The Lineup(26)

But deep down, despite my don’t come near me vibes, I knew he’d make his way toward me eventually. He’s the guy who doesn’t let things go, but rather he builds on them and builds on them. Looks like we’re about to have our first layer.

“Not avoiding you,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the city outside. “Just don’t have anything to say to you, therefore, I haven’t spoken to you.”

“Nothing to say to me? Really? You had me carried out of your office by two men who happen to be great friends of mine now and you have nothing to say?”

Of course they are. There’s no doubt Jason won them over with his charm. At least that explains the looks I received.

“No, nothing. And I had security come and get you for good reason; you were bothering me when I was trying to get work done.”

“Bothering you?” he asks, his voice rising.

I shush him quickly. “Don’t make a scene. This is a party for our friends. Let’s keep it that way and not turn it into whatever dramatic affair you’re about to make it.”

“Dramatic affair?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

“Repeat everything you say? Pishh.”

Oh my God, he’s annoying. Really freaking annoying.

Hot, with the best butt on a man I’ve ever seen, but beyond annoying. But I also can’t blame him, because despite the fa?ade he’s trying to mimic—if the hurt in his eyes is any indication—he’s a man who wears his emotions on his sleeve. It must have bruised his pride to not be fawned over, or even appreciated for his kind gesture. I know I would be if I were in his shoes.

Keeping calm, I say, “Unless you have anything of substance to say to me, I suggest you move it along.”

He pauses and I can feel his eyes blaze a trail up and down my body before saying, “Damn, girl, how long has that stick been shoved up your ass?”

No, he didn’t.

Calm breaths. He’s hurt, he’s mad. You are better than this . . .

I turn to face him with a smile on my face. “Just because I don’t want to talk to you, means I have a stick up my ass? Are you being sexist?”

He smiles back and pats my arm. “No, if I was being sexist, I would have said women as a whole have sticks up their asses. As far as I can tell, you’re the only one who’s bent over and begging for a flagpole to be shoved up there.”

“Wow, you’re offensive.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

He shrugs, then gives me another once-over. Motioning to my purple turtleneck dress that covers my entire upper torso and hits me just above my knees, he leans in and asks, “Are they in hiding?”

“In hiding? What on earth—?”

“Dottie, you’ve got great tits. Why are you hiding them?”

Okay, I am trying to work out if that was a compliment or a dig. I still have no clue why he’s talking to me, especially now that I know he thinks a stick is up my ass. I lean forward and press my hand to his chest, still keeping a smile on my face. “Maybe I don’t have to show off my tits to be friendly. I don’t see you hanging your balls out of your zipper.”

Of course, he smiles at that. “Want me to?”

Argh. I give up.

“You’re disgusting. Stay away from me.”

“Fine by me.” He gives me a quick pat to my arm and takes off.

The fucking nerve of that man. Are they in hiding? What was he even thinking coming over here? Let’s see how much I can push Dottie to her limits?

Well, he got me there, because I’m fired up and ready to do some damage.





“Did you try the potato salad? I heard it’s amazing.”

Seriously?

I look over my shoulder to find Jason hovering over me, plate in hand, ready to dig into the buffet of food Emory and Knox had catered.

“You’re breathing on my neck.”

“Want me to lick it too while I’m this close?”

Is he mad? Is he flirting? Is he trying to annoy me into submission? What is it? Pick a lane, man.

“I’d rather stab my eye with my fork,” I answer, putting some potato salad on my plate and moving out of the way.

Lindsay is busy talking to Carson and Milly. Emory and Knox are speaking with a few of his teammates, which leaves me to myself. It’s for the best, as I’m not feeling very conversational right now.

But as I’m about to stick a forkful of potato salad in my mouth, Jason takes a seat next to me and sets his drink on the side table between us.

This man has a death wish; it’s the only explanation why he’s coming for round two . . . or would this be three if we’re counting my office?

Ignoring him, I take a bite and—oh my God . . . this has to be the best potato salad I’ve ever had. Without even thinking, I scoop up another forkful and stuff it in my mouth. Barely chewing, just swallowing because damn, this is so good, I hear Jason clear his throat as I’m about to stick the last bite in my mouth.

“Enjoying that, aren’t you?” His smile is so wide, I want to flick it back in place with my middle finger. I felt bad for him earlier, now I’m just irritated.

“Yes,” I answer curtly as I put the last forkful in my mouth.