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He clears his throat, and I rip my hand away from him.Why the hell did I do that?
I open my mouth, searching for something—anything—to say. “I, um—”
“I shouldn’t have walked out of the interview in the way I did. I’m sorry.” He blurts the words out as if they’ve been burning his tongue.
“Thank you.” I give him a small smile and stare down into my mug. “For the record, I wish I could’ve gotten the answer right.”
He looks away. “Yeah, well, for the record, your wrong answer isn’t why I didn’t hire you.”
The words wash over me. “What do you mean?”
He stands, crossing the porch to lean against the railing again, his back to me. “Look, I’m going to say this, and then we’re never going to speak about it again, okay?”
“What?”
“Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah, sure. I guess.”
He draws in a long inhale. My entire body is on pins and needles as I await his next words.
“I don’t hire people I’m attracted to.”
“Wha—”
He turns around, resting against the railing, and shoves one hand into the pocket of his jeans. I can’t bear to meet his eyes, and yet, I can’t look away. “That’s why I didn’t hire you. Maybe that’s a terrible thing to say. You could probably sue me or something, but it’s the truth, so…there you go. It just hasn’t worked out for me in the past, and I have a rule about it now.”
My cheeks must be the color oftomatoes, as hot as they feel. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he asks, moving back to his seat and sitting down. “We good?”
“Yep.” I nod.
“Okay. Cool.”
I expect to find my mind racing with questions, but instead, it’s eerily silent, as if I can’t comprehend what’s just happened.
“I’m sorry if me being here has made this weekend awkward for you.”
“Surprisingly, it hasn’t.” I study him, but he still isn’t looking at me. “Is it… I mean, is it awkward for you? What with you being wildly attracted to me and all that?”
He rolls his eyes and puffs a playful breath out his nose, cracking a smile. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Wildlyis a bit of a stretch. Mildly, maybe.”
“Mm-hmm.” I lift the cup to my lips, staring at him over the rim. “Is that all you ever drink?” I tease, looking at the coffee in his mug.
“What?”
“I just realized I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink anything besides coffee. At the store… Even at dinner last night. Everyone had the margaritas Mara made, but not you. It’s always coffee.”
He turns to me with a wry grin. “You stalking me or something, Ortega?”
“Please,” I scoff. “I was invited to this place first, remember? If anyone’s stalking anyone, it’s you stalking me. Clearly because—”
“If you say it’s because I’m attracted to you one more time—”
