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Because despite the shit Drew had been giving me for the entire past hour, I’d been having a good time. I was used to his antics, and considering the successful afternoon that followed my incredibly satisfying morning, it felt like nothing could bring down my mood.
Until this call.
When it rang again, I silenced my phone, letting it go to voicemail. And to my relief, by the next round of drinks, the topic had changed for good to business—specifically Drew and Evie’s hopes for his next contract with the Empires.
For the rest of our time together, everything was fine and well. It wasn’t till we parted ways outside the brewery that I bit the bullet, stopping on the sidewalk to finally check my texts.
Scrolling past all the ones from my clients and colleagues, I went straight to the ones from her.
CAMILA: Hey love. Missing you here. Call me please I need to talk to you
CAMILA: ASAP
19
IAIN
I hadn’t wanted to make the call last night, but I did, and and as predicted, it went long.
Far longer than I would have liked.
But I refused to let it affect me by morning. I forced the conversation to the back of my head as I got dressed and skipped the jacket, because as if to offset my mood, the day was particularly sunny.
Scorching, in fact. The temperature was at nearly a hundred degrees and the forecast had it getting hotter by afternoon, which made me grateful for the fact that I’d be watching today’s game at Fenway from the indoor comfort of a suite.
After completing the signing, taking the customary pictures, shaking a couple hands and giving a few quotes to the media, I headed down toward the field.
I was at the elevators when I got a text. From Holland.
I looked at her name on my phone, just taking in the sight of it for a moment. Then with a hasty swipe, I unlocked my screen, my eyebrows pulling together as I read her text.
HOLLAND: Think the AC’s on high enough here?
As soon as I finished reading the words, a picture came in.
And lit my eyes on fire.
It was Holland sitting at her desk at work. Only the lower half of her face was visible, and I could see a hint of her tongue sticking out between mischievously grinning lips. She was wearing a light brown dress with short sleeves, a high crew neck, and her hard nipples showing through. Like two pencil erasers fighting against the thick but clearly-not-thick-enough cotton of her top.
I clenched my teeth, a dozen conflicting emotions warring inside me as I stared at those tits.
Those fucking perfect tits. I wanted to suck on them and at the same time I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and march her the fuck out of that office before anyone laid eyes on her.
ME: For Christ’s sake Holland
ME: Why aren’t you wearing a bra
HOLLAND: There’s a bra built into this dress!
ME: It’s doing nothing to keep you covered
HOLLAND: What’s your definition of covered? Last I checked my boobs weren’t hanging out
I started and stopped a response to her last text, fighting off the mental image of her sitting completely topless at her desk before scrolling back up to the picture and looking at everything surrounding her.
A busy office. An open layout. More than a few men in sight. Goddammit. I wanted to believe that I was more rational than this. The world wasn’t going to end if Holland walked around without a bra on. That was the truth.
And yet, every drop of blood inside me was simmering at the thought of her blithely going about her workday, unaware of all the eyes on her as she did innocuous things like sit up straight or fix her ponytail.
