My eyebrows pull together and I toss the pen onto the desk, taking my arms and crossing them over my chest defensively. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means someone is jealous and trying to come up with a reason not to say yes to dinner with me. Maybe even trying to make me jealous?” He wiggles his eyebrows in a playful way. Ha, as if I could find someone to make him jealous, who is he trying to kid?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, hating that he is one hundred percent right and that he knows it. His arrogance is as infuriating as it is attractive, and I still kind of want to slug him.
“Okay, so I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow, or would you rather meet at Sullivan’s... since it’s not a date.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I blurt out without thinking about it. Shit. I just agreed to go to dinner with him. That sly little bastard got me all confused. He knows it too. The wicked grin gracing his lips a clear indication that this had been his plan all along.
“So, now that we got that out of the way, why don’t you show me what you’ve got so far?” I sigh, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something stupid.
“Sure,” I mumble, grabbing the folder from the corner of the desk with the designs in it that I came up for the new nightclub. I open it and get out some of the examples for him to look over. He leans over my desk, inspecting the papers, but it takes everything in me not to push back against him. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, the smell of his cologne fills my head.
“Which one do you like the best?” he casually asks, apparently not affected by my presence, or at least he does a much better job of showing it than me.
“This one,” I tell him, pointing to the one I would pick if it were my business.
“Great, let’s go with that one then,” he says without thinking it over, or even questioning the design further. “You have my stamp of approval, and as always, you know what’s best for me, so if you like it then I know I will.” I don’t miss the heat of his breath on the shell of my ear, nor do I miss the skimming of his lips against the sensitive flesh over my throbbing pulse as he moves said lips south.
Jesus… My face flames and it feels like I’m about to have a heat stroke. Thank god, he can’t see the desire that I know for sure is pooling in my eyes. My pussy clenches around nothing, and I wish like hell it was his cock, or even his finger inside me right now.
“You’ve done such a great job today, why don’t you head back to your apartment.” He clears his throat, straightening back up and if I wasn’t so flustered myself, I would laugh at him.
“I…” God. I’m so flustered I can’t even talk, my tongue feels like it weighs ten tons. “I… I literally just walked in.”
“So, your point is? You deserve it, take the afternoon off, go read a book, drink some coffee.” Why does he tempt me like this? “I have to go to an appointment on the other side of town, so I won’t be here anyway, and I don’t want you to be stuck in the office for the rest of the day without my company.”
“I’m supposed to work for you, not be here to enjoy the day with a friend.” Even though I do enjoy my work.
“But that’s the best part of working together. We can hang out all day.”
Worrying my bottom lip, I contemplate his proposal, but before I can respond, he’s talking again. “Come on, Sunflower, I’ll walk down with you.” He takes my clammy hand into his huge one and pulls me up from my chair to stand.
My legs wobble under the weight of my body. Why does he have this effect on me? No man has ever made me weak in the knees, or made it feel like there was an entire zoo taking up housing in my stomach.
“Sure, why not…” I manage to get out, grabbing my stuff before heading toward the elevator. With soaked panties, and my heart beating out of my chest, I allow him to walk me to my car. The precarious line between friendship and whatever the hell this is, being obliterated ever so slowly.
8
Elijah
* * *
I get to the restaurant twenty minutes before seven. Getting here early was the only thing I could do to keep myself from picking her up along the way. Sullivan’s is a little Italian restaurant that serves the best spaghetti and meatballs in the Tri-state area and since it’s Bailey’s favorite, I knew it would be easy to get her here over anywhere else.
My eyes skim over the menu even though I have the damn thing memorized front to back. We’ve eaten here enough times over the years that I know what to order for Bailey without even needing to ask her or see the menu, for that matter.
Placing the menu down on the table, I exhale, forcing all the air from my lungs. Then I run a hand through my hair, partially out of habit, partially out of nervousness. I have to keep reminding myself that this is not a date, which is hard when it feels so much like one.
This is simply two friends having dinner at a casual restaurant. There’s nothing romantic taking place between us. This is definitely not a date. Totally not a date. I keep repeating the words to myself, thinking maybe if I say them ten more times, it will feel less like a lie, because that’s what this is, a lie. All of this.
Because the truth is, I want this to be a date, I want to have a romantic dinner with her and then I want to take her home and into my bed. I want to devour her like I did on her birthday, but this time I want to wake up next to her and then I want to do it all over again.
The waitress comes a few moments later, a glowing smile on her face when she sees me, recognition flickering in her eyes. Like I said, we’ve frequented this restaurant often enough that some of the employees know us by name. This particular blonde, I believe we’ve met once or twice before.
Greeting the woman, I say, “Hello.” Then I order a beer for myself and an unsweetened tea with a slice of lemon for Bailey. A few minutes later, the waitress returns, setting the drinks down on the table. She lingers, batting her eyelashes at me while nibbling on her bottom lip seductively. Nice try babe, but I’ve got something better coming.
I ignore her completely, wishing we had got a guy waiter or some middle-aged woman instead of this young blonde.
Although, seeing Bailey get jealous yesterday did have its appeals. In all the years we’ve been friends, she’s never once shown an ounce of jealousy. She’s watched me screw my way through half of the state and never showed any anger until now.
Bringing the glass of beer to my mouth, I take a sip, the head of the beer passes my lips right as I catch her walking through the front entrance. The hostess greets her, and Bailey smiles, though it seems there is an anxiousness about her body language. It’s in the way she’s holding her arms across her chest, and the fidgeting of her hands. Is she nervous because of me? I pause the thought and just take her in… my eyes drink her in from head to toe. She’s wearing a black sundress with red polka-dots on it. It hugs her curves softly and accentuates her bust line. Like a dog, I start to drool.
Jesus, fuck woman. Is she trying to kill me? I know she doesn’t know it, but I’ve wanted to fuck her again and again since the day she let me between her creamy thighs. She’s tempting the beast right now, and soon I’m going to show her just how much.