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Like there was a “right guy” out there for her.
Wasn’t thinking about that at all.
Okay, fine. It was all I could think about. And still am evennow, dammit.Eighteen freaking hours later.
It’s like I inhaled too much of her ocean scent and it drugged me.
It’s not helping that she’s currently splayed out on the floor again, mere inches from me. Has been for most of the day.
She’s in my office, and she’s in my head. Big time. And now that I’m actually admitting that to myself, I’m not sure how I feel about it.
At that very moment, Annie looks up and catches me staring. A small, questioning smile plays on her lips.
“I have to leave early today,” I say suddenly, mentally kicking myself for getting caught. Unfortunately, my sentence sounds almost like a question.
Great. Now I’m asking our brand new hire for permission to leave early.
“Sure thing, boss man,” Annie says easily. “Getting your Friday plans started early?”
“Nah, just being spontaneous,” I joke.
Annie snorts with laughter, and my lips tip up at the corners. She watches my expression, and her deep hazel eyes draw me in for half a second. My stomach stirs as I remember the tension that zapped through me as we stood next to each other. Butterflies, I believe people call them.
I wouldn’t know—before Annie, my romantic life was more stale, old and moth-ridden.
But when it comes to Annie, ithasto stay this way. She’s off-limits. Thinking of her in any other way is a disaster waiting to happen.
“Hot date on the docket?”
“I don’t date, remember?” I reply reflexively. This is veering dangerously close to small talk territory. Of a rather personal nature.
I know I shouldn’t get personal with Annie, but we had such a great conversation last night, I somehow want to keep talking. Surelythat’snot off-limits.
Even if it is much-detested small talk.
She blinks, tilts her head. “What about Legs?”
What does Legs have to do with my dating life (or lack thereof)?
Maybe Luke told Annie that I’m babysitting our niece for a couple of weeks, and she assumed that I’d be with her this afternoon. Which is a correct assumption. Legs has her dance class, and I’ll be helping her get ready and driving her to the studio.
“Yeah, I’ll be with Legs,” I say with a shrug. “Playing chauffeur.”
Annie gives me a strange look. “Is that a euphemism?”
“For driving?”
“No, for…” She stops, reddens. “Uh, never mind. Ignore me.”
I have no idea what’s going on, but for some reason, I find myself asking, “how about you?”
She frowns at me in confusion.
“I mean, do you have any weekend plans,” I clarify, feeling awkward. Serves me right for indulging myself. There’s a special place in hell for small talk. Right next to people who drive below the speed limit in the fast lane, and door-to-door salespeople.
Bothering people in their homes—the nerve.
And yet… I genuinely want to know the answer to my question.
