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Knowing restraint like no other, I keep my eyes glued to my monitor. While I’m strong enough to keep my body physically in check, my mind is a battleground in constant motion. That woman has planted herself deep enough that I can’t ever get her out.
I want Gwenevere. No,Gwen. Knowing how much she dislikes me using her name, I can’t help myself but egg the woman on. I love watching her get all flustered and annoyed. Sometimes, she looks like she wants to wrap her hands around my throat and watch the light leave my eyes.
If she’s sitting on my lap, I’d let her do it too. Knowing her, she’d put me out of my misery with a smile on her lips.
She’s just as bad. It’s always,Sanders thisorSanders that. What I would do to hear the woman call me by my first name. Be it through an insult or a husky whisper, I’ve all but imagined all sorts of scenarios in my head.
Even now, I’m thinking about our earlier conversation. Planting my name in her mouth, I remember the way she enjoyed the cupcake she’d gone so out of her way for. From flicking her tongue against her thumb and moaning in delight at the sweet taste, the memory taunts me far worse than I can imagine. So much so that I don’t hear any approaching steps at first.
The familiar strawberry smell hits me all at once and I know she’s behind me. Her steps are silent, and if I didn’t already revolve around this woman, then I wouldn’t have ever noticed her to begin with.
Instead of twisting around and ruining her little fun, I wait there. Honestly, I expect her to be planning something. Maybe a sticky note against my back? No, her touch will burn right through the paper and my shirt.
When I second guess myself with a lack of reaction, I finally spin around.
Gwen jumps, her brows lifting as quickly as her cheeks flush. She’s been caught red-handed doing… what exactly? Her hands are empty and she doesn’t belong at my end of the office. The higher-ups separated us for good reason.
I’m thankful for their decision. I wouldn’t get any work done if she sat anywhere near.
“Yes, Gwenevere?” I cock a brow, waiting.
Her nose scrunches and I fight not to smile. Lately, I’ve been losing that battle more and more.
“I’ve come to challenge you.” Straightening her form, she runs her hands along the front of her blouse. So, that’s where she’s been, planning?
Propping my arm up against my chair, I hide my lips behind my hand. Lifting a brow, I circle my other hand to keep her going. I don’t trust my face enough to let her see.
“Christmas party this weekend, tell me you’re going.” It’s a demand, not a request.
My face scrunches at the mention of the same awkward party they throw every year. The very same one I normally find an excuse not to attend.
“Let me guess, this challenge involves dressing up.” Blinking at her, I watch the way her eyes light up. Not only is Gwen perfect, she’s easily readable.
“Ugly Christmas sweater contest,” she explains as she roams to the front of my desk. As my eyes follow and my chair turns, she rests against the edge of my desk. Folding her hands at her front, she looks down at me like she doesn’t realize what damage she’s currently brewing up.
Wonderful. I already know her sweet perfume is going to cling to my desk until lunch. What torture.
So, she wants to use my weakness against me. I care plenty about my appearance and a sweater isn’t going to cut it. So, she either wins her challenge or she makes me look like a fool. It’s a win-win for her.
No wonder her eyes are sparkling. If I deny her, I’ll seem weak. Look at her go, keeping up with me. I’m so proud of her that I catch my smile growing.
“Checkmate, Gwenevere. What do you get if you win?” Dropping my hand, I fold both against my lap. “What is it that you desire the most?”
My question is meant to be light-hearted because obviously, she’d want something brutal. I expect payback for making her drive out in a snowstorm, one reward I’m still very much pissed about.
So, why do two patches of pink grow on her cheeks? I’m confused and inside, I want to demand answers. I crave them. Could she be thinking about a different meaning to my words? If that is the case, then I definitely want to know what is going on in her head.
She swipes her hand in the air, dismissing my stare. “You first. What do you want? Need to know if I have to go all out.”
“Lunch,” I answer simply.
The woman blows out a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Ninety percent of the time, you want lunch. I’m denying your answer. Come on Sanders, spice it up a little. Let’s make this more fun.”
I love my winning lunches. A whole hour spent at some table with the woman while she devours her meal while I watch, what can get better than that? Hell, I’ve won so many times that I’ve learned her favorite places to go. The way she smugly smiles when I suggest the place like she’s the winner instead, it’s cute as hell.
She’s persistent and I roll my eyes.Spice it up, she says. The one thing I do want, I can’t have. Why bother overthinking it?
“My name,” I finally say, figuring it can’t hurt to cave into my wants a little bit. “Stop calling me by my last name. Call me Riley like all of the other employees here.”
