Layers(12)

“I was bullied into coming,” I shrug.

“That doesn’t sound offensive at all.” He lets out a short, raspy laugh. “Care to elaborate?”

“Technically, it was for losing a bet. My good friend thought coming on the tour would be a good punishment.” I twist my mouth in half a smile and am rewarded with a full grin that turns into a small head shake. “But, well, she did promise me it would be a very educational experience, and that I could never know what opportunities it might bring.” Such as finding myself having coffee with you.

“Clever lady, that friend of yours. Remind me to thank her in person if we happen to meet.”

We trade charged glances and he turns to take another bite of his cupcake.

“What’s your favorite song?” he asks out of the blue.

Where did that come from? Daniel Stark wants to know my favorite song? Is this the time to look around for a candid camera?

“You want to know my favorite song?” I repeat his question, just to make sure I heard him correctly.

“Yes.” No elaboration, and he doesn’t look as if he’s about to give any.

“Set the Fire to the Third Bar,” I answer, not sure where that might lead or what the nature of his question is.

“I’m not familiar with it,” he answers, absorbed.

“By Snow Patrol,” I elaborate. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

Well, what should I answer to that? Hey Daniel, I live close by, would you like to go up to my room and listen to the song? “Now you have homework, you should listen to the song,” I answer, thinking, weird question, weirder answer. He smirks and looks at me under his lashes.

“A lot can be learned from musical preferences,” he says as though to himself. “So, what do you do for a living? Obviously it should be something exceptional, as you did turn down a job at a very intriguing and professional company …” His slightly narrowed eyes are on me, and his teasing doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’ll drop the Mr. Stark if you drop the mockery, Mr. Stark,” I mimic his expression, pleased with my response.

“Fair point.” He squeezes my hand as it rests on the chair arm, causing a direct short circuit to my belly.

“I’m actually waiting for a final date to start my new job at a magazine in the creative team.”

“Sounds interesting,” he mutters, looking genuinely attentive.

I smile inside at his undivided attention concerning my occupational situation. “I’m currently working part time as an administrative assistant at an insurance company; I just recently got my master’s degree.”

“You work a part time job at an insurance agency as an administrative assistant,” he looks at me in disbelief, “and yet you refused my offer?” He picks an invisible crumb from his thigh.

Stop distracting me …

“Come on, you were just messing with me, there wasn’t ever a real position on the table, and we both know that.”

His lips arch into a secretive smile. “Oh, we both do, do we?”

Is he kidding or is he being sincere?

“Whether it was or it wasn’t I still honestly believe it was some kind of a joke for you. I’m very keen about the magazine position, though.”

“Which magazine is it?” He takes another bite and sets the cake back on the table.

“Why do you ask?” I mutter dryly, and without paying much attention, I take a piece of his cupcake’s top and put it to my mouth. His eyebrows rise above his stare, his mouth slightly open for a brief moment. Next his expression turns completely animated.

“Well, by all means, be my guest,” he chuckles, gesturing toward his cupcake. “Some of my coffee to go with it?” He moves his cup toward me, the widest smirk stretched on his face.

Did I just take some of his food without even asking? I shift in my chair, an action which makes his eyes dance with humor.

“I’m covered with coffee, thank you.” I raise my cup toward my mouth. Think before acting. Daniel continues staring at me for a prolonged moment, glee adorning his eyes.

“You have a tendency of being covered in coffee around me.” He lets out a deep belly chuckle. Oh, how could I not see that coming? I roll my eyes and send him a thin smile.

“I’ve asked about the magazine since I might be able to help.”

It takes me a minute to recall his last question then to assimilate what he just said.

“How is that?” I ask, looking at him inquisitively. With complete nonchalance he stretches his hand toward my mouth and with his thumb removes a crumb of cupcake from the side of my lip, and then, still seemingly without special attention to what he does, he puts his thumb to his own mouth and sucks it. Though the entire act takes seconds, it feels like I’ve just witnessed it in slow motion. I look at him in utter amazement as he continues talking.

“I have some connections here and there,” he says. Pausing, he looks at me through his lashes and smiles a small mischievous grin as if to say, “you seem shaken, dear,” and then goes on as usual. Frozen, I look at him and can’t relate to what he’s saying. All I have in my mind is the feel of his thumb on my lip, his mouth decorated by that small scar of his as his lips parted to take in the remnants of my crumbs. Something deep inside of me clasps tight, very tight. “Seriously, I can talk to someone, Hayley.”