The Rule Book (Rule Breakers #1)(34)
I went to uncross and re-cross my legs, and in the process the toe of my boot brushed against his leg under the desk. We both froze, his eyes locking with mine. If I’d looked away for even a second, I would have missed the dilation in his pupils, and the way his Adam’s apple slid down his throat as he swallowed hard. A shudder started at the base of my spine and splintered through my back.
I cleared my throat and decided to focus my gaze on something safer, opting for the picture of Brogan with Bruce on his desk. Much like the other night, the heat of self-awareness—mainly the awareness of how elated I was to come into contact with any portion of his body—prickled the skin from my elbows to my toes.
Note to self: start an eHarmony account, because this is treading dangerously close to the pathetic category.
“That’s fine. I can handle you.” I choked, realizing what I’d just said. “That. I mean I can handle that, not you.” I ran a hand through my hair and resisted the urge to groan.
Schoolgirl crush. That was the only way I could explain this feeling. Back in high school, there was the demigod of all science teachers—Mr. Chandler. He was young for a teacher, wore his T-shirts tight across his broad chest, sported tattoos much like Brogan, and the taboo of liking someone so forbidden had played a key role in my infatuation with him. That was all this was—an infatuation. Because Brogan had the S trifecta: Sexy, Smart, and SO out of my league.
His warm brown eyes studied me. His teeth nipped at his bottom lip, and I imagined what they’d feel like dragging over my neck, my arms, my—
He cleared his throat and unbuttoned his blazer. “As long as this won’t be a problem, I think you’re a better fit.”
Wait. What? Better fit for what? I was jostled out of my Brogan stupor in time to see a wicked grin playing at his lips. I backtracked through our conversation and realized my mind had gone ten steps beyond dog walking. While he was focused on a proper caregiver for his pooch—seriously, Jackson’s nurturing ability would emotionally stunt a pet rock; what had Brogan been thinking?—I was focusing on whether he was a giver or taker in the bedroom. Most definitely a giver.
That settled it—dating site would happen tonight. And under personality traits would be: delusional, fantasizes about the wrong people at the wrong times, and “dog people need not apply.”
I crossed and uncrossed my legs again, this time making sure I wouldn’t bump Brogan. “I guess I’ll be over tonight?”
“Yes. I have a conference until nine. No impromptu towel meetings again.”
“Probably for the best.” My subconscious side-eyed me. Oh, I’m sorry, did an alien suck your brain through a swizzle straw? In what universe was this a good thing?
He nodded, his expression turning businesslike, sliding back into our roles as they’d been before the other night. Amicable acquaintances. The shift in his demeanor was palpable, the room suddenly stuffier than a sauna. “I think so, too.” He tapped his pen against his desk, but kept his gaze on me. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I stand firm on all my policies in the handbook.” That one word said everything I needed to know.
Laymen’s terms: Not dating you.
“Of course.” I kept my face impassive. The guy was doing me a huge favor. This was exactly what I needed to crush this annoying—okay, so it wasn’t annoying, but lying to myself felt so much better—fantasy of being with him. So what if I’d do unspeakable things, worse things than I’d commit for a Klondike Bar, to catch a glimpse of his dripping wet body in a towel again? Hell, no need to be wasteful with laundry, forget the towel.
I blinked away that thought. He gave me a job, and with it, an opportunity to break into a cutthroat business. Throwing that away for a chance at a weekend romp was both stupid and juvenile. Now if only that memo would hurry up and arrive at the other parts of my body.
The key to his condo was already on my desk when I got back outside. Jackson sure wasn’t in any hurry to relinquish his dog walking duties or anything. Bruce wasn’t that bad. Slobbery and gassy, yes. But any dog who let me hold him while going through a quarter life crisis was okay in my book. Now we just needed to work on him not making a meal out my very expensive wardrobe that I couldn’t afford to replenish any time soon.
Okay, maybe it still sucked, but I didn’t care because that night with Brogan, worrying about my breath and if I’d applied enough deodorant, was a bright spot in the suckage of the past few days.
By the time lunch rolled around, I had scheduled my posts for the week and managed to book a few appointments for Brogan. As a treat to myself, I went to the dollar taco stand a few blocks away, and since the rain had let up for a little bit, I decided to stroll around the park. After shoveling the tacos down, I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom’s number. I hadn’t spoken to her over the weekend because I was trying to give her space, but anything past three days was pushing it. We’d planned for me to head home this weekend, and I wanted to make sure we were still on for a junk food and movie fest.
She picked up on the third ring, her voice sounding way more chipper than it had on Friday. “Hello, love bug.”
“Feeling better?” I said, hopeful for any improvement since last week.
“Much. Just went in for an appointment to finalize the drug combination for the new treatment.”
I smiled, a weight lifting off my chest. “That’s great. When do you start?”