Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(29)

There were no curtains, no embellishments, no frills. It was a home, a place to live.

And it was always clean.

I’d been accused of being a neat freak my entire life — mostly by my brothers. Still, I didn’t realize the full extent of my need to have everything in order and tidy until I moved out on my own. At Mom’s, I’d had no say in décor or organization other than what lived inside the four walls of my bedroom.

But here, everything was mine.

And it was always, always clean.

Another minute or two passed with me looking around, and my eyes caught on my bookshelf, remembering how Mallory had teased me about the organization of the one in my office. The one at home was the same — organized by book height, color, and author last name.

I wondered if she’d started reading the book I’d loaned her.

You could always text her to find out…

I shook the thought off, leaning back into the couch on a sigh. But the longer I sat there, the more the idea sounded like a good one.

It wouldn’t be weird to text her, I convinced myself. We were friends.

Ish.

We worked together, and we were friend-ly. There was nothing that said I couldn’t text her, ask her about the book, see if she was ready for her first tour tomorrow.

Well, her first tour since the disaster one she’d had last week.

She was actually ready this time, and I’d be shadowing her first thing in the morning. Hell, I kind of owed it to her as her supervisor, didn’t I? To check in and make sure she was ready?

I chewed my lip, considering it for all of two seconds before my phone was in my hands, fingers flying over the screen.



Me: So, are you ready for your first tour tomorrow?



Me: Don’t forget to wear an actual shirt this time.



I smirked at the second text I sent, and before I could lock my screen and go do something to fill my time until she answered, I saw the bouncing dots that told me she was typing back.



Mallory: Ha, ha. I have my outfit planned out — full shirt and all, thank you very much.



Mallory: Are YOU ready to lose your job after they realize what a kick ass tour guide I am?



My smile fell, along with the food still digesting in my stomach. She’d meant it as a joke, I knew that, but the sickening reality that it could actually happen made it impossible to laugh.



Me: We’ll see. You might be so distracted by the hot guy in the back that you forget your lines.



Mallory: Ooooh, who’s the guy? Do I know him? ;)



Me: You know his favorite book. Have you started reading that, by the way?



Mallory: I have. So far, no crying. You better pray it stays that way, or else.



I smiled, laying my phone back down on the coffee table before I decided to try the documentary again. Maybe now that I’d talked to her, I could focus a little more.

Before I hit play, my phone lit up again.



Mallory: By the way, if you want to text me, you don’t have to make up a work excuse to do so.



A jolt of anxiety danced with one of excitement low in my gut at her words, and I read them over and over, fingers hovering over the keys as I tried to think of what to say. I toyed with something close to a joke, trying to feign innocence and pure professionalism, but she texted again before I had the chance.



Mallory: Goodnight, Logan Becker. ;)



I smiled, shaking my head as I leaned back on the couch.

She really is a little minx.

I sent a goodnight text of my own, avoiding the fact that she’d called me out on my lame attempt at finding an excuse to text her. Then, I started the documentary again.

So I could not watch it for the third time as I tried to decipher what that winky face emoji meant, instead.





Mallory


“And just like that, the title of Best Scooter Whiskey Tour Guide has officially been stolen,” I said, peeling my jacket off and laying it over the back of the chair in Logan’s office before I plopped down into it. “Boom.”

I was still making the bomb explosion gesture of awesomeness with my hands when Logan closed his office door and rounded his desk, shrugging his own coat off. “I have to admit, that was a pretty great tour.”

“Great?” I asked, incredulous. “That was fan-fucking-tastic. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mac doesn’t burst through that door soon and tell us we got twenty-five new Yelp reviews — all five stars.”

“I’m sure that group of young bucks from the University of Michigan would give you ten stars.”

I snorted. “Still wouldn’t give them a chance in hell — although the tall one did sneak me his number when he gave me his tip at the end.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only tip he’d like to give you.”

Logan waggled his brows as my jaw flopped open, and I reached across the desk, smacking his arm.

“Pig!” I laughed, leaning back in my chair and folding my hands behind my head like a boss. “But see, they loved me because I have tits. The rest of the group loved me because I was charming, and witty, and I had stories galore.” I quirked a brow. “Admit it — that wasn’t bad for a rookie.”