She scoff-laughs. “Oh, that’s just for me. But you should get something to eat too.”
“Thanks,” I say dryly, then catch Esmeralda’s amused eye. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
“Coming right up,” she says, and then wheels around and grabs some bottles.
I turn to Chloe, impressed with how she finagled a meal out of this planning session. “Well played,” I say, but this raises an important question. It’ll be good for me to know what I’m dealing with as we try to win this gig together. “Am I still in the doghouse?”
“No. I just thought you’d want some of our local fare.” She bats her eyes at me. “Was I wrong?”
I go along with the innocent act since, well, I’m definitely hungry, but I’m also relieved she’s not still mad. “I do,” I say, then segue to a safer topic. “How was your four p.m.?”
“Well, he had a very large tongue, and he licked all my clothes. So, I’d say it was…a little messy.”
“Lucky dog,” I say, before thinking it through. Evidently, mymouth has a mind of its own tonight. So much for following my own mantra.
She jerks her gaze back. “Lucky dog?”
Fuck it. I lean in closer, since responsible Sawyer is losing the battle tonight. My rebel soul is winning. “Sorry, sweetheart. The wordlickbrought back memories. Won’t let it happen again.”
Her glossy lips part, and something like heat flashes in her hazel eyes. “He was a lucky dog. So were you.”
This time I make the smart decision to shut up.
“Anyway, let’s plan,” she says, shifting back into business mode. “Since you probably have a hot date later.”
I jerk my gaze toward her. “No, I don’t. Why would you say that?”
She shrugs. “No reason.” But she says it way too casually.
“There must besomereason you’d say it,” I say, my interest piqued.
But Chloe shifts her gaze away from me, her voice turning super professional as she says, “So, I asked around about permits?—”
Nope. We’ll get to tonight’s topic soon enough. First things first, since some topics can’t be left untouched. “Hold on. Tell me more about my”—I stop to sketch air quotes—“hot date.”
With a long sigh, she shakes her head, like she’s had enough of this line of questioning. “I don’t care what you do when you leave work, Sawyer. The hot date could be with your TV. Or your spreadsheets. Who even knows?”
Ah, so she thought I was meeting a woman when I rushed out the other night after painting her training nook. I fight off a smug smile. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Me? No. None.”
I lift a hand, raising three fingers. “That’s three denials.”
She meets my gaze, a challenging stare in her hazels. “You can count. Well done.”
“I can also…” I lower my voice. “Read the room. And you telling me three times you didn’t think about myhot datetells me you did. So, go ahead. Just ask.”
“Ask what?”
“If I went on a hot date the other night when I left work,” I say, goading her, just goading her. It’s too much fun not to. “C’mon. You know you want to.”
Her gaze says she won’t be outdone. With a defiant lift of her chin, she says, “Sawyer Dumont, did you go on ahot…triathlon training session?”
I crack up. “I see you’ve remembered all sorts of details about me.”
“Yes, mock me for having a good memory. Real smooth,” she retorts.
A spark ignites in my chest. Firing these barbs back and forth is revving my engine in a way it hasn’t been revved since…the night I spent with her. I seriously should follow my own rules, maintain the professional boundaries. And yet, I say, “Fine. I won’t tease you for wanting to know all sorts of things about me. It’s understandable, after all. Your interest.”
