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“You told me there is going to be a gift exchange. Secret Santa?”
He only nods.
I roll my eyes and he chuckles at the move. I feel like I’m constantly amusing him. “That usually means people know who they’re gifting for ahead of time, Mr. Policeman.”
Derek purses his lips. “Oh, shit, let me invite you to the group text and Desiree can give you the details. Desiree is Amy’s wife,” he adds when he notices I don’t recognize the names.
Amy was one of his college friends, and Desiree is a cop too if I recall correctly. She had to be the tall lean one with short black hair, and a smile that could cut a man or woman down with ease.
“Oh, Desiree,” I say a little too wistfully.
“She’s married,” Derek points out gruffly.
Funny, he almost sounds jealous.
I huff. “I know. Everyone but you is married. When are you hanging up the stag card for a Mrs. Claus, Mr. Lance?” I regret asking as soon as the question leaves my lips. I shouldn’t be interested in his dating life.
Even if I am fully invested.
“When are you going to end your celibacy and find a Mr. Claus, Ms. Daley?”
My stomach flips at the casual rebuttal.
I’m saved by the bell, well the vibrations of a bell, as my phone starts playing catch up with the group chat Derek’s added me to. I fish it out of my back pocket before the constant vibrating only makes the sickly-sweet feeling Derek gives me worse. He tosses his own phone to the bed behind him.
I can’t help but stare at the man, even with the phone flashing in my face as bubble after bubble glides across the screen. He looks good after midnight. He looks good mid-workout… And let me tell you, he looks good in his uniform too.
My oversized sweatshirt is suffocating in the rush of heat my body is producing. Perspiration gathers at the small hairs on the back of my neck as his abdomen flexes, reaching toward me as I stand dumbfounded. My mouth is dry, the insult about his sweaty fingers caught in my throat. I push my glasses up my nose and I catch him staring at my mouth.
The cellphone in my hand starts to ring, one of the numbers from the group chat flashing to grab my attention. I don’t move an inch to answer it, eyes as wide as saucers as they look up at Derek. He smells of sweat and linen, and something fruity on his breath. Maybe an energy drink for his workout? Is he going to kiss me? Is he mistaking me for one of his slim-fit booty calls in the delirium of his workout?
As he leans in, Derek hits the green button on my screen, answering the call for me.
“Hey, D,” he says but his eyes never leave me. I’m caught in his tractor beam and I’m helpless to the pull.
“Derek?” the female voice asks on speakerphone. “I thought I was calling that smoking hot roomie of yours?”
“You’re married,” Derek growls back.
Heisjealous.
He pokes me in stomach and I exhale a held breath. I think I was close to passing out.
I make myself known to Desiree and shake from whatever trance the man’s pheromones have put me in. “Hey.”
“Sugar!” I pull the phone away and Derek’s lips turn up, but he’s still staring at me. And he’s still close.
Derek still looks like he might kiss me and the space between us is suffocatingly hot for a winter’s night.
I finally look down and my face burns brightly. It isn’t just a phone call, she’s facetiming me. I give Derek a shove back into his room. He’s so caught off guard he lets me, and I pull closed his own bedroom door in his face. Running more than I have all year, I sprint to the safety of my room, putting as many doors between me and him as possible.
Sliding to the floor against my door, I set the phone up to my cherry red face.
With my hair tousled and wearing nothing but a hoodie, I can understand why Desiree asks me, “What were you two doing, Sug?”
I shove my face into my sleeve covered hand and shake, a grumble from me is a denial and her laughter is musical.
“If I had known I was interrupting, I wouldn’t have called.”
