chaotic roof forms—”
Gazing at her for a moment, I licked my lips before biting down. She looked obedient, docile. I needed to explain the texts and convince her good clam chowder could be life affirming, but more than anything else, I wanted to know if she liked that position and would consider spending some time in it at my apartment.
Staring at the physical embodiment of my recent sex-filled dreams would end badly for everyone.
“I can’t talk about that right now,” I snapped. “Figure it out.”
After stumbling down the stairs and striding across the building, I stormed into Matt’s office and slammed the door behind me.
“Told you he wasn’t fine,” Riley said. They regarded me from the drafting table and Matt slapped some bills into Riley’s hand.
“Andy needs her own office.”
Riley and Matt launched into individual, simultaneous arguments, and while being on the receiving end of their annoyance was one of my least favorite things, it was far preferable to thinking about the fucked up situation I had with Andy.
Matt waved at the office. “We don’t have room for—”
And her kneeling at my desk.
Riley interrupted, “If anyone gets a goddamn office around here, it’s me—”
And her full lips, open and waiting.
Matt held up a hand, silencing Riley. “I don’t know where you want that to come from, but unless we’re redrawing—”
And the skin of her thighs underneath those thick stockings. I just knew it would be soft and smooth.
Riley pushed Matt’s hand away. “I’ve put up with both of you assholes since May—”
And the sounds she’d make when I wrapped my hands around her hair and pulled.
“Shut. Up,” I yelled. “One. If we cannot figure out how to find some space, we aren’t nearly as good at this as we think. That’s a problem. Figure it out and don’t bother me with the details. Two. Deal with it, Riley. Andy is ten times more capable than you, and she’s been here for two weeks. Three. I’m going to work here for a few hours, and unless you have a solution to our office space problem, we’re not talking about this. Or anything else.”
I dropped into a chair at Matt’s conference table and opened my laptop, staring blindly at my email program while Matt and Riley exchanged loaded glances. I still wanted to apologize for the texts, but the thought of Andy on her knees blew my control to hell.
“Challenge accepted,” Riley murmured.
He started rifling through the long, wide flat file drawers along the wall before producing the plans for our office. He gleefully paged through the plans and scribbled notes. His murmurs helped me focus on the major issues in my inbox, and the afternoon slipped into evening.
She departed for the day before I emerged from Matt’s office. The rough slap of disappointment at my inability to draw Andy out lingered while I walked home. It was my own fault, I knew that, but I didn’t know how to interpret or manage the frantic energy that spiraled through my veins in her presence.
Climbing the stairs to my apartment, it hit me. This all started with a text, so why not keep it going with a text? The distance allowed me to construct my thoughts without her tongue or her hair or her scent overwhelming my system.
Stowing my cold weather gear and quickly changing into fleece-lined sweats, a thermal t-shirt, and dry socks, I grabbed a beer and turned on the recording of Manchester United’s game. I drafted several text messages before selecting the most straightforward.
21:11 Patrick: I was drunk last Friday night when I texted you. Was I an asshole?
It felt like an eternity before my phone signaled a response, but the timestamp indicated it was only minutes. Yet more evidence a padded cell was in my future.
21:15 Andy: No
I sighed and typed another message. When she responded quickly, I felt relief surging through my veins.
21:16 Patrick: Do you make a habit of offering to put drunks to bed?
21:18 Andy: No
21:19 Patrick:
Gazing at her for a moment, I licked my lips before biting down. She looked obedient, docile. I needed to explain the texts and convince her good clam chowder could be life affirming, but more than anything else, I wanted to know if she liked that position and would consider spending some time in it at my apartment.
Staring at the physical embodiment of my recent sex-filled dreams would end badly for everyone.
“I can’t talk about that right now,” I snapped. “Figure it out.”
After stumbling down the stairs and striding across the building, I stormed into Matt’s office and slammed the door behind me.
“Told you he wasn’t fine,” Riley said. They regarded me from the drafting table and Matt slapped some bills into Riley’s hand.
“Andy needs her own office.”
Riley and Matt launched into individual, simultaneous arguments, and while being on the receiving end of their annoyance was one of my least favorite things, it was far preferable to thinking about the fucked up situation I had with Andy.
Matt waved at the office. “We don’t have room for—”
And her kneeling at my desk.
Riley interrupted, “If anyone gets a goddamn office around here, it’s me—”
And her full lips, open and waiting.
Matt held up a hand, silencing Riley. “I don’t know where you want that to come from, but unless we’re redrawing—”
And the skin of her thighs underneath those thick stockings. I just knew it would be soft and smooth.
Riley pushed Matt’s hand away. “I’ve put up with both of you assholes since May—”
And the sounds she’d make when I wrapped my hands around her hair and pulled.
“Shut. Up,” I yelled. “One. If we cannot figure out how to find some space, we aren’t nearly as good at this as we think. That’s a problem. Figure it out and don’t bother me with the details. Two. Deal with it, Riley. Andy is ten times more capable than you, and she’s been here for two weeks. Three. I’m going to work here for a few hours, and unless you have a solution to our office space problem, we’re not talking about this. Or anything else.”
I dropped into a chair at Matt’s conference table and opened my laptop, staring blindly at my email program while Matt and Riley exchanged loaded glances. I still wanted to apologize for the texts, but the thought of Andy on her knees blew my control to hell.
“Challenge accepted,” Riley murmured.
He started rifling through the long, wide flat file drawers along the wall before producing the plans for our office. He gleefully paged through the plans and scribbled notes. His murmurs helped me focus on the major issues in my inbox, and the afternoon slipped into evening.
She departed for the day before I emerged from Matt’s office. The rough slap of disappointment at my inability to draw Andy out lingered while I walked home. It was my own fault, I knew that, but I didn’t know how to interpret or manage the frantic energy that spiraled through my veins in her presence.
Climbing the stairs to my apartment, it hit me. This all started with a text, so why not keep it going with a text? The distance allowed me to construct my thoughts without her tongue or her hair or her scent overwhelming my system.
Stowing my cold weather gear and quickly changing into fleece-lined sweats, a thermal t-shirt, and dry socks, I grabbed a beer and turned on the recording of Manchester United’s game. I drafted several text messages before selecting the most straightforward.
21:11 Patrick: I was drunk last Friday night when I texted you. Was I an asshole?
It felt like an eternity before my phone signaled a response, but the timestamp indicated it was only minutes. Yet more evidence a padded cell was in my future.
21:15 Andy: No
I sighed and typed another message. When she responded quickly, I felt relief surging through my veins.
21:16 Patrick: Do you make a habit of offering to put drunks to bed?
21:18 Andy: No
21:19 Patrick:
Similar Books
