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Following that, I checked on Colin to find out if he was hungry or needed anything, and when I found him sitting in his backyard with his script in hand, I brought him a bite to eat, told him to sit under an awning so he wouldn’t show up sunburned on the set tomorrow, and then—again, with Colin’s permission—launched into devising an organizational plan for his entire house—for every closet, drawer, and cupboard. And then, with my plan in place, I drove off to an organization superstore across town in Colin’s gleaming Ferrari, where I gathered all necessary supplies, using a credit card supplied by Colin.
Side note: I didn’t want to drive Colin’s Ferrari, and even told him the Range Rover was probably more my speed. But Colin said a “smoking hot woman belongs in a smoking hot car,” so I giggled like a fool and relented . . . and then proceeded to drive that damned sports car so slowly and carefully, I got cursed and honked at probably eight times in the space of fifteen minutes, confirming what I’d tried to explain to Colin in his garage: along with my zero chill, I’ve also got exactly zero “need for speed.”
After a quick stop at the grocery store, I drove back to Colin’s house, slowly, where I unloaded the groceries and organizational supplies and got busy building a shelving unit in Colin’s garage. But after an hour of manual labor, I was too exhausted and hungry to keep working, so I went back inside, showered, slipped into some soft clothes, and went in search of Colin to see if he was feeling hungry, too.
When I found the man of the house, he was reclined on his couch, fast asleep, with his dog-eared script on his chest. Admittedly, I stood over him for a long moment like a nut job, admiring his beautiful face in repose. The man is so freaking handsome. But after I snapped out of it, I headed into the kitchen, poured myself a goblet of wine, turned on a Spotify playlist of today’s top hits, and started cooking dinner. Which brings me to the present moment.
That wine is in my belly now. The meal is simmering in a skillet. And, thankfully, I’m now feeling much more confident that Colin’s weirdness from earlier had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his big day tomorrow.
I turn off the burner to let my sauce thicken, but before I’ve turned away from the stove to grab some lemons from a bowl on the counter, I feel firm hands on my hips. A soft kiss on the side of my neck. I smell the faint scent of Colin’s shampoo.
“That smells amazing,” Colin says behind me.
I turn around and slide my arms around his neck, and he rests his palms on my ass in reply.
“Hello,” I whisper.
“You’ve been a busy little bee today,” he replies.
“I like keeping busy.”
“I never expected you to actually work for me. The PA job is supposed to be a networking opportunity for you.”
I shrug. “I’m getting a salary as your assistant. I might as well earn my money.”
“But I’m not the one paying you.”
“Either way, I’m your paid personal assistant this week. I like working hard. I like being helpful.”
“Well, damn, this is a pickle.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How so?”
“If you’re going to take your job seriously, then that means I’m fucking my personal assistant. And that makes me a douchebag.”
I giggle. “I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t.”
“But I’ll know.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to live with yourself.” I snicker. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. And I guess I could eat food, too.” He presses himself into me, and he’s hard as a rock.
“There’s no way I’m letting this dinner sit a minute longer. It’s already over-cooked. Tell that hard-on to take a chill pill for now.”
He looks down. “Take a chill pill, dude.” When he looks up, he’s smiling adorably. “He said he’ll do his best. But no promises.”
“That’s all anyone can do. Do me a favor and set the table. Also, grab us a couple beers from the fridge. I got a variety pack of different craft beers at the store. Thought it’d be fun for us to try them out throughout the week.”
“Great idea.”
While he gets to work, I plate our food. And a moment later, we’re sitting at Colin’s round kitchen table, feasting on the over-cooked meal I’ve prepared. As we eat, the vibe between us is relaxed and easy, the same way it was this morning at breakfast. And I’m beyond relieved about it. Whatever I might have blurted during sex, it’s clearly water under the bridge now.
As we’re eating, “Hate Sex High” begins playing at random on the “today’s top hits” playlist, and I immediately spring to life. “I love this song!” I say, bopping to the sexy beat in my chair.
