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He rubs his jaw, looking at the plans rather than me, though I suspect he’s not really looking atthemeither. “It’s been pretty busy,” he says. “I found a little engine for Henry to take apart, though. I’ll try to drop it off at some point.”
It’s kind of him, but I don’t want him dropping things off. Iwant him hanging out with us, the way he was. He seemed to enjoy it.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “School gets out in early July—he’ll need a project.”
“He should learn to surf once school’s done. He’s the right age for it.”
I glance up. I’m not sure if that was an offer or an offhand suggestion. “I’ve never surfed. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to teach him.”
He tugs at his collar. “I might be able to, if a little time opens up.”
“You know Sophie will insist on coming too. There’s no way she’d allow you to only teach Henry.”
His smile is wistful, as if he misses her, missesus. “Well, if I can find time to teach one, I can probably teach two.” He looks away, his face stern again. “No promises, though. Let’s see these plans.”
I move the layouts closer. “You can tell me you hate them. Not that you’ve ever been reticent about ripping someone’s hard work to shreds.”
“Why would I be?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. “It’s one of the few perks of my position.”
This is good. We’re back to playinggrumpy asshole boss and reasonable employee. It’s normal and non-sexy and…well, it’s still sexy, I guess, because I find Caleb-as-grumpy-asshole unbelievably hot, but at least it’s familiar.
I rise, leaning over to indicate the upper lefthand wall of the room. “So, in the first option, we’d put a coffee bar here. And yes, they’ll be paying for the coffee, and yes, I know we’re not Google. It should completely cover its own costs.”
I start to sit and then stop myself. “Oh, I almost forgot. Over here”—I lean over once more—“we’ll have ping-pong and foosball.”
“Cool,” he says distractedly, but when I turn, his gaze isn’ton the plans at all. It’s on my ass. Molly would have any number of suggestions for things I should say right now. I’m just worried I sat on something, however.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, running a hand over the back of my skirt.
He pulls at his tie as if it’s strangling him. “I was wondering if you were wearing stockings. I noticed the garter thing yesterday and…Jesus, never mind. This isn’t anything we need to discuss.”
This is the opening I thought wouldn’t occur. This is where I say‘maybe you should check,’but I can’t quite summon the courage.
“So you wondered if I was wearing it?” I ask.
“Like I said, this is nothing we need to discuss.”
I could tell him the truth, which is that I wouldn’t have the first clue how to hook up garters. But I sort of like the idea of him considering it. I lean over once more to pin down the corner of the plan. “Use your imagination,” I reply.
“If you’re so insistent on your fairy tale,” he says between his teeth, “consider not bending over in front of me while suggesting Iuse my imagination.”
For a second, I don’t move a single muscle while I try to process what he just said. Until I realize there’s only one conclusion to be drawn:
He wants me.
This isn’t in my head. This isn’t because I stumbled into him in a bikini. This isn’t me persuading myself of something that isn’t there. And I should straighten and make a joke, play it off.
But.
But.
I don’t straighten. I don’t move an inch. “Orwhat, Caleb?” I whisper. “What will you do if I keep bending over?”
I’m breathless, waiting to see what he does.
His chair scrapes the floor as he rises, and then his hand lands on my ass.
Not a brush of his fingers, not an accident. His whole, hot palm is on my ass, fingers spread wide as if desperate to cover as much ground as possible. His swallow is audible.
