Interim(47)

“None of your business.”

“Does it have anything to do with me?”

She shuffled her feet and muttered, “Well, maybe.”

“Then it’s my business.”

“You’ll think I’m weird,” she confessed.

“I already think you’re weird. The mere fact that you’re here talking to me right now is freaking weird. So let’s have it.”

She hesitated.

“I’ll just snatch your phone,” Jeremy threatened.

“Fine! I typed your tattoo in my phone so I could look it up later.”

Silence.

She wouldn’t look at him straight on. She let her peripheral vision do all the work as she watched him walk deliberately to the counter, toss the cupcakes, and retrieve a T-shirt. He pulled it over his blond head, down past his green eyes to his flushed neck. No, not flushed. It was screaming-in-pain red.

Her own neck along with her cheeks were screaming in pain, too, and she couldn’t stand it any longer. “I figured you wouldn’t tell me, okay?”

“About my tattoo?”

“I thought it’d be weird to ask.”

“And typing it in your phone wasn’t?”

She scowled. “I didn’t want you thinking I was staring at it or something.”

“Were you?”

“Oh my God. You seriously asked me that?”

Jeremy jerked his face, forcing the hair out of his eyes. “Yes. I mean, how should I know what you were doing back there? How long have you been here, anyway?”

“Two seconds,” Regan lied.

He raised his eyebrow.

“Get over yourself,” she said, and he snorted. “And I don’t like the way you just tossed my cupcakes on the counter like they don’t matter. You’re the one who told me to bring them.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “And thank you.”

“Furthermore, I’m not a weirdo for typing your tattoo. I’m a curious person, and seeing as how it’s a different language, I’d like to know what it means . . . and thought I’d discover it for myself.”

Jeremy smiled. “Okay. Creepy, but okay.”

“And one more thing,” Regan continued, ignoring him. “You have a lot of nerve making me feel unwelcome when you said I could drop by whenever I wanted.”

“I didn’t actually think you would,” Jeremy admitted.

“Well, that just goes to show that you know absolutely nothing about me,” Regan said.

“And you know everything about me,” Jeremy replied, “including my tat! God, that was the last thing, Regan. The last thing you didn’t know.” He threw up his hands. “Well, that’s everything. Congratulations. You’re the winner.”

Regan opened her mouth and then promptly closed it.

They stood shuffling their feet and avoiding each other’s eyes until Regan spoke up.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she whispered. “I’ll just go.”

Man, she was good. The faltering voice. The pathetic fade-out. He barely heard the word “go” at the end of her sentence. How vexing—her ability to be strategic and manipulative with her words. Was that a girl thing? Was it innate in them? He didn’t think guys pulled that kind of bullshit, so yeah, it must be a girl thing. And she was really freaking good at it! She forced his unwilling response.

“Don’t go.” He heard himself say it, like he was standing outside of his body, watching a weaker, lust-filled version of himself utter the feeble words. There was nothing for it. She controlled him.

Regan’s face brightened. “Really?”

Jeremy nodded. He walked back to the counter and opened the box: two red velvet cupcakes with a thick dollop of cream cheese icing topping each.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Regan said, watching his face. “See? I don’t know everything.”

Jeremy smiled and picked up one of the cupcakes. He extended his hand, and Regan walked over to him, taking the treat. She didn’t necessarily want to eat a cupcake in front of him. Cupcake eating was messy and absolutely not sexy, but she relaxed as she watched him take a healthy bite, cream cheese spreading over his lips and dotting the tip of his nose.

“Good,” he mumbled with his mouth full.

Regan tried to match his bite. Icing everywhere, but since it decorated his face, she left hers alone, too.