He’s closer to her age, good-looking and smooth, and has already dated half the office. My friend Cassie, who is married to my buddy Nick, assures me it’s passé to be judgmental about him being bisexual. According to her, “I don’t have to understand it. I just have to accept it.”
Despite Cassie’s assumption, that’s not why he bugs me.
What bothers me is that he’s flirting with Tavey when—as I said—he’s fucked half the office.
It doesn’t bother mewhohe fucks. What bothers me is the way he treats the people he fucks. As if they’re disposable. I don’t know, maybe that attitude is just as old fashioned. But when it comes to Tavey?
Fuck. I don’t want any man’s hands on her, certainly not Devon’s.
Tavey is a lot of things—brilliant, quirky, and weird in the best possible way. She is not disposable.
When I show up and hear her laughter coming from the break room, I divert my path to follow the sound and end up standing in the doorway watching as Devon looms over her. Her back is to him, and he’s got the neck of her shirt in his hands. He’s whispering in her ear.
I cross my hands over my chest, tucking my hands under my armpits, mostly to keep myself from out and out coldcocking the guy.
I must make a noise—possibly some kind of territorial growl—because a moment later they jump apart and turn to look at me.
“Oh!” She moves even farther away from Devon when she sees me. “Miller! I didn’t see you there!”
Her voice is unnaturally high-pitched.
I nod, looking from her to Devon. I keep my gaze pinned on him as she says to him, “Thanks. I think you got it.”
“Anytime,” the smooth bastard says.
Either she doesn’t hear the innuendo in his voice, or she ignores it. She stops briefly in front of me on her way out. I don’t look at her. I can’t. The urge to destroy something is still too strong.
After a second, she ducks her head and says shyly, “I guess I’ll see you back at my desk. Or rather your desk. I mean, you’ll be at your desk and I’ll be at my desk. Because we don’t share a desk. Obviously.”
Her chaotic burst of rambling softens my fury. It’s hard to be angry when the smartest woman I know can barely string together two words. She’s adorable when she rambles.
But before I can soften too much, she’s gone.And it’s just Devon and me in the room staring one another down. After a moment, his too-smooth smile spreads into something genuinely amused. “I guess you still haven’t asked her out, have you, big guy?”
I don’t respond. At least not with words, but obviously my grunt says it all.
Devon laughs. “You don’t get to act so territorial if she’s not yours.”
Fuuuck. He’s right. Which is only more irritating.
“You have permission to put your hands on her?” I ask.
Devon holds up his hands, palms out. “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of touching her otherwise.” Then he flashes me a self-satisfied grin. “She was having a problem with an itchy tag.”
His explanation makes me want to murder him a little less.
Still, Devon’s words haunt me for the rest of the day.
If there’s anything more annoying than a smug asshole, it’s a smug asshole who is right. Good intel is good intel, even if it comes from a source you hate. If your gut tells you the intel is good, you listen.
I’m in a shit mood for the rest of the day and don’t bother hiding it. Even Tavey, who is normallyimmune to my grumpy moods, keeps her head ducked and focuses on work for the few hours our schedules overlap today and we’re both in the office.
It’s not until the end of the day, when she’s already packed up her bags, that she stops by my desk and says awkwardly, “Thank you for the dragon.” She taps the side of her bag. “I can’t wait to work on it tonight at home.”
I grunt in response and then immediately regret it. Fuck. Me acting like an asshole isn’t going to solve anything.
I swivel in my chair and look her over. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s biting down on her lip. She has that look in her eyes that she gets sometimes.
We’ve worked together long enough that I’d be an idiot if I hadn’t noticed she has a crush on me.
