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Last night had been, in a massive understatement, fucking wild. My fiancé cheated, my boss nearly beat the shit out of him for me, and then said boss and I had an increasingly inappropriate sleepover that started with whiskey and ended with me asking about his masturbation habits—and then getting very openly flustered by his answer.
I genuinely could not imagine the monumental levels of awkwardness that awaited me in the morning. But then I awoke at 7AM to an empty room and an email from Knox.
Can’t do noon. Let’s do 9 or reschedule.
Shortly after, Adam rushed back from the gym looking pissed. “You see the email?” he demanded. “I’m letting everyone know,” I said, on the phone.
And then we were off.
I made a round of calls while he showered and just like that, we were too busy to think about the night before. It was a miracle. An actual godsend of a dick move from Knox, and it had me thinking this day might just go by drama-free.
But then came Caspar.
Deciding to blow up my work phone mid-meeting, with what I’d thought might finally be reflective, remorseful texts, but nope.
They were completely unhinged.
CASPAR: Tell me what you did with him
CASPAR: I know you fucked him. Just admit you always wanted to
CASPAR: I should state for the record that I did fuck Vicky
CASPAR: Twice last night and once this morning.
CASPAR: Depending on what floor you’re on you might’ve heard
It didn’t even stop there.
He went on to detail how I could have prevented this. How he’d only slept with Vicky after I chucked his engagement ring. How Adam probably couldn’t even make me come. That he probably just pounded women like sex toys.
Yep.
Super charming.
In a weird way though, I was almost grateful for the texts, because they were so revolting that they fast-tracked me to about the ninety percent mark of getting the hell over this jackass.
The downside, however, was the fact that they had me so fucking pissed that I was thinking of all the filthy, sweaty sexual acts I could tell him I did with Adam. He was harassing me for the info, so why not?
Well.
Because you didn’t actually sleep with Adam, you will never sleep with Adam and thinking about this is the last thing you need after getting kind-of-almost turned on by Adam last night.
Not that that counted, I reminded myself, feeling my neck getting warm as I watched Adam read the texts from my phone.
His brow was furrowed as he stroked his thumb across his bottom lip, drawing my eyes to all the places they didn’t need to be right now. His mouth. His long fingers. Those thick goddamned forearms that brought me right back to last night’s dirty thoughts.
Okay—easy, perv, I warned myself, trying to remind myself that I was angry right now, not horny.
My nose crinkled. Unless there’s a fine line. Is there?
Potentially valid question but I didn’t ponder the answer for long because Adam finally got to the part about how he probably “pounds girls like sexy toys.”
“For Christ’s sake,” he exhaled a laugh that I could only describe as amused disgust. Then he handed back my phone, his blue gaze locking on me with a look of intrigue. “So are you going to respond?” he asked.
“I mean…” I swallowed, my eyes on my phone as his eyes remained on me.
And just like that, I was asking myself how the hell I survived five years of standing this close to Adam, being the recipient of his scrutinizing gaze. He was so damned casual, his hands slid in his pockets and his head tilted just so as he watched me with interest. Meanwhile, I could think of nothing but the fact that I was standing barely a foot away from him, my eye line right at his chest, forcing me to look up at him from under my lashes.
