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I almost give in to it. I lean towards him, hands flinching at my side as I try to keep them down, and he sways in, too.
For a moment, all I can think about is this: the way our breaths will catch and twist together first, the way his strong, wide hand will cover my hip or maybe my cheek, the way his soft suit will feel like a slippery luxury when I grasp it between my fingers. The way his beard will feel against my soft skin, the way his lips will cover mine, the way our tongues will flicker and press, the way?—
He drops my hand. My two seconds are up.
Reality crashes against me, and I am so shocked by my thoughts that I nearly fall over.
“Goodbye, Mr. Donovan,” I say, ignoring how it comes out as a gasp. I turn on my heel and race out of the conference room as fast as I can without drawing attention to myself.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh no.
This is so much worse than I feared.
I have a real, honest to godcrushon David Donovan.
CHAPTER 4
David
Desperately, I need a drink.
Laura is haunting me. I dream about her, and then I see her at work. She’s never inappropriate—she keeps her distance, averts her eyes, wears boxy, unflattering suits. She’s the picture-perfect employee, as far as I can tell.
I’m wrong to keep thinking of her. I know that. But the office is slow this time of year—that’s why we do new hires this season—and the kids are gone for another week or so. There’s nothing to do, nothing to distract me. So I think of Laura.
Damon drives me to a bar not far from my house—not quite walking distance, but close enough that I usually don’t see many people from the office. This is my usual routine. The club where I met Laura was unlike me. Truly, it was only an acquaintance’s birthday that had me that far downtown.
Here, I’m certain I’ll be able to have a drink, maybe meet someone new and appropriate, and get Laura out of my head once and for all.
As I swirl the cherry in my old fashion, I think about howthatline of thinking is inevitably what cursed me enough for Laura to currently be two seats away at this bar, staring at me with red lipstick.
That lipstick is what aged her the first time. I thought I told her to throw it out.
I look away quickly. When I glance back up, she’s taking a shot.
The person who was sitting between us picks up their drink and wanders away. I have an unobstructed view of Laura now. This seems worse than anything else that has ever happened to me.
The bar is busy enough that no one notices how much I’m staring at her. Music is loud enough to make conversation difficult, and more than a few couples are also dancing. When Laura slides over into the chair next to me, I’m almost certain no one is paying attention.
“You know,” she says loudly over the music. “This is the bar literally the farthest in the city from the one we met.”
She glances at my drink. She taps it once and holds up two fingers to the bartender.
While we wait, my mouth dries. I take a large gulp from my glass. Alcohol is likely to make this all worse, but I can’t seem to mind.
“Avoiding someone?” I joke.
Laura’s eyes slide to mine. A wry smile curls on her face.
“You?”
The bartender sets the drinks in front of us. Wordlessly, we clink our glasses. Locking eyes, we drink.
Heat that I can’t blame on the alcohol shoots through me.
“Should we talk about this?” I ask.
