Friction(32)

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it?” she demands.

I stroke the corner of her lips and her chin then fist my hand on her desk. "You already know, love.”

Her long lashes flutter over her hazel eyes and she arches into me like my fingers are still on her face. I wish I hadn’t pulled away so soon. “You’re worried about me?”

“I worry about all my employees,” I say roughly. It’s the truth, but they don’t keep me awake like she does. I don’t over think every fucking move with them because I’m afraid of pushing too hard.

“Of course you do.” She licks her lips. Then she does a full-pivot and changes the subject. "Special plans tonight?"

"Ah, Williams," I murmur and shake my head. "Not at all what you think. I'm showering, meeting Ash for a drink and then going home. I have B's table to work on tomorrow, and he's not a patient man."

"He seemed pleasant enough. When he doesn’t have his ... member exposed."

"You can say it. You're a grown woman, and it's perfectly acceptable to say cock. Or dick, if you'd prefer. B seemed pleasant when he didn't have his cock exposed."

“I swear, you need a lesson on etiquette,” she snaps. As we go back and forth about the pros and cons of openly saying filthy words, she starts to gather her belongings. She’s shrugging into her coat and telling me that she’ll work on the company history this weekend and email it over to me, but then I say something that makes her freeze.

"Come out for a drink with Ash and me."

From the doorway, she looks over her shoulder to where I’m still sitting on her desk. I’ve issued her a challenge I don’t think she’ll accept. And, truth be told, she shouldn't. She should go home, to her mother, and not out with a man who fantasizes about everything she has to offer and more.

When she repeats what I said about not pursuing her, I shrug like the git I am—and I certainly am one for inviting her out.

“Drinking with you isn’t touching you, love. Besides, I’ve always wondered how overachieving Lucy Williams takes her alcohol.”

“Not well.” Her fingers shake as she buttons her coat. “And especially when I’m taking it with you.”

I’m a sucker for punishment. I’ve got to be since hearing her say that makes me want her near me even more. “You’ll never know unless you come.”

She’ll say no. I know she will, and it’s better for us both. But then she surprises me by choosing the path of resistance. "Yeah, sure," she mutters, grinning when my gaze widens. "Just tell me what time and where, and I'll stop by as soon as I grab a bite to eat."





Eleven





Lucy





After I call my mother to let her know I'll be late tonight—and she warns me over the noisy chatter of her friends not to lose my phone or my shoes—I grab a slice of pizza from my favorite pizzeria. Taking a seat at the booth in the back next to a Tales of the Arabian Nights pinball machine, I try my damnedest not to stare at my phone waiting for a message from Jace like a lust-stricken schoolgirl. In between cheesy bites, I scold myself for agreeing to meet him tonight. I had gotten so caught up in the sensation of his hand against my skin that practical thought became an issue even after he made it clear that we won’t act on the forces thrusting us together. Which is a big problem with the man: The electricity between us is palpable, and I don't think clearly around him. I never have, not since the day we met when we were still children.

We’re not children anymore, though. Jace Exley is very much an adult and he’s my employer now.

This is not a date, I tell myself firmly as the pinball machine behind me blares to life thanks to two kids and a pocketful of quarters. This is a drink with my co-worker and my boss, and that’s perfectly acceptable. He probably feels sorry for me because Tom texted while he was in my office.

But no matter how many times those thoughts creep into my head, I can't stop the frantic hum of anticipation that vibrates through my bones. When my phone buzzes on the table, I snort aloud at how fast I pick it up. I bite the tip of my tongue the second I realize it's Jamie wanting to know if I have plans for the weekend. She's at a neonatal seminar in Ohio until next Tuesday, but she lets me know she's thinking of me while she brushes up on her cardiac pharmacology know-how and stuffs her face with room service. I tell her that I'm helping Mom clear out the attic tomorrow and nonchalantly add that I'm meeting Jace and Ash for drinks in just a little while. I hardly have time to finish chewing my next bite before the barrage of new messages begins coming through.

7:12 PM: No way! Ahhhhhh!

7:12 PM: This is way too good. Why couldn't you have done this another weekend, when I could be right there to witness all the sparks?

7:13 PM: Also, tell your mom hello. If you find anything fun and vintage, don't throw it out!

My fingers dance across my screen as I tell my best friend a blatant fib, that there are no sparks where Jace Exley and I are concerned, and that I'll definitely put aside any vintage finds Mom doesn't want for her. Thirty or so seconds pass by and then she sends me a poop emoji.

7:15 PM: The grinning shit is for the "sparks" comment since the both of us know that's FALSE. But thanks for looking out for me with the attic thing.