Office Date Page 4

  “Now.” Max rubs his hands together. “There are only a few left to pick from.” He steps away and points at the smart board.

  Each team is labeled team one, two, three, four, and so on; each of them have different colors matching their team, and the setup looks like a virtual horse race.

  “Currently, the team favored to win is Ivy and Jack, team number two, but I wouldn’t discount some of the others. It’s easy to come out fists flying; it’s hard to finish first when you start first. Just ask Dustin.”

  “I was in high school, and I tripped on a shoelace.” Dustin glares from behind his black-rimmed glasses.

  “There, there.” Max pats him on the shoulder. “We all, at some point in life, trip on the finish line and choke during the state finals.” He slaps Dustin hard on the back again. “All right, now, time to announce the next game!”

  Cheers erupted around the boardroom as everyone scrambles to place their bets on the large board on the giant conference table.

  Max grins to himself.

  Look at that. Creating a fantastic company climate, one bet at a time!

  Chapter Six

  Ivy

  I’m terrified of what the morning is going to bring. After the trauma of paintball, I’ve developed insomnia. Whenever I close my eyes, I see Maxine turning and staring at me.

  Just staring.

  A creepy smile almost always emerges.

  She doesn’t blink.

  Somehow a lizard shows up, don’t ask me why, and that’s it, you know, other than thinking about the devil across the hall.

  I want to get up and see if he wants to watch Netflix or something since we don’t have to actually report to our next game until noon, but I feel weird.

  After today, when he showed how vulnerable he really could be during the game and then somehow confessed he wasn’t over whatever moment we had, I’ve been feeling strange.

  My stomach is unsettled.

  I feel like I can’t catch my breath.

  And I think about him way too much while I’m lying there staring up at the ceiling.

  I punch the pillow with my right hand and then scream into it. A sudden knock sounds on my door. I’m ashamed of how fast I jump out of bed and sprint toward the door in nothing but my white silk sleep shorts and nearly see-through white top. I quickly grab one of the puffy black coats I had lying on the chair and put it on.

  I take a deep breath and open the door.

  There he is.

  The man of both dreams and nightmare, leaning against the doorframe like he has a right to look this sexy when yesterday he was hiding behind me and using me as a human shield.

  “You,” I say, voice low.

  “Me.” He walks right in without my permission and shuts the door behind him.

  I back up a few steps, confused.

  He stops short and narrows his eyes on me. “You cold?”

  Actually, no, now I’m sweating bullets. But I lie. “Yeah, freezing.”

  “So, you didn’t think to grab a blanket instead of a winter coat?” He smirks.

  Damn him.

  “It’s a personal preference thing.” I lift my chin.

  “It’s huge.” He flicks my puffy arm and walks past me. “Couldn’t sleep, thought we could hang out. I’m bored out of my mind, and every time I close my eyes, I see Maxine.” He shudders.

  I laugh. “Yeah, same here; it’s like he knew it would imprint on our souls.”

  “Should have never taken that internship.” He winks.

  Warmth spreads through my body. “Well, it was the only place that paid well.”

  “And now we know why.” He grabs the remote and points it at me. “What do you feel like watching?”

  “What makes you think I want to watch anything with you?”

  He looks away, so confident I want to smack him in the head. “You do.”

  I’m already walking toward him, my legs betraying me before my mind can tell them to run in the opposite direction and lock the door to the master bedroom.

  I sit down on the couch, putting space between us while he clicks on Netflix and starts some creepy crime documentary about neighbors and squatters.

  I’m sweating even harder.

  I need to take off the jacket.

  I’m so uncomfortable an hour in that I can’t stop moving on the couch.

  Finally, Jack pauses the documentary, turns to me, and runs a hand through his hair, looking way too sexy. “Take it off.”

  If anything, I hold the jacket tighter. “Excuse me?”

  “Your jacket. You’re driving me crazy; you’re so stubborn! Just take it off and relax; it’s not like I’m going to suddenly hump you or the couch or anything because I see skin. Even I have self-control.”

  I snort. “Sure you do.”

  He puts the remote down and gets up, then walks over to me, pulls me to my feet, shoves my hands down, and unzips the jacket in one fluid movement that has it opening right up to him.

  Revealing perky breasts, all the see-thoroughness, and my sweaty skin.

  His eyes drink me in before he clears his throat and looks away, stumbling backward. “See? Totally fine.”

  He looks anything but.

  I do like his reaction, though.

  I like that he seems off balance.

  So, I drop the jacket to the floor and sit back down on the couch.

  “Do you, uh…” He scratches the back of his head. “Need like a blanket? Or a pillow? Something to hug, you know, since it’s a scary… documentary?”

  I shrug. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Ha-ha.” His laugh is so obviously fake. “Yeah, same, same, was just thinking that too. Maybe I’ll just get one, though, in case I get cold.”

  He jerks a throw blanket out from under the coffee table and places it across his lap. I scoot closer to him. He has nowhere to go. And I’m pretty sure I know what he’s hiding under that blanket.

  He scratches his head, runs his hands through his hair again, then folds his hands in his lap.

  Less than five minutes later, he grabs a pillow.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “Now, you’re the fidgety one.”

  “Yeah, totally fine.” He doesn’t look at me.

  I’m very much reminded of the rejection. The hurt. I scoot even closer. He completely stills, his jaw clenches.

  I’ve always noticed his jaw.

  I’ve always noticed him.

  I think that’s where the hate started, with knowing that he’s never really noticed me in the same way, and I refuse to count the stapling.

  He inhales and exhales, slowly, like he’s afraid to breathe

  Do I smell?

  I tuck my feet under my body and cross my arms.

  He lets out a little groan.

  “Seriously.” I give him a shove. “What’s with you?”

  “You really, really, really…” He turns to his left, then looks back at the TV immediately. “…really need to grab a blanket. A sweater. A parka. Put the damn down puffy jacket back on. Or I heard muumuus are in again.”

  I frown. “But I’m not cold; you’re being weird.”

  “No, you’re hot,” he says almost to himself. “So hot, I’m hot too, a different kind of hot.”

  “Then take off the blanket.” I reach for it.

  “No!” He grabs my hands while I’m trying to pull the blanket off his lap, and then I’m suddenly falling forward right on top of him, only a blanket and his thin black T-shirt blocking our skin from touching.

  He’s hot.

  His eyes flicker to my lips. “Question.”

  “What now?”

  “If I kiss you, will you slap me?”

  I grin. “This sounds like a fun game.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am.” I lean in. “Care to test it out?”

  “How hard do you slap?”

  “How good do you kiss?”

  He smirks. “Ah, a challenge?”

  “I like to win.” r />
  “Maybe we both win…”

  I lean closer, our faces barely a foot apart at this point. “So, kissing you is the equivalent to winning?”

  He swallows slowly, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Even if it was like losing to me, I’d probably still do it.”

  “Brutal honesty, Mr. Self-control.”

  His eyes soften, and determination follows as he grips me by the back of the neck and pulls me in for a kiss. It’s perfect timing. I’m shocked, so my lips part. He devours my moan; his tongue massages mine gently. I squeak as his hands find my ass and grip it.

  I need to feel him.

  Now.

  I try to pull the blanket out from between us. His hands help my frantic movements, he lifts me momentarily, and then the blanket’s on the floor, and I’m nearly naked on top of him, my silk shorts basically hide nothing, and my nipples harden against his chest.

  He curses against my mouth and deepens the kiss.

  I pull back and lift my hand.

  His eyes widen as if to say are you serious?

  “Kidding.” I wink. “I just wanted to scare you.”

  “Yes, because slapping won’t kill the moment.” He grips my wrists. I writhe against him because now I really do wanna give him a light smack.

  That might be fun.

  I keep squirming.

  He bites down on his lower lip. “I’m embarrassed to admit this, but if you don’t stop moving around on top of me, I’m going to do something I haven’t done since middle school.”

  “Have sex?” I ask. “You little whore.”

  He glares. “Very funny.”

  I burst out laughing, stop moving, and lean down to kiss him again; he flips me onto my back.

  I have no idea what I’m doing. In the morning, I’m going to regret doing this with my partner, but I can’t stop.

  And I can feel he doesn’t want to either.

  Maybe it’s just adrenaline from earlier today.

  We’re young.

  We’re enemies.

  But we still have needs. Right?

  I moan, and he abruptly pulls back and stands. There’s no mistaking the way he feels, and he doesn’t even try to hide his arousal as he stretches his arms above his head. “Wow, it’s getting late; I should, you know… go.”

  I’m half on the couch, half on the floor staring up at him, completely ready to keep making out; my heart’s pounding, and he’s just talking about how late it is?

  “Wow.” I stand. “Guess some things never change.”

  He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah, guess so.”

  “Once a player, always a player?” I snort. “Glad I was convenient for your insomnia.”

  “Yeah,” he snaps. “I feel so much fucking better now; thanks for the make-out session; it was one hundred percent what I needed, even better than counting sheep or meditating, put me right out.”

  He actually yawns.

  I stomp toward him.

  He stumbles back and walks to the door.

  I’m going to murder him.

  He opens it and then hesitates while I’m looking for a sharp object to throw at him. Is this just his thing? Kiss me? Make me want him? Then leave? At least this time he’s not going to find some random girl in the hallway.

  I follow him just in case… without a sharp weapon, though I’m ready to scratch anyone’s eyes out, don’t ask me why.

  I feel violent.

  Hurt.

  Embarrassed.

  Was the kiss bad?

  Was it because I kissed him back?

  I have too many questions, and I hate that he always leaves me with those questions and annoyance.

  And oftentimes embarrassment that I did something wrong. Maybe I’m the shiny thing he’s tempted to grab only to realize it’s tarnished when he gets up close.

  I self-consciously tuck my hair back when he sighs and continues opening the door. He walks across the hall, scans his card over his door, and opens it.

  I look down the hallway.

  It’s empty.

  “I’m sorry.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “That wasn’t why I came over. I’m—just, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s what every girl wants to hear after getting kissed.” I glare. “That you’re sorry it happened.”

  “That’s not what I said—”

  I slam my door and slide to the carpeting. This really can’t happen again. I won’t make it through without committing murder, and I’m too young for prison. What is with him? It’s not like we’re friends crossing a line. We’re enemies trying to survive, who happen to kiss like the world’s on fire.

  My head falls back against the door in a slow thunk. “Whatever,” I say to myself and get up, then look over at the couch. The blanket’s on the floor.

  The documentary is still on.

  And I wish he was still there too.

  Something’s wrong with me because I’m falling for him all over again, and all he did was kiss me and remind me why I fell for him in the first place.

  How easy it was to be with him, how fun and entertaining it was to throw him off his game, how great it was to challenge him.

  But now I have nothing.

  I turn off the lights in the living room and make my way toward the master. Sleep doesn’t find me for a long time. When I close my eyes, I see his smile and feel his kiss.

  And I hate him all over again.

  Damn stapler.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack

  I’m an idiot.

  The biggest idiot in the world.

  I throw a pillow over my face and wonder if it would be better if someone just held it down and put me out of my misery.

  I’ve never been pissed about having a good memory until this moment. I brushed my teeth seven times last night and still tasted her—it was so damn good that I want to curse.

  The way she moved against me was so erotically painful that I wondered if I should just rip the shorts from her body and say fuck it.

  But it was hormones, right?

  I mean, I like her, she makes me laugh, and she’s annoyingly pretty and annoying all at once, but a one-night stand with my partner, the other intern, just sounds like the worst idea ever, even though my body was like yes, best idea, do it, do it, we want it.

  And now I’m hard again.

  I jump out of bed and awkwardly walk with a baseball bat between my legs toward the shower. When I get there, I stare down at my dick and almost hear it say, oh hey there, was getting ready for a fun night. You suck. I like her. Eat shit.

  “Cold it is.” I turn it as cold as possible, jump in, and curse her all over again.

  It wouldn’t have been fair to her.

  To have sex with her just because it felt good, just because I’ve had a crush on her for a super long time, right? I mean, we’re different people now.

  Why the hell am I even doing the honorable thing? Aren’t guys in their twenties supposed to be complete manwhores? And here I am trying to be nice, and she gets pissed.

  Last time I rejected us because I was scared, worried, take your pick… oh also, yeah, pissed.

  This time, I was just… trying to be a man.

  “Yeah, and look how that worked out. She slammed the door in our face.” Fuck, I’m literally staring at my dick and talking to it like it’s my best friend when all it did was betray us last night the minute we saw her tits in that shirt.

  But seriously, those tits.

  The cold shower is doing nothing but pissing me off and making my dick feel like it’s about to freeze off.

  I quickly wash off, grab a towel and check my phone.

  She hasn’t texted at all. I don’t really blame her, but at least say, oh hey, you alive? Or maybe something like, ready for today’s challenge?

  Ugh, why does it feel like I’m waiting for my date to text me back? It’s not like last night was a date; it was more like me feeling desperate to talk to someone, thinking of her constantly, and, you know, sitt
ing on her couch while watching a creepy documentary about squatters. And they say romance is dead!

  I should have one hundred percent gone for a Ryan Gosling movie or Ryan Reynolds. Fuck, why didn’t I just stick with the Ryans?

  Rookie mistake.

  Not that it was a date.

  Not that I went there with dark intentions.

  I’m driving myself crazy as I quickly get ready. At this point, I’m not even surprised when the doorbell rings, and I go to check only to see another tracksuit in red.

  Oh good, ADIDAS is sponsoring this chaos.

  Awesome.

  I grab the package along with the white shoes and put everything on, then go across the hall and stand in front of her door.

  I’m not sure how long I stand there, but the door eventually opens, making whatever the hell I’m doing look way creepier than intended.

  Ivy’s wearing an identical outfit, and she frowns at me. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Seconds.” I lie flippantly. More like minutes where I was trying to figure out what to say without getting kneed in the balls. “You ready?”

  She shrugs. The door closes. So far, things aren’t starting off well.

  We walk in silence to the elevator.

  I don’t think things can get worse after yesterday, but her silence is damning. I hate it so much. I wish I could just poke her more, annoy her. Damn, I miss my stupid stapler; at least it made her look at me.

  “Yo,” I choke out. “Did you sleep okay?”

  She slowly cranes her neck to stare up at me. “Are you high?”

  “No.” I wish. “I was just checking since it was so late and all.”

  “It was like one in the morning, not that late, and we got to sleep in. Are you sure you’re ready to perform today?”

  Perform. Perform. Perform. I would perform the hell out of her right now if she’d just let me and if I wasn’t trying to be a good person. “Yeah,” I finally say, voice cracking. “I’m on point.”

  “Suuuure.” She rolls her eyes. “Look, I need this job, so don’t mess shit up for me, okay?”

  “Someone’s prickly this morning,” I grumble.

  “Someone got left hot and bothered last night, so forgive her for being prickly, you piece of—”

  The elevator doors open. Max steps in.

  “Perfection.” She quickly adds. “Male perfection, the best partner I’ve ever had, truly, I won the lottery, ha, ha.” She elbows me so hard I gasp.