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Must’ve happened while running here. Shame. Mine looked great before I devoured it.
Riley looks down at the dessert, pausing his drink midway. Setting the cup down, he lifts his gaze. “You really went out and got one of these in this weather?”
I nod, unable to ignore the way his brows furrow.
“Deal is a deal, Sanders. You know me, not even a snowstorm can stop me from keeping my end of our deal.”
Okay, a snowstorm is a little exaggerated. I did slide around three times on the way here though, so that scared me nearly as much as a snowstorm if that counts. I don’t want to try and make him feel bad, because he already looks a bit off.
He grunts, looking back down at the disaster in the box. Whether he’s conscious of it or not, his nose is doing that little scrunch again. The man does not like sweets.I knew it.This jerk…
“Shouldn’t have gone through all the trouble.” He’s still frowning, displeased despite me giving him what he wanted.
Riley enjoys making me suffer. We’re truly opposites.
For example, wheneverIwin these bets, I fight tooth and nail to stop myself from requesting something crazy like asking for a compliment. A little booster for my rough days. If my heart is feeling a little more achy, I’ll even consider asking for a little more than a few words.
He’s got these nice hands. Long fingers that type at his keyboard and wrap nicely around a phone whenever he’s talking to a client. Sometimes, I catch myself watching. I’d love to see those hands up close and feel them too. The last time I won, I almost asked for a shoulder massage. That was over a month ago, I’ve purposely lost ever since.
Can’t let myself give away my feelingsthateasily, can I?
My cheeks feel hot. Is it too late to blame it on all that running?
Then there is this man. When Riley wins, he’d want me to run a mile in heels. Total opposites. Even after all these years, this man has seen me as nothing but a form of amusement.
Well, he’s not smiling now. Not even when he tears off a piece of the cupcake and shoves it in his mouth. While he’s grimacing, I’m too busy looking at the chocolate icing on his fingers and the way his tongue swipes at any crumbs.
I’ve got it pretty bad.
Now that I know I’m not going to be late, I plop down across from him and rest my sore feet. For a moment, I watch this man pretend he actually wants the cupcake. After I’m satisfied, I decide to put him out of his misery.
“You don’t have to eat it.” Hiding a smile behind my hand, I try not to trick myself into believing this man is upset that I went so far out of my way to get him what he wanted. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t want. They are delicious.”
The way he immediately shoves the box over is one way to tell me he disagrees.
“Though, the next bet I win, I’m going to get you back, just know. I’ll make you suffer real good, Sanders.” Sinking my teeth into rich chocolate, I cement my promise.
And there it is—the small little dimple. Frown gone, this man looks amused with my firm promise.
“I suppose I can’t allow you to win then, Gwenevere.” He sits back, washes down the sweet taste out of his mouth with bitter coffee and we’re right back to how we normally are.
People we work with probably think we hate each other. Even now, when Riley takes a dig at my wild curls and uses the name I despise, they can see the way I want to strangle him. Every day, our interactions remain the same.
But if they stop looking and simply just listen, I’m sure they’d hear the way my heart pounds and realize it’s quite the opposite.
It’s a shame really. The man smiling behind his cup is the most deaf one here.
Even if I climb to the top of the building and scream my feelings out to the world, he won’t ever know.
That’s why I’ll continue shoving my feelings down and keep on playing our game. I’ve loved him for years, I’m sure my feelings will stay the same until we hit retirement.
Riley
Sweets make my teeth hurt and my stomach clenches up every time I eat the stuff. Always has, even as a kid growing up.
So, why in the hell does my mouth water every time Gwenevere is nearby? Her sweet-smelling perfume should make me pinch my nose, not drift closer. It’s a curse, really. That artificial strawberry smell is my weakness.
Right now, she’s nowhere near. Instead of feeling relief, my skin itches. Like I’m an addict looking for their next fix, I fight the urge to stand and see if she’s sitting in her cubicle or not. Knowing her, she’s already slipped away back toward the break room to grab a snack from the vending machine.
