Only I can’t seem to stop. She’s in my blood. Under my skin.
Dammit!
She clears her throat and stares at the toes of her boots.
“I, um, I actually came to see if you wanted some lunch. Drogheda is making quesadillas. I told her to make some extra. They’re really good. She’s a great cook.”
Truth be told, Sooty didn’t leave me much in the way of supplies in the fridge, so that would sound appealing even if it didn’t have anything to do with Cami. Her serving it up, preferably on her flat stomach, would make it the best meal I’ve ever had, even if it sucked. But that’s beside the point.
“Sounds good. Give me some time to clean up.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll bring it down to you, if that’s okay.”
“Sounds good,” I say again, draining my water.
“I’ll be back down in half an hour then.”
“Sounds good.”
She turns away like she’s about to leave, but stops. She looks back at me over her shoulder. She’s grinning and sexy as the day is long. “Are you always this agreeable in the mornings?”
“Oh, I can be much more agreeable than this.”
Smiling broadly, she nods her head a couple times then walks away. The way her hips sway, I can’t help but wonder if she knows my eyes are glued to her ass.
I go into the bathroom off the office and clean up, running damp hands through my hair to tame it. Well, as much as it can be tamed anyway. It’s getting a little long and the natural wave makes it stick up at weird angles. I guess I’m lucky this particular look is in style.
I clean off the small table that sits off to one side of the spacious office and get us both a drink from the fridge. Not two minutes later, she comes walking through the door, an enormous basket hooked over one forearm.
“Good God, how many people are eating down here?”
“I didn’t know how hungry you’d be. Or what all you had down here, so I brought plates and drinks and stuff, too.”
Her eyes go to the table, to the beers sitting there, condensation forming over the dark glass of the bottles.
“Let me just put these away then,” I say, grabbing the long necks and sticking them back in the fridge.
“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
“It’s never too early.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. For just a second, I see the same odd expression that my mom wears a lot, but I brush it off as my imagination.
She sets the basket on the desk and starts pulling stuff out and setting the table. My mouth waters at the smells coming from inside.
“I hope you like sweet tea and lemonade,” she says as she takes a thermos and two glasses out of the basket.
“It’s fine. I’m not picky.”
When the table is set and a platter of delicious-looking quesadillas is planted in the center, she moves to take a seat. I hold out a chair for her. She smiles up into my eyes and gives me a shy Thank you.
Of course, it makes me want to brush everything off the table and throw her up onto it instead. But I don’t. I just want to.
She says a quick grace before nodding toward the plate of food. “Dig in.”
“Ladies first.”
She grins again. I wonder if this delicate game of cat-and-mouse is charming her as much as it’s driving me crazy. For some reason, I think it probably is. And it just makes me want to do it all the more.
She serves herself a quesadilla and I get mine. I’ll admit that the first bite nearly made my eyes roll back in my head.
“Holy shit! You weren’t kidding! These are amazing.”
She smiles happily. “I’m glad you like them.”
“If I’m ever on death row and get a last meal, I’m requesting some of these.”
“So you think about prison a lot, do you?”
“Heh. Not that kind of prison.” I want to add that there are all types of prisons, but I don’t. “So, what are you up to today? No riding?”
“How’d you know?”
I lean to the side and glance down at her smooth legs. “Shorts.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, no riding today. I’ve been cooped up in the office all morning looking at pedigrees.”
“Exciting stuff.”
“You have no idea.”
She says it so dryly, I chuckle.
Her eyes dart up to me a couple times and I get the feeling she has something on her mind. Rather than pressing her, I just sit quietly and wait for her to get around to it.
“So, um, your friend, Rusty, what’s his deal? Does he have a girlfriend?”
Of all the things I might’ve expected her to say, that was nowhere in the mix. In fact, it was light years away from the furthest thing from my mind. And I would’ve thought it would be the same for her. But I’d have been wrong.
It annoys me that her question stings. Bitterly. Somewhere deep in my chest.
“No, no girlfriend. Why? Are you looking for a hook-up?”
I smile and try to be nonchalant. I hope it’s more convincing than I imagine it to be.
Her mouth falls open a little and she looks at me blankly for a few seconds. Then her eyes widen. “What? Me? No!”
“Oh,” I say, more relieved than I care to admit. “Who then?”
“My friend, Jenna.”
“The one whose boyfriend is getting Rus to fix his car?”
She wrinkles her nose and cringes. “Yeah, that one.”
“Wow. Um, okay.”
“It’s not what you think. They aren’t exclusive. They have agreed to date other people, too.”
“And how is he gonna feel about one of those ‘other people’ being the guy that’s working on his car?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m just the messenger.”
“What’s the message?”
“She wants me to have you bring him out here one night so we can all hang out and she can get to know him.”
Talk about your golden opportunities! Dangerous ones, too. Red flags start popping up all over the place, but I completely ignore them. The only thing on my mind is spending an evening with Cami.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I thought maybe we could hang out down here. Maybe have a beer and play some cards or something. I don’t know. Nothing too…”