Breathe In (Just Breathe, #1)(93)

Finally, he starts, “So, why haven’t you opened it?”

“Don’t know,” I say trying to brush it off. “Did you buy me something?”

“Maybe I did. Guess you’ll see when you open it,” he taunts.

Joe’s clearly not going to give me any clues.

“Why don’t you open it now?” he presses.

“Because I’m busy,” I reply, trying to dissuade any notion that I’m that curious.

“Doing what? You’re not too busy to be talking to me,” he challenges.

“Just busy,” I maintain, trying to keep my cool.


He chuckles.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he expresses, followed by more laughter.

“What?” I argue. I’m not sure what I said that was at all funny.

“I just had a few possibilities of what you could be doing pop into my head,” he mischievously announces.

What could he think that I am doing? My dirty mind wakes up.

“No! God, no! I’ve been busy since Anna dropped it off,” I sternly protest while trying to cover for the fact that I have masturbated three times today, and the last time was literally just before he called.

“Then, what?” he searches. “What are you doing right now that you’re too busy to open it but not too busy to talk to me?”

Choosing to lie, I reply, “Reading.”

“I know you’re lying,” he disputes in a firm but playful manner. “You can’t read and talk to me at the same time.”

“Working on the new Raven software. Looks like Raven 1.0 will be finished and ready for the first round of testing in August,” I lie again, trying divert our attention.

“Wonderful,” he comments. “I can’t wait to try it. Any more thoughts about the server and security expansion?”

“Not yet. I’m still thinking about it, weighing my options,” I explain.

“Makes sense,” he returns. “So what are you doing?”

Shit. Okay, Emma. Just tell him the truth. It’ll just be worse if you keep trying to change the subject or lying and he keeps catching you.

Taking a deep breathe in and wincing, I reveal, “Taking a bath.”

There is not a single sound coming from Joe’s end of the phone. I swear it takes at least a full sixty seconds before I hear him clear his throat.

With a shaky voice, he says, “Umm . . . really?!”

I’m flattered by his response for some reason and all I can do is mumble, “Mmm hmm.”

He clears his throat, but his voice trembles, “Were you thinking of me?”

My mouth becomes dry and it takes me a second to answer. “No . . .” my voice shakes.

“I don’t believe you,” Joe expresses as his voice cracks.

“I wasn’t . . .” I contend.

“Mmm hmm . . .” he hums into my ear. “Yeah, you were. Deny it all you want to yourself, but I can hear it in your voice.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I deny.

“Yes you do. I’m flattered. What were you doing when you were thinking about me?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” I declare.

“Please,” he sinfully begs.

Did our innocent and friendly conversation just go there? It did. I’m even more confused from the date, this past weekend and now this phone call. Yet, I’m so freaking horny. I need to redirect the topic now.

“Hold on a second. Okay?” I ask.

“Why?”

“I need to get out of the tub,” I blurt.

“Should I come over?”

“Why?”

“To offer my assistance, just in case,” he teases with a laugh.

“I don’t need help,” I jab.

“You sure?” he seeks.

“Yes.” I purposefully make him wait ten extra seconds after hearing his remark. “I’m back.”

“Now you can open it.”

Pinching the bridge to my nose, I press, “Why did you get me something?”

“Because it made me think of you,” he nonchalantly admits.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I voice, still unnerved by the idea.

“I know, but I wanted to. Not because you got me something, but because, like I said, it made me think of you,” he charmingly declares.

“I didn’t get you . . . oh,” the realization sets in.

I did get him something.

“It was just a book.”

“The sentiment is still the same,” he replies. “Shoot. I’m sorry I need to go,” he comments abruptly, snapping my attention back to reality.

“What? Oh, okay,” I say surprised at the sudden change in his voice.

“Please open it, Emma,” he timidly pleas.

“Okay,” I awkwardly agree.

“Goodbye,” he rushes.

“Fare . . .” I return just before the phone cuts the connection.

My heart sinks missing the term of endearment that has always ended his farewells of late.

Once off the phone with Joe, I brush my hair, rub on some organic coconut oil and put on my silk robe before returning to the gift. Sitting next to the box with one leg bent up on the bed and the other dangling off the edge, I carefully untie the ribbon and lift the lid, letting it slide off on its own. With scrupulous precision, I peel back each fold of the white tissue paper. I can see hints of blue as the last sheet of paper unfolds. Holy crap, it’s one of Nathan’s dresses that I wore yesterday during our little fashion show.