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“Nah, nothing like that. I was only thinking about tomorrow’s schedule.”
“How about we get your mind off work?” Casey clapped his hands excitedly. “Are you ready to shake that booty?”
I swung out my hip. “I was born ready.”
Casey was already dressed for the night, so I hightailed it to my room to slip into tight jeans and a crop top. I swiped on some eyeliner, dabbed a little color on my lips, and we were on our way.
The pleasant night air felt good against my skin, and thankfully, the club was only a few blocks from our apartment. I had taken enough public transportation to last me a lifetime. At least I wasn’t lugging a rolling rack with designer clothes behind me. Christ. I pulled down my top, feeling momentarily self-conscious about what I was wearing.
“You’re rocking that look,” Casey said as if reading my mind. I never used to care so much. Not until I got this assistant-to-a-stylist job.
As if I’d summoned my judgmental boss with my thoughts, my cell buzzed with a call from him. I answered as we moved around a group of people on the sidewalk.
“Shae?” Rowan asked in an uncertain tenor.
“Yes, Rowan?”
Casey glanced behind him and rolled his eyes.
“Have you seen my planner?”
I’d said it before and I’d say it again—for someone who had an eye for coordinating looks, he was terrible with organization.
“I didn’t think I was in charge of it today.”
“Just answer the question.” His tone had a bite to it, and I wondered if he was still smarting from that phone call. But who was I kidding; he was always like this. Always business-minded, rarely playful.
“Yes, of course, I’ve seen your planner, Rowan. I slipped it in your messenger bag because I knew you’d forget it.”
“Seriously?” Casey mouthed to me, and I turned away so I could focus.
“Thank God.” Rowan exhaled in relief, but I would’ve appreciated a thank-you. Yeah, I wouldn’t hold my breath for that.
“I don’t know if you need to refer to me as a god, but I’ll take it.”
There was a pause, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I wish you were more ridiculous. It might loosen you up a bit.”
“I’m plenty loosened up, thank you very much,” he muttered. “And no, you shouldn’t read into that like a fourteen-year-old.”
I snickered. “Beat me to it.”
Did Rowan ever have a full-on belly laugh? Because he certainly needed one. He was too damned serious all the time.
Rounding a corner, we got in line to show our IDs to the bouncer at the door. Right then, a car horn blared.
“Why do I hear the sound of traffic?”
“Because I’m about to enter a club where I’m sure to have an awesome night.”
“Hope you remembered to take your PrEP,” he said in a tone bordering on patronizing. So he had been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tony.
“Dancing doesn’t always lead to hooking up.” Though the trapeze artists they showcased in this club sure made you hot enough to want it.
I must’ve surprised the guy in front of me because he came to a sudden stop, and I narrowly missed plowing into him. Casey gripped my arm to help steady me, and I’d likely hear about my klutziness the rest of the night.
“But according to you, most of the time it does,” Rowan said in this tone that set my teeth on edge. As if he knew me so well—and maybe he thought he did with all my blathering—when he’d barely shared anything personal after working beside me for months on end. He’d obviously only paid attention to the surface stuff when I’d shared my weekend plans with Tony or talked about the restaurants I’d tried with Anita.
“There is nothing wrong with enjoying sex.” I turned away from Casey’s scrutinizing gaze and hoped no one else could hear me. But with the music thumping loud enough to feel it outside, most seemed oblivious. “I’m single and having fun.”
When he went silent, I was surprised he didn’t have a retort. I thought of that phone call again. You’d call me an awful lay. That was the moment I heard regret in his voice and vulnerability. He’d accused Brett of cheating on him, so maybe he was hypersensitive about this stuff. Still, projection much?
“I’m sure you’re wearing some awful, ill-fitting outfit.” He scoffed as if he could picture my midriff showing. He’d probably die if he saw Casey’s leather harness hidden beneath his shirt. Ultimate club gear. “At least you’ve got that angelic face going for you.”
I smirked. It was one of his many backhanded compliments.
I’d admit that some of my days hinged on his insults just so I could lob my own back. It was better than silence or telling him to fuck off already. Wasn’t it?
“Hang on.” I lifted my phone to snap a selfie, then promptly sent it to him.
