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“Duke,” Warren calls from inside the office, clearly having heard something. Shit, he’s already home. And if he steps into the hallway now, it’ll look like I’m being a weird stalker, hovering in his office doorway.
Not exactly the kind of person you want as a houseguest.
And definitely not someone you’d want to make out with. Or have sex with.
Duke barks, helpfully cutting off my train of thought. I make a run for it, as quietly as possible in a weird tiptoe sprint, but I’m foiled by an ancient rug and general clumsiness.
“Duke?” Warren calls out, no doubt worried that the giant thud meant Duke was up to something or other.
Which is nice. Much nicer than assuming I was lurking outside of his office and faceplanting onto the floor.
The door opens as I pull myself up to a sitting position, as if this is where I planned to be. I pet Gary for good measure, and he, at least, plays along by stepping onto my lap and purring.
Warren blinks down at me. “Should I ask?”
“Just hanging out,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. From the floor. “Relaxing.”
“That’s relaxing?”
“I was petting Duke,” I improvise, and Duke, God bless him, plops down beside me and rests his head on my knee as if to confirm this ruse.
“Did he trip you?” Warren questions, arms crossed as he gives the three of us sitting in the middle of the hallway a once-over.
“Err, no.” I might be willing to tell a fib every once in a while, but I draw the line at using a dog as a scapegoat. Time to change the subject before Duke gets grounded and I’ve got that hanging over my conscience.
“So, what are you up to?” I ask. Gary’s had enough of the pity cuddle he was giving me and makes a beeline for the open door, Duke of course following. I stand up and dust myself off, eyeing the open door.
I really hope there’s not a mouse in there.
Warren considers my question for a weirdly long time. It never takes him this long to answer a question at a press conference, I can tell you that much. I’m not sure if this is a good thing.
“Working,” he says at last.
And then, as if that closes the matter, he turns around and returns to his desk. He leaves the door open, though.
An invitation.
Or laziness.
I decide to take it as an invitation, naturally.
I wander in and find him already tapping away on his computer, Duke sitting beside the desk watching Gary exploring near some bookshelves. I walk the perimeter of the room, casually inspecting as I go. This room is far more updated than some other areas of the house. It’s nice, actually. If not a bit masculine.
“It’s sort of dark in here,” I offer, trailing my fingertips across the edge of Warren’s desk.
He virtually ignores me, focused on his typing. “It’s fine.”
I should probably go.
The problem is, I have issues doing what I should do. Yes, it tends to get me in trouble from time to time. But… well, I don’t really have a positive to counter that. I’m hardly ever bored though, if that counts.
“So.” I slide in and perch myself on the edge of his desk. “You govern, you lawyer and you plumb. Such an interesting array of talents you have.”
Warren keeps typing, but he does glance at me. “I plumb?”
“You plumber?” I shrug. “I don’t think that’s right either. Whatever, you’re fixing my pipes.”
Oh, Lord, did that sound as dirty to him as it did to me? I don’t even know why it sounds dirty, it doesn’t even make sense.
“I’m good with my hands,” he replies with zero innuendo, so clearly I’m imagining that this is weird.
“I bet you are,” I counter, but oh, God, did I purr that? I think I purred because Warren is looking at me strangely.
“Good press conference today,” I add, clearing my throat and aiming for a friendly roommate tone of voice.
“Good?” Warren runs his fingers over his tie. I notice he’s loosened it and unbuttoned his shirt a little. His suit jacket’s slung over the chair near him, too, leaving him in just his button-down. It’s like he thought about how to drive me absolutely wild.
“Impressive,” I say, watching those fingers run over that tie and wishing they would run over me. Good Lord, I can’t stop. I want to know if that big dick energy is real. I bet it’s real… impressive.
“Impressive,” he repeats back. He’s finally paying attention but his tone is dubious. He must realize I would be open to him kissing me, right? Like, really, really open to it. How much more obvious can I be for crying out loud?
“Effective leadership is sexy.” Oh, God. Apparently I can be more obvious. I did not mean to say that out loud, I really didn’t. I need to walk this back so I don’t remember this moment in horror for the next four decades. “I mean, effective leadership is effective,” I babble. “That’s what I meant. Obviously.”
