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The urge to run is strong. But this conversation is inevitable. And also already excruciating.
I try not to sigh too loudly. “Close the door,” I tell him, reluctantly walking back to my desk to put my purse down.
I hear the lock click and take a deep breath. When I turn to look at him his eyes are on me. It makes me jump.
The dark beard on his jaw makes him look even more dangerous. For a second I swear I can feel the roughness of his face between my thighs.
I open my mouth and his gaze dips to my lips.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he says. There’s a thickness to his voice that he has to clear away with another cough. “If you need me to quit I’ll talk to Wayne.”
“Why would you quit?” I ask him, genuinely confused. “I started it.”
“You touched me. I took it too far. We work together.” He blinks. “I’m not even sure if you’re my boss, but if you are that makes it worse.”
“I’m not,” I blurt out. “Gr… Wayne Gauthier is still your boss. I’m just a consultant.”
“Either way it shouldn’t have happened.”
He’s right. We’re on the same page. But instead of feeling relief something else pulls at my gut. I’m… disappointed? Which is stupid because this could have turned out so much worse.
“It was a game night,” I said. “Emotions were high. Tensions hit the roof.” I pull my lip between my teeth. “Why don’t we both forget about it?”
He blinks. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
“Or reprimand me?”
“No,” I whisper.
He looks at me carefully. “So that’s it?”
“Yep. How was the team this morning?”
He runs his thumb along his bearded jaw. “Pissed.”
“It was a hard match. You could have won it.”
He winces. Ouch, wrong thing to say.
“Yeah, well we need to play better next time.”
It would help with funds if they won, that’s for sure. Spectators like winning teams. Wisely, I don’t voice that thought.
“You will,” I say. “The potential is there. They just need to start working as a team.”
A ghost of a smile passes his lips. And I’m looking at him again, realizing that I don’t just find him attractive. I’m starting to like him.
No, Idolike him. And that’s wrong and dangerous and it will only end in tears if I let it.
Which I won’t, because I’m grown up and I know better than to mess with things that make me sad.
“I should head out,” I say, pointedly picking up my purse again, because I need some space. I’m lonely, I’m somewhere I don’t want to be, and I’m grasping at any bit of friendship somebody offers me. “I need some lunch.”
“Oh yeah. Sure.” He nods. I hate that he still looks relieved.
“You want me to pick you up anything?” I ask.
