He smiles. “Dr. Lucy Hutton, MD. She’s brilliant, yet unorthodox.”
“I’m serious. Answer the question. I’m coming as me, aren’t I? I’m not supposed to be acting?”
“No.”
I bite my thumb and look down the street. Why do I feel like he’s lying?
“Well, I’m beginning to think you’re leaving me horny to make sure I’ll keep coming back here. I’m like a cat. You’re leaving out a saucer of cream.”
Josh laughs, a big proper laugh like I’m hilarious. Delighted, irritated electricity floods me. I’m crackling with it. In this moment, I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.
Fight with me, kiss me. Laugh at me. Tell me if you’re sad. Don’t make me go home.
“We’ll have to see if it’s true. If you’re back tomorrow night, I’ll concede it’s part of a deliberate strategy.” He looks down at me with undisguised pleasure.
The thought of returning didn’t properly occur to me. The following day now glows with promise.
“One more.”
He kisses my cheek and I groan in misery.
“Get outta here, Shortcake. And remember, I don’t want to see you freaking out tomorrow.”
I can’t get my seat belt on properly. I’m so wired it’s like I’m having drug withdrawals. He taps my window to make me lock the door.
I’m halfway home when a scary thought crystallizes.
I can’t wait for work tomorrow.
TODAY HIS SHIRT is the color of a saucer of cream.
Act natural, Lucy. Walk in there like sex on legs. No awkwardness. Go.
He looks at me, my ankle wobbles, and I drop my handbag. The lid of my lunchbox pops off and a tomato rolls across the floor. I drop to my hands and knees and my stiletto heel gets caught on the dangling buckle belt of my coat.
“Crap.” I try to crawl.
“Smooth.” Josh gets up and walks to me.
“Shuddup.”
He unhooks my coat and gathers up my lunch, before holding a hand down to me. I hesitate minutely before I take it, letting him haul me up.
“Can I rewind my entrance?”
He pulls the coat from my shoulders and hangs it up for me.
Mr. Bexley’s door is open and the lights are on. Helene’s a late starter. She’s probably still in bed.
“How was your evening, Lucinda? You look tired.”
My stomach sinks in dismay at his impersonal tone until I look at his face and realize his eyes are lit with mischief. If Mr. Bexley is eavesdropping, he’ll hear nothing out of the ordinary.
This is a dangerous new game, the Act Natural Game, but I’ll give it a try. “Oh, it was nice enough, I guess.”
“Nice. Hmm. Get up to anything interesting?” He’s got the pencil in his hand.
“I sat on the couch.”
He shifts in his chair and I look at his lap.
“Serial killer eyes,” I mouth at him. I sit on the edge of my desk, take out my tube of Flamethrower and begin to apply, using the wall nearest me as a mirror. He looks at my legs with such naked lust I nearly smudge it. “And what did you get up to, Josh?”
“I had a date. At least, I think it was.”
“What’s she like?”
“Clingy. She really threw herself at me.”
I laugh. “Clingy is not an attractive trait. I hope you kicked her out.”
“I guess I sort of did.”
“That’ll learn her.” I begin to gather my hair into a high bun before smoothing down my dress. It’s a fine cream wool knit, stretchy and warm, and I admit I wore it to match his shirt. He likes prissy librarian Lucy? He’s got it today.
He watches my hands. I watch his. They’re white-knuckled.
“Not sure if I’ll see her again, though.” He sounds bored, and he’s clicking his mouse on his computer.
When his eyes cut sideways to mine, I flash to last night and my insides clench.
“Maybe take her to your brother’s wedding? Always gratifying to walk into one of those situations with a hot date.”
We both look at each other, and I ease myself slowly into my chair. The Staring Game has never felt so dirty. The phone rings. I look at the caller ID and the word FUCK lights up in neon in my brain.