Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(16)

“Jesus, let me help you,” he says, taking the cardboard box off my hands.

“Thanks,” I say, and shake out my arms. “That one was heavier than it looked.”

“How many more of those do you have?” he asks, looking back over my shoulder.

“Just a few,” I tell him, cutting the tape open to check the contents inside.

“Show me where they are and I’ll help you. I helped my sister move a few weeks ago, and according to her I missed my calling in manual labor.”

“No, I can—” I start to say, but he’s already shaking his head.

“I’m not offering because of some chivalrous bullshit reason or because you’re a girl and I think you can’t do it alone—I think we both know you can probably do whatever the hell you want,” he says with a wink. “I’m offering because the sooner you’re done, the sooner I can monopolize more of your time.”

“Thanks,” I say again, ignoring the way his words make my blood vibrate in unexpected pleasure, and motioning for him to follow me. “But there’ll be no hanging out going on back there. No being a friend. Just to clarify.”

“I know, I know,” Luke says, rounding the bar and offering Fred the requisite Man Nod as we pass. I don’t miss Fred’s smug I told you so expression when his gaze flickers to me, and I give him a threatening look before ducking around the corner and down the hall.

It’s so much quieter back here, away from the sharp crack of the pool table, the clink of glasses, or shouts aimed at the TVs.

Luke peeks inside Fred’s office, and then stops just outside our tiny break room. It’s more of a kitchen, really, with a refrigerator and a microwave, and sometimes after work I fall asleep in the worn leather chair in the corner.

“Glamour, right?” I say, and lean in to see what’s caught his eye.

He looks around and shrugs. “I like it,” he says. “The break room at my office has ergonomic chairs and three different espresso machines. Honestly, I feel like an * just sitting in there.”

I laugh as I continue on into the storeroom. Luke follows me in, standing in the middle and looking around for a moment, before joining me where the boxes are stacked and reaching out for me to hand him something.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” he says.

I check my list and then search the boxes for the right label. “Sure.”

“This is really none of my business, but how do you know Mia?”

I look up at him, surprised. “Mia? She’s best friends with my roommate, Lola. Why?”

Instead of answering, he asks, “You live with Lola?”

“Yeah, we were always in the art buildings at the same time,” I tell him. “We didn’t hang out much outside of school, but she moved in last summer and is quickly becoming my favorite human.”

“Other than me, of course,” he says with a grin, before helping me by grabbing a box high on the shelf.

I mumble out a thanks and go back to studying my list. Luke is sweet, definitely attentive, and a total f*cking flirt.

Danger.

“No problem,” he says. “So Mia is more Lola’s friend than yours?”

That’s an odd question. “I guess. I mean, we’re friends, but I haven’t known her that long. How do you know them?” I ask.

Luke shifts the box to one arm and runs a hand along the edge of a shelf. “We grew up together: Me, Mia, Lola, and Harlow. We all went to the same high school.”

When I don’t say anything in response, he looks up. He must notice the subtle lift of my brow implying and? because he adds, “We’ve sort of known each other forever.”

It feels like there’s more, but this is Luke and there probably always is.

Besides, I can certainly appreciate his desire to keep his cards close to the chest.

I turn away and go back to my boxes.

“So have you been in Fred’s before?” I ask. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”

“Once, a few months ago, but Dylan likes the vibe so we came back. Lucky for me you work here,” he says with another grin.

I roll my eyes but it’s surprisingly hard not to smile back. His smile is infectious.

And as if I need a reminder that his good mood is likely the direct result of a booty call, his phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances down at the screen, and I watch the way it illuminates his face. I’d consider giving up every dollar in the car fund tonight to see what is making his eyes go wide right now.

“Good news?” I ask.

He knows he’s been caught, but I’m not sure if it’s that or whatever he’s just read that has him more flustered.

“Just a friend,” he says, pocketing his phone again.

“Uh-huh.” I straighten and check the last thing off my list, and feel him just behind me. He reaches around to take a small box of cocktail straws out of my hands and I can smell his subtle cologne, feel the heat of his arm through the fabric of my shirt.

“Thanks for letting me help,” he says, and I look over my shoulder, his face only inches from mine. This room suddenly feels way too dark and way too small for two people. Especially if those two people have had sex and aren’t supposed to do it again.

“You’re a lot of fun, Logan.”