I knew because I’d tried.
The good news was, all the orgasms were working better than any medication ever had to help me sleep. Five or six hours at a stretch made me feel like a new man. I hadn’t thought about the situation at Bormon Klein Jacovic much at all since we’d gotten back either, which had probably helped, too.
“Knox?” the voice in my ear said.
Fuck.
I squeezed my pen more tightly in my hand. “Sorry, Wayne. I was just contemplating that backlog of receipts and feeling sorry for myself.” I forced a laugh. “I appreciate your patience and your continuing to supply the hay despite the mix-up.”
“No worries, Knox. You know we’ve been supplying Sunday Orchard since your dad’s dad was running the place. My wife can’t get enough of Webb’s heirloom apples. Let me know if I can help with anything.”
Goodman let out a restrained groan as he bent over and touched his toes—facing away from me, naturally, so I had a prime view of his ass—and I had the bizarre urge to laugh.
Well, Wayne, since you asked… what would you advise me to do when my extremely young but painfully sexy officemate and roommate wants me to have sex with him, which is a thing I also want, but which feels irresponsible for reasons that are probably incredibly important even though I forget them whenever he walks in the room?
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I told him, averting my eyes from Goodman’s luscious ass once more.
“Good to have you back, Knox.”
“Good to be back,” I replied automatically.
But as I disconnected the call, I realized that the words weren’t just polite; they were kind of true. I was kind of enjoying my time at the orchard. More than I had at first, anyway.
I felt good. Truly calm. I hadn’t had even a fluttering of a panic attack in a couple of weeks. I wasn’t foolish enough tothink I’d never have another one, but I was definitely getting better.
And even though Goodman was the bane of my existence—and I was still almost positive I wasn’t going to sleep with him—his open, cheerful nature made life fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up interested to see what the day held like I had recently.
“Hnghhhhhhhhhh,” Goodman moaned, lifting his flip-flopped foot onto the edge of the desk and leaning his body weight into his leg.
I wasn’t sure whatthatmove was supposed to stretch… besides my self-control.
“Y’okay, Goodman?” I demanded without looking at him. I shuffled some papers on my desk and grabbed one at random so I could pretend to be making crucially important notes.
“Yeah, no, I’m great. Never better.” His eyebrow twitched. “I actually got a huge chunk of the scheduling software customized this morning, and Webb is thrilled. But for some reason, my muscles just feel so…hnghhhhhh… so very, verytightthese days.”
“Dehydration from last week?” I suggested sweetly.
“What? No!” His outrage was adorable. “I wasn’t even hungover.”
“You sure? ’Cause you vomited a lot. Like, alot,” I lied. “I wasn’t sure someone could puke that much and live.”
Goodman let his foot fall to the floor. “It’s not dehydration.” He sounded sulky, and I felt the urge to laugh bubble up in my throat.
“Maybe it’s the change of seasons, then,” I said mildly. “Gammy Sunday used to be a slave to her arthritis, especially when she was underdressed. She used to wear a scarf religiously come fall, and she swore by her raw-onion liniment recipe. Ithink Webb might have some of Gammy’s liniment in the cow barn if you’re interested.”
“I’d literally rather die.” He jumped to his feet and began pacing the length of our front-to-front desks. His gorgeous, bare, golden-tanned legs ate up the short distance.
“Or you could put on warmer clothes, maybe.” I tugged at the drawstring of my Hannabury College hoodie. “Protect yourself from the chill. Maybe a blanket for your lap. Maybe not wearing shorts when it’s fifty degrees, or?—”
Goodman rolled my chair back from my desk and inserted himself in the space he’d created, his bare knee an inch away from my jean-clad one. “Why don’t you want to fuck me?” he demanded.
I blinked.God damn.Was he actually asking me that flat out? “Goodman?—”
“Don’t do that. Don’tGoodmanme. Look, I told myself it’d be fine if you weren’t interested in me. Plenty of people aren’t. But then the other night at the club, you and I danced, and it… you… We kissed, Knox,” he blurted. “You kissed me. I didn’t imagine that.” He frowned. “Wait, I didn’t imagine that, did I?”
“No,” I agreed softly. “You didn’t imagine that.”
“And you werehard,” he accused.
