IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(28)

And now I was fantasizing about cuddling. This was getting out of control. But I didn’t seem to be able to help myself.

I didn’t know how I was supposed to sit with this man in a conference room all day and not think of him naked. Not think of him squirming underneath me, begging for release. Or hell, think of the funny stories he’d told me about himself. We’d talked about everything tonight, though always careful to keep any identifying details vague. He’d asked a few probing questions about my family, but I’d skirted around the edges of them.

He’d made it clear in his refusal to FaceTime that he wanted our texting relationship to remain anonymous. Which was a good thing. I’d been consumed with worry when he hadn’t responded to tell me he was okay, and had been seconds away from initiating the call.

It would have been disastrous if he’d learned the truth. Especially like that. Even more so now that he’d confessed how ill his mother was. Never mind that he’d been the one to initiate the dynamic between us, he’d accuse me of using our sexual encounter as a means of getting information from him. He’d think I was manipulating him for the purposes of a business deal.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been. The deal had been the furthest thing from my mind when I’d asked Conor about his mother. I’d only been thinking about him and how upset he’d seemed. I’d only wanted to know more about him.

Which was a problem. Because this deal was too important to fuck up. And I was coming perilously close to doing so.

There was just one problem: I wasn’t sure I wanted the deal anymore. Not in the same way. And certainly not at the risk of his mother’s health. I stretched out on my bed, staying on top of the covers. I wasn’t planning on sleeping more than an hour. I had a lot to think about and even more to plan for.

But for now, I closed my eyes and imagined Conor asleep beside me, one leg thrown over mine and his hand on my chest.





When morning came I woke up feeling strange. Something had changed. Normally, I sprang out of bed ready to take on the day like a fucking tiger—maul anyone who wanted to get between me and success. But this morning suddenly everything seemed too much. The sheets were too soft, the granite tile in the shower too hard. My coffee was too strong, and my favorite suit felt like a costume.

All the while I prepared for the day, I couldn’t shake the sense of something itching just under the surface of my skin.

Maybe I just needed to get laid. Thoughts of Conor had kept me on the edge of arousal for so long, I probably just needed the release of sex. Real sex. Not texts and the familiar feel of my own palm.

I thought about any friends with benefits in my contacts list, but none of the names excited me. If anything, the thought of them left me feeling even more unsatisfied.

My mood soured as I made my way to the office. The day was overcast, threatening snow, the clouds pulled tight around the city, making the streets feel claustrophobic. When I reached the building, I stalked through the skyscraper lobby, unable to stop my eyes from sliding in the direction of the bathrooms.

The image of Conor’s cock covered in cum, his shirt shoved aside, his Dalek tie barely visible, flashed in my mind. I wondered if he’d be nervous again today. If he’d take another detour in that direction to relieve his anxiety before our meeting.

A part of me wanted to linger. Wanted to sneak into one of the stalls and pull out my phone to direct him toward the empty stall next to me, just so I could hear the sound of him as he stroked himself off. So I could hear his muffled groans and gasps as he came.

I shook my head and reached for my phone to check the time. I had at least an hour before our meeting. I wasn’t going to waste it in a fucking bathroom like a lust-struck teen. As I boarded the elevator, I let my thumb slide to the messages app. There was no alert, no reason to expect any new messages.

But just in case.

Our conversation from this morning filled the screen, the last text I’d sent about my name sitting lonely at the bottom. No response yet from Conor. Even though he had to be awake. Even though he had to have read it.

I ground my teeth. The itch under my skin intensified, making me feel raw around the edges. Sending him my name had been an impulse. It wasn’t my legal name; it was something more personal. A name only those closest to me had ever used.

I’d wanted to give him something. Something that mattered to me. Something real.

At the time I’d enjoyed imagining his surprise at the unexpected gift. His delight. I’d pictured gushing texts from him, effusive thanks.

His silence was torture.

And it reminded me why I kept such strict rules. Sex. Nothing more.

Certainly no emotional involvement or attachment.

When I reached my office, Deb noticed my foul mood. But instead of steering clear the way every other employee was, she merely greeted me with a raised eyebrow. “Rough night?”

She nodded at my face, and I lifted a hand to my cheeks. Dammit. I’d forgotten to shave. Again. This was the second day in a row. I grunted my response as I paced to my desk.

She didn’t back down. Instead, she followed after me. “How was dinner?”

“Fine.”

She eyed me for a moment, clearly something more on the tip of her tongue. Whatever it was, she thought better of it and instead pulled out her tablet to start going through the day’s agenda. When she was finished, she slid two folders toward me. “The information you requested yesterday.”