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And… here we go.
“Not all of us spend more time reading Urban Dictionary than The Atlantic.”
“It doesn’t take being well educated to know what a fluffer is, Mallory.”
“Survey any ten random strangers on the street and I’ll bet you three of them have no idea the term fluffer is for porn. In New England, I’ll bet half will think you’re talking about fluffernutters.”
“Is that what you call an insane fluffer?”
“You’re about to get a stapler to the nose, Lotham.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time my nose took a hit.” He pinches the bridge of it. “But it would be the first time a woman threw something at me in anger.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I tend to date nonviolent women.”
“Or ones who are exceedingly patient.”
As the words come out of my mouth, I feel his breath hitch. The air between us changes. I don’t know why he offered me this job. I also don’t know why I look up and catch his eye.
But I’m glad I do.
Because that half smile on his face is the best.
Will leans across the desk and taps the stapler. “You don’t have a license to wield a deadly weapon, Mallory. And I didn’t hire you to fling inanimate objects at my face.”
I wonder about animate objects I can fling at his face.
Wait. No. Halt. Ahhhhh! Stop thinking that. I wince, which makes him frown.
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking at me intently, making this so much worse.
“I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
“It’s my contact lens.”
He stands up and steps close to me, so I stand, too. “Why are you wearing these when you have contacts?” he asks, touching the arm of my glasses.
“That totally explains the pain!” I gasp. Whew. An excuse.
His thumbs and index fingers delicately grasp the edges of my glasses, pulling them forward, giving me time for a deep breath that fills me with the scent of Will. Instantly, he’s in soft focus. He seems more solid, the sharp edges blurred, making it easier for me to quell the growing storm inside me.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much,” I lie.
“Good.” I can’t really see his face, but I can read his body language. Hear his breath. Smell his aftershave and the soapy scent of a man who showered an hour ago, lime and mint mixing with something earthy, something cotton. He’s close enough to smell coffee on his breath, and I have to stop moving, stop inhaling, stop the world because it’s spinning faster than I can think.
Slower than I can feel.
His head tilts. “You look different without them.”
“Most people do.”
“I can’t decide which I like better.”
