The Hating Game(46)

“You certainly are biased against nice guys.”

He adds one more caveat. “One last thing. If kissing him isn’t as good as kissing me, you can’t kiss him again.” He opens the door and pushes me out. Mr. Bexley is clomping along sullenly, so I pull the door shut quickly behind me. He does a double take when he sees me come out of the janitor’s closet.

“I was looking for some glass cleaner. There are fingerprints all over the office.”

“Have you seen Josh? He’s not anywhere. Everything’s falling apart and he’s gone.”

“He’s gone to get you coffee and donuts. You’ve been so busy. Promise you’ll act surprised.”

Mr. Bexley perks up, puffs, and grumbles all in one guttural sound. Then he looks at my dress and its contents with such a leisurely perusal I put my hands on my hips in annoyance. He doesn’t notice.

“You’re looking a little flustered, Miss Hutton. I don’t mind a young lady looking a bit pink in the cheeks. You should smile more, though.”

“Oops, my phone is ringing,” I say, even though it isn’t. “Remember, act surprised when Josh gets back.”

“I can be surprised,” he tells me and heads to the men’s bathrooms. He’s got a newspaper in one hand. Josh can take a leisurely meander downstairs now.

I keep my composure until I get back to my desk, but then I let myself do what I’ve desperately needed to: I pant for air. I huff like I’ve run a half marathon. Sweat is beading on the back of my neck and my face is dewy. My fingers are burning hot from touching the cotton covering his skin. I fog up half the shiny surfaces of the tenth floor before I am composed enough to even sit.

I’m so turned on I wish I could knock myself unconscious until it passes.

Joshua returns twenty minutes later, bearing donuts and coffee. He still beats Mr. Bexley back from the bathroom.

“Nice save,” Joshua tells me, putting a hot chocolate and a strawberry donut beside my mouse pad. “Impressive thinking on your feet.”

I stare at the gorgeous pink donut like we’ve fallen through a wormhole while he disappears into his boss’s office. In the space of twenty minutes self-doubt has begun to erode my confidence that I can handle the Or Something Game. He’s too big, too clever, and my body likes him way too much. I’m desperate to try to lay some kind of ground rules. When he sits at his desk and sips his coffee, it all comes out in a vulgar blurt.

“If the Or Something Game involves sex, it’ll be a one-time deal. Once. One meaningless time only.” I clap my hand over my mouth.

He narrows an eye cynically and begins eating the strawberries I gave him. It’s mesmerizing. I never see him eat anything.

“One.” I hold up one finger.

“Just once? You’re sure? Would you at least buy me dinner first?” He leans back in his chair, enjoying this exchange. He bites, chews, swallows, and I have to look away because frankly, it’s sexy as hell.

“Sure, we can hit the drive-thru for a Happy Meal.”

“Gee, thanks. A burger meal and toy before we went and did it. Once.” He sips at his coffee and looks at the ceiling. “Couldn’t you at least spring for a fancy Italian restaurant? Or do you want me feeling cheap?”

“Once.” I put several knuckles into my mouth and bite them until it hurts. Shut your mouth, Lucy.

“Can you define what one time would involve?” He rests his chin on his palm and closes his eyes, yawning. You’d think we were talking about a work presentation, not a naked, dirty game in my bed.

“Did your parents never give you the birds and bees talk?” I sip my hot chocolate.

“I’m trying to understand the rules upfront. You make up an awful lot as you go along. Could you email them to me?”

Mr. Bexley walks between us, breaking the moment, and makes an unconvincing sound of surprise when he sees his coffee and donuts on his desk.

“I’ll be in, one minute,” Joshua calls to him.

To me he says, “Once, huh? You’d restrain yourself?” I see the edge of his mouth lift in a little smile, and he begins to click on his computer screen.

“Don’t look so self-satisfied,” I hiss as quietly as I can. “It’s not a guarantee it’ll ever happen.”

“Don’t act like it’s only me who wants this. This isn’t some favor you’d be doing me. It’s the pretty big favor you’d be doing yourself.”

He doesn’t seem to be making a sleazy reference to what lies beneath his zipper, but I look there anyway. I can’t seem to stop talking.

“To kill off this weird sexual tension between us, then yes, it would be only once. Like I said, what does it matter?”

He blinks hard, opens his mouth to speak, then seems to reconsider. For a guy who’s just been told by a woman she’s considering having sex with him, he looks a little disappointed.

“Then I guess I’d better make it count, Shortcake.” A promise and a warning. I bite my donut nearly in half so I don’t have to reply.

I got the upper hand, defining the terms a little. He stands and picks up his coffee. It’s a signal of retreat. But then he slams the tennis ball back into my court, forcing the decision back onto me so squarely I have to admit, I’m impressed.

He writes something on a blue Post-it note. His spiky black letters swoop and slash; ink spreading a little into the veins of paper.