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I take a seat across from him and look down to find he’s already ordered. There’s a latte cooling in front of me, a little heart drawn into the foam.
I smile and lift it to tap against his in a cheers. “How did you know my drink?”
“Educated guess. I figure, you’re a twenty-something bookworm with good taste, you probably like your coffee strong with a dash of sweet.”
I glance into his cup and find he’s drinking the same thing. “Great minds think alike,” I point out.
His smile widens. “But fools seldom differ.”
I laugh. Everybody always forgets the second half of that quote. “Touché,” I say, and take a long sip of my latte. It’s delicious.
“So, tell me all about your shitty day,” he says, leaning back in his chair. It shows off his muscles to perfect advantage, which I’m sure was the point. I can’t help letting my gaze wander down across his chest, along his arms, before I force myself to look back at his face.
He lets his eyes wander too, and he doesn’t seem to care that I see him checking me out. I shiver. There’s something sexy about a man who’s blatantly turned on by you and doesn’t mind that you know it. His gaze lingers on my curves, my dress, then darts back to my face.
“You really want to hear about my crappy work problems?” I counter.
He laughs. “Only if you want to talk about them.”
I heave a sigh. “Where to even start?”
“Start with what’s got you so stressed out that your shoulders are up to your ears,” he suggests.
I force myself to relax my posture, shooting him another glance. Normally guys aren’t interested in hearing about my day-to-day life. But okay, I’ll give him a try. I tell him about how my boss is annoyed at me for missing my deadline and how my project fell below par.
“But you don’t normally have a tricky relationship with her?” he asks.
I nod. “Normally we get on great. Normally I perform better than this.”
“Well everyone has off days. She understands that, I’m sure.”
I feel myself bobbing my head. Why is he so easy to talk to? I blink and shake my head, pulling myself out of my own world. “But this has got to be boring for you,” I admit, realizing we’ve just spent the last 15 minutes talking about my office politics.
“If you’d prefer, we can change the subject. Talk about something more distracting.”
“You do seem good at distracting women,” I reply with a smirk, letting my gaze drip over his body.
“Only when I’m inspired.” He leans closer across the table and those blue eyes draw me in again, magnets that are impossible to tear myself away from. “And I must say, you are extremely inspiring, Clove Walker.”
I raise an eyebrow, grinning. “What exactly do I inspire in you?”
“Dirty as hell fantasies for one thing.” He hooks a leg around mine under the table and slides his calf against mine. I catch my breath, brace myself against the table with both hands. But he lets me go almost right away and leans back in his seat, casual and nonchalant once more, as though he didn’t just say that. “For another, you make me want to know more about you. I mean, I know the basics. Name, address of course, and the volume of Amazon packages you get on a weekly basis…”
My cheeks flush bright red at the reminder of how we know one another. Of how well he knows my private details. I also take the opportunity to kick him lightly under the table. “Hey, I don’t get nearly as many packages as Mr. Horton down in 3C, okay?”
“True, but he’s going for the Guinness World Record of longest a man can go without ever leaving his apartment, so he hardly counts.”
“When was the last time you saw him outside?” I muse.
“November three years ago,” Zayne answers without hesitation, and I laugh again.
“No, but seriously, do you think he’s okay in there?”
“I bet he’s got a more interesting life than all the rest of us combined.” Zayne shakes his head with a half-laugh. “Watch, we’ll find out one day that all those food deliveries and household supplies he orders are actually secret spy equipment in disguise.”
“Ooh, yes, and I’ll bet he’s got a Russian spy lover who sneaks into his apartment via the fire escape every night for secret trysts.”
“Who’d have thought Mr. Horton would be the kinky type, huh?” Zayne lifts an eyebrow, smirking.
