So what? He doesn’t like me. It’s not a big deal. Not everyone has to like me. Still …
“I really appreciate it.”
He gives me that look. The one that implies he thinks I’m an idiot.
Which I can ignore. He’s just giving me a ride home. It doesn’t matter if he glares at me. I can totally let this go.
Except I don’t. Because I’m me.
“I'm just saying, I really appreciate it.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he says, as if every word is made of shards of glass and speaking to me actually hurts him.
“Sure. Right. But it’s not not a big deal. I mean, you’ll have to go out of your way. I’m all wet.”
He shoots me an unreadable, dark look.
“My clothes are all wet!” I blurt. “I’m not wet. I mean, my skin is wet. And my hair. From the rain. And I’m getting your car wet. That’s the point. Water is getting your car wet.”
“Just stop talking,” he snaps.
“Right. Absolutely. Silence is golden. Good call.”
Gah.
I always do this around him. I get nervous and babble-y and sound all squeaky. And then say really goofy things—because I’m cool like that.
The silence stretches between us. I look at the GPS map on his dash. We’re still fourteen minutes away from my apartment complex. How is that possible?
I clench my hands in front of me.
I unclench them.
Maybe I need to do some deep breathing exercises. Yeah. That will calm me down. I’ll just inhale and …
Shit.
Abort! Abort!
Deep breaths smell like him. Yummy and manly and … lickable.
Okay. Only shallow breaths from now on. Or no breathing at all.
Or…
“I asked you not to talk. I didn’t say you couldn’t breathe.”
I exhale. Loudly.
Oh dear Lord. This is so much worse than babbling.
“I was just trying to say thank you. That’s all. You didn’t have to stop to pick me up and you did. So I’m grateful.”
“Jesus.” He practically growls the word. “You’re my co-worker. And you were stranded by the side of the road with a flat tire. In the rain. Of course I was going to stop. How much of an asshole do you think I am?”
“I know you’re not an asshole!” Once I literally watched him help an old lady cross the street in front of our building. Not that I’m a stalker who watches his every move or anything. “It’s just I know you don’t—”
I break off, not quite sure how to finish.
“I don’t what?”
Okay, there is no easy way to say this.
So I just blurt, “I know you don’t like me.” I’m staring out the front windshield with laser focus, but from the corner of my eye, I still see him shoot a look at me. “Not that everyone has to like me. It’s fine. Totally fine.”
“You think I don’t like you?” he asks, his voice slow and even.
And, maybe if I’m being generous, slightly less growly than normal.
Something inside of me uncoils just a little, relaxes, and I let myself look at him.
This close, alone in the car with him—with all those yummy, Jason smells I can’t not breathe in—it’s almost too much. He’s too lean and ragged. Too many hard angles I might cut myself on.
“It really is okay,” I say and for the first time since opening my car door, I sound like myself. Not like some nervous, high-pitched cartoon version of me.
After a long moment he asks, “Why do you think I don’t like you?”
I give a shrug, realize he probably didn’t see it since he’s driving, and then explain. “You never talk to me. You leave any room I walk into. You glower a lot when I’m around.”
“I don’t glower.”
“You glower. Or brood. Whatever. It’s pretty obvious that I annoy you.”
I hope this all sounds way more chill to him than it does to me.
Somehow, I doubt it.
He probably thinks I’m a stalker. Which, I am perilously close to being.
“You don’t—” he starts, but then cuts himself off as he turns into my apartment complex. He mutters something I don’t quite catch, but that definitely has the f-word dropped in there. Then he asks, “Which one?”
When I look at him now, I can see him more clearly under the security lights. His ever-present scowl is even deeper than normal and it takes me a second to break free of his laser focus to answer his question.
“I’m in Building D. At the back and to the left.”
He drives deeper into the parking lot, following my directions to my building. When we reach Building D, he pulls into one of the spots for visitors.
He slides the car into park and shifts to look at me. “You don’t annoy me, Sam.”
The sound of my name on his lips does delicious things to me. Delicious, but bittersweet. I’m almost smiling as I point out, “We’ve worked together for almost a year and this is the first time we’ve had an actual conversation. I think it’s pretty obvious that I do annoy you.”
“Ten months, three weeks.”
“What?”
“You started at Windsor ten months and three weeks ago.”
“Oh. That’s specific. I guess because you have a head for numbers. Being a computer guy and all.”
He lets out a huff of laughter.
The sound is so sexy I nearly jump him. Instead, I blurt, “Anyway, thanks for the ride!” before flinging open the door and throwing myself out.
I’m making a run for the stairs when I hear him calling my name.
I don’t slow down, but he catches me, grabbing my arm and turning me to face him.
“Sam, I don’t find you annoying.”
“Please don’t make this more awkward than it is, Jason. It’s okay, truly.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”
Awesome. He wants to tell me WHY he doesn’t like me. This should be fun.
“I can’t look at you,” he starts and he’s searching my face, probably looking for a gentler way to tell me he thinks I’m a troll. “I can’t look at you, Samantha, because you’re so goddamn beautiful that once I start looking I won’t stop.”
Wait, what?
His grip on my arm loosens, but he doesn’t release me. Instead his thumb works slow circles onto my skin. He licks his lips and the movement is so pornographic and sexy I nearly groan. I am such a goner for this man.
“So, you don’t think I’m an idiot?”
He gives a low chuckle that hits me hard in the gut. “No. I think you’re smart and funny and stronger than you know.”
“Then why don’t you even talk to me?”
“I can’t talk to you. I can’t talk to you because I’m afraid once I start, then everything I want to say to you will come tumbling out.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like how much I want to see your body, worship every curve with my tongue.”
I think my brain has shut off. I’m just gaping at him. This is not at all what I thought he was thinking when he looked at me.
“I want to do filthy things to you. I want to bend you over your desk at work and eat you out from behind. I want to spend all night fucking you so good you won’t remember any other man has touched you.”