I don’t hang out with him as much, it’s quite rare actually when we’re in the same room, but if I wasn’t so bogged down with staring at the bulge in the “towel picture” then I might have sent him a quick message to keep his mouth shut too.
See what happens when I’m distracted? I lose my ability to think clearly.
“Honestly, I was offended that you cancelled the date. After spending so much money, I thought it was because I posted something you didn’t agree with on social media. I was scrolling through my feed trying to figure it out. I knew it wasn’t my potato salad.”
What the hell is he talking about?
“I don’t follow you on social media.” I unfollowed him after I graduated, because I realized following him was once again, another distraction.
“What? You don’t?” He looks hurt. I’m sure he’ll get over it. “Then how did you find out about the fundraiser?”
“Amazingly enough, I don’t get all my information from Instagram posts.”
“Snarky, okay. Then how did you find out about it?”
He unwraps the burgers and fries and sets them carefully on the plate, making an entire presentation out of it by making a swirl across the white surface with ketchup and mustard. Uh, is he a baseball player or is he competing for a spot on Top Chef?
“Lindsay and Emory,” I answer, not even thinking about it as I stare at the way his fingers delicately place the fries to resemble a teepee.
“And why would they send it to you?”
His thumb rubs against the plate, smooth and with pressure as he spins it around. What else could that thumb do?
“Because they were teasing me.” The moment the words slip past my lips, I instantly regret them.
“Teasing you, huh? What were they teasing you about? Do you have some kind of crush on me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I nearly throw up on the elegantly displayed burger and fries.
“What? No.” I shake my head. “No.” I flatten my palm against the surface of my desk. “No.”
Go ahead, say no one more time, Dottie, you can’t be more obvious at this point.
“Uh-huh.” He eyes me suspiciously and then stands from his chair, leans over my desk, and unfolds a napkin, only to slip it into my exposed neckline. And for some weird reason, I want more than a napkin dipping into my exposed neckline. I want his fingers. Maybe his tongue.
What the hell, Domico? Get it together.
Which I will . . . once he stops standing so close, being a gentleman, pandering to my needs . . .
He tips my chin up with a smile and says, “Bon appétit.”
Chapter Seventy-One
JASON
Thanks to Carson and some “research,” these are the things I know about Dorothy “Dottie” Domico:
She went to school with us.
She was a year ahead of me.
She doesn’t have much of a life outside of work.
She’s a bigwig for one of the biggest real estate companies in the country—yeah, the fucking country.
She’s best friends with Lindsay and Emory.
And she likes burgers and fries—thanks, Emory, for that small tidbit.
But what I wasn’t prepared for was how goddamn gorgeous she is.
Yeah, I saw a few pictures of her, but they were nothing compared to the real thing. Because sitting in front of me is by far the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen. We’re talking, I can’t take my eyes off her beautiful.
She went to fucking college with me, partied at the baseball house, so how did I not see her?
Long black hair, straight and luscious, with ocean-blue eyes, and the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. And don’t get me started on her lips . . . full and enticing, just looking for trouble.
I was expecting Dottie to be attractive, but a bombshell? She has me feeling all nervous and fumbly. I spent extra time arranging her plate so I didn’t show how shaky my hands were. My hands. Shaky. I get paid a hella lot of money because my hands are never shaky.
Besides her obvious smack me in the dick good looks, she’s also a powerhouse, from the firm set in her jaw, the assertive tone of her voice, and the way she carries herself. There’s no denying she has a shield up and prefers to keep it that way.
Too bad for her, I can look past shields.
“Normally I’d cook something for a date, but since this was for a fundraiser and I’m not good with traveling with homecooked meals, I thought ordering out would be easier.” When she doesn’t touch her food, I say, “Emory told me you like this burger, that it’s your favorite out of all the burgers in the world, which means you have no reason not to eat it.”
“I’m on a diet,” she says with a monotone voice.
“Liar. Now eat, unless you plan on hurting my feelings twice in one night.”
“I have no problem hurting people’s feelings.”
“Ah, a tight-ass with no awareness for the people around them. Pretty sure I’ve seen your type before.”
“Are you calling me unoriginal?”
“Nope.” I smile. “I’m calling your current attitude unoriginal. Try unclenching your ass cheeks for a second to take a deep breath.”
Her jaw works side to side, her arms tightening, giving off a don’t approach me vibe. I’m thinking I should have asked Emory for more information about her friend, because I don’t think this date is off to a good start.
“I’m going to ask you nicely one more time to leave, and if you don’t, I will call security.”
“No, you won’t. You would never toss one of Knox’s friends to the curb.”
She leans forward, legs crossed under her desk, but from the glass desk, I can see how smooth and tan they are. “Knox is currently on my shit list so I have zero reservations about getting rid of you.”
I take a bite of a fry and give her an effortless once-over. “Why don’t we start over?” I reach out my hand to her, which she makes no attempt to shake. “Jason Orson, thank you for donating to my charity; it meant a lot to me.”
She stares at my hand for an achingly long ten seconds before taking my hand with hers and giving it a firm, not dainty shake. Okay . . .
“You thanked me. You can leave now.”
“I think you’re forgetting how a typical conversation works. You see, I said thank you, you should say you’re welcome.”
Groaning, she picks up a fry and bites into it. “Let me guess, you’re one of those annoying people who charms with quick wit and then gets their way.”
I raise my hand. “Guilty.”
“So you’re just like Knox. Will keep wearing you down until you give in.”
“Glad you’re seeing it now, saving me the hassle of having to chip away at that cold exterior of yours.” I whisper and say, “P.S. I knew you wouldn’t call security on me.”
She picks up her burger and before taking a big bite, she says, “Twelve-year-old girls say P.S. and security is only a quick phone call away. Don’t test me.”
“Does that mean we’re on a date?”
She squints in mocked anger. “It means I’m hungry, and I can only have this burger in front of me untouched for so long.”