Page 57 of Meant to be Mine

He laughed. “You’re tough.”

“I’m efficient,” she said.

She excused herself then, something about needing to call someone before they closed for lunch and walked back through the front doors with her notebook tucked under her arm.

Micah watched her go. Then he looked at me. He didn’t say anything immediately, which was worse than if he had. He put his sunglasses back on and turned back toward the plaza, hands in his pockets.

“You can’t look at your assistant that way at work,” he said.

“What way?”

“Like you’re thinking about nailing her against the nearest wall.”

“Fuck off,” I said.

“I’m serious. You were doing it the whole time. It was very uncomfortable. You were totally making googly eyes.”

“I don’t even know what googly eyes are.”

He laughed. “Why aren’t you guys sleeping together?”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Ever heard of friends with benefits?”

“She’s not that kind of friend.”

“You’re the one that said it came damn close to being that kind of friendship.”

“Yes, but she pulled back and I agreed.”

“You made a mistake,” he said. “She’s good, by the way. Really good. She kept me honest, which is not easy.”

“I know she’s good.”

“You’re going to have a hard time letting her go back to New Jersey.”

I didn’t answer that. He hadn’t asked it as a question anyway. I knew she was leaving and I was prepared for it. There was no future for us. But dammit, I could not stop thinking about her. It had been all-consuming. I’d thought of at least eighteen different ways I wanted to have sex with her. If I allowed my imagination to run wild, I could think of another fifty.

I wanted her. Not the way I’d wanted the women I’d dated over the years, the easy, uncomplicated wanting that faded naturally after a few months because it had never been more than surface deep. This was something that had been building for the better part of a decade. One night on my patio had turned it from a manageable thing into something loud and persistent that I couldn’t think around.

I wanted her hands in my hair again. I wanted to hear the sound she made. I wanted to run my tongue from her toes to her ears.

“Stop,” Micah groaned.

“What now?”

“You’re totally thinking about sex.”

I sighed. “I am.”

He laughed. “Look, for what it’s worth, she looks at you the same way.”

“I doubt that.”

“Trust me, that’s a woman that has thought about you naked—a lot.”

“It’s complicated,” I said, falling back on the most basic, generic excuse ever.