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I look up, wondering if I should apologize. But he’s in the middle of reading something in the file.
I take a second to study him, truly study him. The man is so good-looking, it physically hurts. There isn’t a single flyaway hair on his perfect head. His muscled shoulders strain against his suit jacket, like the thing can hardly contain him. And his lips are soft and on the fuller side, but not too full. For a second, I think about what it might feel like to have them on me. Then I shake the ridiculous notion out of my head.
I shift in my seat, trying not to think of last night’s fantasy of him bending me over the desk and pressing his body against mine, but of course that’s all I think about. I need to think of something else. Puppies. Rainbows. Flowers in springt—
His eyes suddenly blink up, focusing on mine.
Before I can look away, he says, “Why are you doing that?”
I wore a low ponytail today, and I realize I’m twirling a lock of hair, gaping like some lovestruck teenager. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me that way?”
“What way?”
He makes a face as if to say, You’re the idiot who was doing it.
I make a clicking sound with my tongue, hoping my face isn’t getting red and betraying me. “If you didn’t notice, you’re right in front of me. When I look up, I see you. Unfortunately.”
“Mm.” He doesn’t believe me.
I stand up. “Should we order food? I think we should.”
He shrugs. “Might as well. Going to be a late night.”
We get paninis from some place he knows, and then we burn the midnight oil, discussing the case. When we talk, which is seldom and only ever about the Perry case, it’s weighted with tension.
Not sexual tension.
Just regular tension.
I think.
He’s Brooks Gentry. If he wants to have sexual anything, he probably knows better than to do it with me. There’s so much low-hanging fruit where Brooks is concerned, he never has to look up if he wants to get some. Plus, he knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell with me. He’s not about to waste his energy on a lost cause.
“You’re doing it again,” he says.
I blink and realize he’s right. I’m staring at him, lost in thought.
What the hell is wrong with me? No, I don’t have much sexual experience. Hardly any at all since I spent almost my entire college career holed up in the library studying. If I ever had needs, I had my vibrator to take care of me. I was perfectly fine denying that part of myself until the right man came along. Or if he never did, I was fine with that too.
But there’s something about Brooks that both infuriates me and…
… gets me hot and bothered at the same time.
“I’m thinking,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “About… ?”
This time, my face really does go red. I can feel it. I’m too flustered to think on the fly, and he can see it because the corner of his mouth quirks up into a half-smirk.
I need to take a break. To get out of here. To cool off. “Let’s take five.”
He’s staring at me now, his gaze heavy, smoldering almost.
It’s like a tractor beam, pulling me in. I can’t move.
“You said you were going?” he asks.
His phone buzzes. He grabs it and smiles in a way that lights up his whole face. God, he’s sexy as hell when he smiles. For a moment, I wonder what it would be like if he smiled at something I did or said. Then I realize he probably got a text from some girl he’s seeing. Maybe it’s the eighteen-year-old 'sick kid.'
Why does that depress me to no end? I have someone too. Even if it is Stranger88 and I’ve never actually met him. We have a deep, meaningful connection. A friendship, even if it’s virtual for now. It’s nothing like what Brooks and his flavor-of-the-week have, which is probably just sex.
Hot sex.
It pains me to think about how skilled he probably is in the sack. It’d be much more satisfying to assume he’s a three pump chump who can’t find the clit to save his life, but I highly doubt that.
For a second, my mind wanders into dangerous territory, imagining how steamy sex with Brooks would be.
What am I doing? I shouldn’t imagine. Not here, of all places.
Which reminds me. I haven’t checked BLIND LOVE all day. I’m treacherously close to ruining our streak.
I grab my phone and open the app, finding a new a message from Stranger88. My fingers fumble to open it as a grin spreads across my lips.
Stranger88: Working late. Stuck working a case with that ass-kissing coworker I told you about. Wish I could be lying in bed, messaging you instead.
I look up. Brooks is staring at his phone, as if he’s waiting for something.
