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“Let me make it up to you,” he’s saying now, an odd light in his eyes. “The favor you did for me.”
Oh, so now he’s calling it a favor.
Although I can’t say that this ‘making it up to me’ sounds as crappy as it probably should. Maybe Nolan’s only, like, 60% jerk, anyway.
Somehow, in the harsh fluorescent glare of the lights overhead, he manages to look both intense and relaxed at once, like a cougar lounging as it hunts its prey. Those hazel questions of his eyes are so mesmerizing that it takes a few seconds for what he said to hit.
Holy hell-cow, is he actually suggesting what I think he is?
And am I actually open to it?
“Hey boss,” a beefy looking bald guy says, striding in the room. “Just wanted to let you know, the bathroom layout is all wrong. I know we thought that we’d gotten rid of all Gerard’s fuck-ups, but it looks like not. What do you want us to do? They’d already started applying the floor tiles when they realized it.”
“Shit.” Nolan scowls, eyes enraged slits as he shakes his head. “No one noticed?” He takes a step for the back door, already shaking his head. “I’ll go have a look now.”
“No need.” The bald guy makes a face as he heaves a heavy sigh. “I can tell you right now, the place looks like shit. Since Gerard’s measurements were all wrong, the remaining tiles won’t even fit properly.”
“I thought you said you double-checked everything else,” Nolan says, arms crossed over his chest as he glares at the guy. His face is strained between stifled rage and twisted calm. “That’s what you told me.”
“Nope.” The bald guy’s pudgy oval of a face assumes a mulish expression. “Told you I double-checked everything else in the main room. All those measurements are A-OK.”
“Would logic not suggest you check the entire layout?” Nolan’s voice is quiet, contained, yet still vibrating with rage. It’s actually kind of hot.
Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?
At any rate, clearly, Nolan’s at least 80% jerk, and judging by the way he and the bald guy are squaring off, has completely forgotten about me. So much for moment #2.
There’s only one thing to do. I head for the door and leave. On the way to my car, I almost pause and turn back half-a-dozen times. I mean, I never even said goodbye, gave Nolan a chance to, I don’t know, prove that he meant what he said. That the look in his eyes wasn’t just a look. But, as I sit in the traffic that’s crawling me back home, if I’m being completely honest with myself, the interruption was just my excuse to leave. Part of me wanted to run away the second we locked eyes.
Maybe there’s times when it’s good to have an ill-advised, head-over-heels fling with some guy too attractive to believe, but now isn’t one of those times. At least not for me.
I have my job situation to worry about, I’m one missed rent payment away from getting the boot, I’m reduced to Googling ‘creative ramen recipes’. Now is not the time for me to be going and having a fling with a guy I’m possibly more attracted to than any other, ever.
Especially not knowing what happened the last time I got in way too deep.
Even if, yes, just being around him is like three shots of vodka and yes, he is hot and in control and pure man and—Stop, Sierra.
So, I do. I go home, apply to five more journalist positions I’ll never get, and then, after a meal of ramen à la chili (basically, ramen doused with enough chili that I almost like it), Josie calls me up.
“How’d it go?” she asks.
“Which?” I say. “Giving the jerk back his fancy phone, or my never-ending job hunt?”
She chuckles sympathetically. “I guess you answered both questions?”
“He actually wasn’t as much of a jerk the second time,” I admit. “He even apologized. Apparently, he’d been having a bad day or something.”
“Oooh, and?” Josie says.
“No ‘and’,” I say, frowning. I shouldn’t have brought it up, really. What’s done is done. “He had to talk to some contractor guy and I left.”
“Oh,” she says, clearly disappointed.
“Anyway,” I say. “Enough about me. How are things with you? Is Wynona feeling better?”
“Not really,” she confesses. Movement and shuffling sounds in the background. “Me, I’m just finishing up at work at the nursery here. Some genius knocked over our monstera, and I get to shovel all the dirt back into the pot.” A self-conscious chuckle, then a grunt of exertion. “OK, maybe I’m just bitching for the sake of it. I actually don’t mind repotting and all that. It’s soothing.”
“Maybe I should try it,” I quip. “Do you think Wynona needs a Round Two?”
“Maybe,” Josie says. Then a grunt. “Dear sweet Lord Jesus, that’s a heavy boy. I mean it, Sierra, you need to stop by sometime to see how big this guy has gotten.”
