Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly #1)(15)

He motions impatiently for me to shut the door, and I do, turning toward the front door of my building. I dig out my security badge as he drives away.

Minutes later, I’m settling into my cube, my mind pulled in two directions, although, unfortunately, neither is the presentation that I have to give in forty minutes.

Instead, I’m torn between contemplating the logistics of sex in the gym and wanting to wallow in the fact that I’m in my second day of singledom, and not of my own doing.

A tall, thin blonde appears at the entrance of my cube and holds out a paper cup. “Coffee. My treat.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I say, gratefully accepting the cup of completely mediocre coffee that’s free to all employees. I hold out a hand, and she drops two creamers and a sugar packet into my palm.

“You’re good people, Bowman,” I say, adding the creamer and sugar to the cute polka-dot Kate Spade mug Lance got me when I first landed this job. For a second, I debate throwing the mug in the trash, but even getting dumped isn’t a good enough reason to defile Kate Spade.

I pour the coffee on top of the creamer before finally turning to face my friend, who’s flipping through something on her phone, too used to my morning coffee routine to bother watching it.

Lori Bowman is my best work friend, but not in the We’re only friends because we work together kind of way. The girl is legit. Snarky as hell, but also the first person to give you a hug when you realize after you’ve come out of a meeting with your boss’s boss that you have major pit stains.

“Huh. I just now realized I have a lot of armpit problems,” I say to her, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Huh?” she says, glancing up.

I point to my shirt. “Deodorant.”

“You should get the invisible kind.”

“I did get the invisible kind. Although it apparently doesn’t work because remember last week when I had big old wet spots under my arms like a homeless person?”

“Maybe you just forgot to put deodorant on that day,” she said.

I point at her. “See? That’s what I mean. My deodorant is either on my shirt, not working, or, apparently, not even applied at all. Armpit problems.”

Lori watches me, taking a sip of her own coffee, which she’s drinking from the provided paper cup because she’s not a weirdo about having it in her own mug like me.

“Help me out here, Parks, because it’s Monday morning, and I had a Sunday Fun-Day yesterday with too many mimosas, and I’m having a hard time following…. When you say armpit problems, are you really talking about armpits? Or is it a code word for something else?”

Just like that, I deflate. “Lance and I broke up.”

Her eyes bug out. “No. You guys were like…or you used to be like…no.”

“Yup.”

“Sweetie.” She makes a pained sound and reaches out to stroke my head like I’m a dog, but it’s actually kind of nice. No wonder dogs like it.

“What happened?” she asks.

I swallow and look down at my coffee. You know how it’s really easy not to cry right up until the second you’re expected to talk about it? Yeah, that.

Lori understands immediately. “Don’t say another word. Not until after the meeting. You’re looking fabulous, and red eyes and streaked makeup will ruin that.”

I nod.

“We’ll talk about something else,” she muses. “How about this…the guy I went out with on Friday?”

I jump at the change of topic. “The one who made reservations at El Gaucho?”

Lori and I had been marveling at the fact that her blind date was taking her to one of the most expensive steakhouses in the city—perhaps the most expensive. She’d been looking forward to it for days, and we’d spent a ridiculous amount of time planning her outfit.

“Yup,” she says, sitting on my desk. “That’s the one. Get this. He ‘forgot’ his wallet.”

My jaw drops. “No way.”

“Yep. Doesn’t ‘realize’ until the end of the meal after he’d ordered a freaking porterhouse with a lobster tail side.”

My hand covers my mouth and a laugh bubbles up. “What did you do?”

She sighs dramatically. “What could I do? I paid. I think my credit card was actually sweating.”

“You think he did it on purpose?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. He seemed super apologetic, and told me, like, a million times he’d pay me back ‘next time,’ but even if there is a next time, I don’t know that I’d jump at the chance to go out with him. Nice enough guy, minus the wallet forgetfulness, but I didn’t really feel anything.”

I groan. “You’re not giving me much hope for the dating scene.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Blanton. It’s a rough world out there. I hate being that girl that wants a boyfriend, but I haven’t been in a serious relationship in over a year, and I miss it, you know?”

I look away, and she slaps her forehead. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m such a bitch. Okay, no more talk about guys. Let’s go get the conference room set up and talk about how many passive-aggressive comments Eryn will make during the presentation, ’kay?”

An hour and a half later, the presentation is done, two more mugs of coffee have been consumed, and despite the fact that both Lori and another friend (who I’d texted about the breakup during yesterday’s wallowing hangover) have been texting me nonstop, trying to distract me with non-guy-related topics, I can’t stop my brain from going there.