.
I blink twice.
Then three times.
My phone nearly slips out of my hand.
He’s…counting down? There’s something about that.
My brain collapses into a puddle of overheated circuitry.
