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“What did you do?” I asked.
He tossed his magazine to his desk and got up, giving his vest a little tug at the bottom so it hugged his chest even more nicely. He approached me with a few deliberate steps until we were practically nose to nose. “I made sure I’d get you all to myself. Like we talked about.”
“All I remember talking about was how busy I am today.”
“Exactly.”
His big hands were on my waist now. It felt like the room suddenly wasn’t connected to reality—like everything was about to spin. I couldn’t believe I was letting this thing between us happen. I had half a mind to snap my fingers and tell him I’d made a mistake, but I couldn’t deny it was fun.
Fun wasn’t a word I usually put much value in. And yet I found myself waking up with a guilty little zing of hope in the back of my mind every day lately. I’d think about what he might do or say while I was in the shower getting ready. I’d play back flirtatious comments he’d made or revisit the memory of our kiss in the parking lot and the conference room for the thousandth time.
I could have both. I could still focus on my career and allow myself this slight distraction. I could do it, dammit.
“Indigestion?” Travis asked.
His voice made me jump. I’d been in my own head and nearly forgotten I was looking up at the most perfect male specimen I’d ever laid eyes on.
“No,” I said. “I’m just trying to make sure I haven’t lost my mind. All of this,” I said, looking between us and shaking my head.
He lifted a fingertip to my jaw, tracing a tingle-inducing line from my ear to my chin, then biting his lip. “It does feel a little like losing your mind, doesn’t it? Like you’d say fuck it to all the things that seemed important before? Like you’d do nearly anything to just let loose.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Let loose?”
Travis grinned, but it wasn’t the usual playful, carefree grin. It was a sinister grin. The kind of grin that made my belly fill with raging heat.
“I told you I’m a transparent kind of guy. I can’t stop thinking about you, Lizz. About what I’d do to you. Because I’d already take just kissing you over anything I’ve ever done before. I can’t imagine how much I’d enjoy… Well…”
I cleared my throat and took a step back. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having at work.”
“Boundaries in the office,” he said with a nod—already back to his normal self in the blink of an eye. “I can respect that. We’ll finish the conversation on our date tonight. After you meet my family.”
“I already told you, I can’t. I’ve got meetings all evening.”
“Check your calendar.” He fished something out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth, chewing cockily.
“It’s really not sanitary to keep that much food in your pockets,” I said, turning and heading to my desk.
I heard him pick his magazine back up and put his feet on his desk. I opened my calendar and did a double take when the block for my day after lunch was completely empty. “What did you do?” I asked.
“I told you I’d call in a few favors. Send some emails if you don’t think it’s legit. I got you covered, babe.”
Babe. I nearly scolded him for that one, but I just clenched my teeth and fired off a few emails. Within minutes, I got replies confirming that my meetings had all been moved, rescheduled, or consolidated. I sat back and shook my head at the screen. I could just see Travis’ shoes, but even his damn shoes looked over-confident.
All I could do was fold my arms and brood. It looked like he was getting his way. Another date.
Travis’ apartment was filled with the smell of Italian food. He claimed he made a “killer” lasagna, but I’d seen him using store bought jars of sauce, boxed lasagna sheets, and packaged meat, so I wasn’t sure what part he was planning to give himself credit for, exactly.
I sat at his dining table with his parents, his sister, and his sister’s husband, Sebastian. Apparently, I’d have to meet his business friends some other time because they were all busy tonight. Travis was in the kitchen whistling and banging pots and pans around like he was auditioning for the Blue Man Group.
Travis’ parents were Hal and Harole. They were everything my mother wasn’t. Easy-going, friendly, low-key, and adorable. Hal asked me dozens of questions while his wife, Harole, would occasionally look up from her knitting to tell him to “let the poor thing breathe, dear.”
His sister, Kenzie, was pretty and awesome in a “no filter” sort of way. She had a little baby girl named Abigail in her lap. It seemed like the baby’s mission was to pull Kenzie’s blouse down and flash her breasts to the rest of the table.
