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Barrett
That night I managed to talk her into a drink at a local bar. Kind of. She drank iced tea while I slugged back a bottle of light beer. She jotted notes about our dating plans into her iPhone while I tried to make her smile. I succeeded—twice—but we didn’t go back to her place or mine. We returned to our respective homes and then we finished out the week apart—me writing (or attempting to) mostly away from the Columbus Dispatch office.
Mia was okay with the timeline I’d proposed, and for that I was grateful. To prove to her that I wasn’t a total slouch, I showed up Friday to work at my cubicle like a good little newspaper-column writer. She appears in the doorway of my cube at five minutes till five, right when I’m packing to leave.
“You two have quite the evening planned, I hear.”
“Yeah, well. You said readers wanted to see my world.” Since running into my former OSU running back at the beer festival, Jackson Burke and I have kept in touch. Tonight he’s throwing a huge bash at his house and Catarina and I are invited. Given the kinds of parties Burke used to throw, I expect this to be the kegger to end all keggers.
“The second article runs Sunday. Readers are already clamoring for more. Catarina’s rigid country club golf against your beer-and-cheese-fries night.” Mia’s excitability is scaring me. “Tomorrow night’s cocktail party for the Dispatch at the governor’s house will make for a nice wrap-up.”
The what now?
“Uh, right,” I say, not wanting to sound like a moron.
“Wear a tux.”
“No problem.”
“Catarina, see you tomorrow evening,” Mia calls and then steps out from between us. I clash eyes with my date for the evening.
She shuts the lid on her laptop and studiously ignores me. I call across the empty office, since I’m not one to be ignored. “Kitty Cat!”
“Shut up, Fox.”
“You didn’t tell me you’re taking me to a soirée for the paper tomorrow.”
“I’m not.” She’s stuffing things into her purse and refusing to look at me.
“Mia said I’m going.”
“Okay.” She gives me a bland blink. “You can be her date.”
I sigh and stroll over to Catarina’s desk as she stands. She dressed down today in a slim pair of dark jeans, and a red shirt that shows off both of her creamy, bare shoulders. I could take a bite, she looks so damn good.
“Missed you this week.” I glide my finger along the swell of one of those shoulders.
“That’s nice.” She shifts away from my touch and rounds her desk. I stand in her way. She’s wearing a pair of black-framed glasses that make her eyes look twice as large, her eyelashes twice as long. She looks like a sex-kitten librarian, and my dick throbs in approval.
“Need a reminder?” I ask, my voice husky.
“Of what?”
“Of how compatible we are?” I step closer, lowering my head, but she takes a deliberate step back.
“No, thanks. What time should I meet you tonight?”
“I’m picking you up.”
“Again: No, thanks. I can find Jackson’s house on my own. Text me the address when you have a second.” And she’s off, clipping her way to the elevator in her practical, flat shoes.
I snag my leather bag before giving chase and manage to dive into the elevator as the doors are sliding shut. We glide down two floors before I punch the red emergency button. We jerk to a stop.
Her expression is one for the books. Anger, shock, and irritation vie for first place. When she reaches past me for the button, I cage her into a corner. “Kitty Cat.”
“Get away from me.”
“Forget it.”
