The Feel Good Factor(39)

He brings the sandwich stuff to the counter and finds the cutting board. “Right? I never thought about how adding Franklin would be a big deal in the sixties. A teacher suggested it in a letter.”

“I love the collection of letters from readers. There’s something about a handwritten note that feels like the writer is putting more of their heart onto the page.”

“Or on the chalkboard,” Derek says, glancing at the message board. “But I digress. How’s everything with you?”

I lean against the counter and tell him what went down at work the last few days, catching him up on the latest with the possible promotion. “And Elias is up for the promotion too,” I finish, sharing with him what I didn’t tell Vanessa earlier. Maybe I need a guy’s perspective. “It’s hard going up against a friend, especially since his wife is pregnant.”

He looks up from the cutting board with a frown. “What does that have to do with it?”

“I feel guilty. Like he deserves it more since he’s going to have a family soon.”

Derek points a finger at me, his expression turning tough, no-nonsense. “Are you good at what you do?”

I square my shoulders. “Hell yeah.”

“Then don’t fall into that trap.”

“What trap?”

“The trap that single people fall into. We get asked to do more overtime, stay later, come in on holidays because we aren’t married and don’t have kids.”

“True,” I agree, thinking of times when that burden has fallen on me. “And I went in today to do traffic duty, but that was a choice. I volunteered.”

“Exactly. You made the choice. You volunteered. You weren’t roped into it.” He slaps some turkey slices onto the bread.

“And I’ve been digging into this jewelry store theft case that’s been bugging the chief. I haven’t cracked it yet, but I chose to take on the work.”

“Good. We have to remember our time is as valuable as anyone’s. There’s this weird societal notion that only parents and married people deserve a break. But every human does. And everyone deserves a chance to go after what he or she wants. You’ve earned it. So don’t feel one damn ounce of guilt.”

I hadn’t been looking for a pep talk, but I’m grateful he gave me one. “Thank you. I needed that.”

He offers a fist for knocking. “We relationship-free people need to look out for each other.”

There it is again—the reminder. Not that I need it. I’m a card-carrying member of that club. So I keep it on the same level, asking about his work. “How are things with your job? Do you like your partner?”

He tells me about Hunter and Hunter’s belly, and before I know it, he’s entertained me and also whipped me up a yummy-looking sandwich. I take a bite and declare it delicious. He grabs it from me and takes a bite too.

I wag a finger. “Hey, you’re stealing my food.”

“Damn straight I am.”

“Fine, you can share.”

“That’s what I thought.”

We trade the sandwich back and forth till it’s gone. “Want another?”

I act indignant. “Of course, since you ate half of mine.”

“Every now and then I can’t resist bread.” He makes another sandwich, and we share it again.

“You like the guys you work with? Do you consider them friends?” I ask.

He nods, but it’s the half-committed kind. “Sure.”

“You should do something with them. Go out with Shaw and Gabe. Hunter too. Get a drink.”

He taps my nose and purses his lips. “Aww, you’re trying to get me to make new friends. You’re sweet.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not sweet.”

“You’re so sweet, Perri. Admit it.”

“I’m not sweet.”

“You are. You want to play friend matchmaker.”

I huff. “And to think I was going to invite you out with the group.”

He grabs my arm. “Yes. I’ll go.”

“Invitation rescinded.”

“No, it’s not. You invited me, and you meant it.” He tugs me closer. “Didn’t you?”

I swallow as my skin heats from his nearness. “Derek.”

“What?”

“You’re tempting me,” I admit.

He drags me against him all the way, letting me feel the full length of him. “You tempt me.”

He’s so hard, so aroused, and I am too. Heat pools between my legs, and I ache for him. “Why are you doing this?”

His hand snakes around my waist, across my hips to my ass. He cups one cheek, and I nearly go up in flames. When he squeezes, I whimper. I want him so much. I want him to grab me, lift me up on the counter, and strip me to nothing.

To take me.

“Because . . .” he whispers, then brushes his nose against mine. “Because I want this to be so hard for you.”

“You’re evil,” I whisper.

He squeezes harder, his cock steel against me. “I’m the worst.”

“You’re killing me.”

“I’m dead too, if it’s any consolation.” Gently, he brushes a kiss to my forehead. “Forehead kiss. Want to enter in that category?”