Office Date Read online

Fuck, I’m so screwed.

  Her pink lips touch the martini glass as she sips. I try to lean back in the booth and exhale, then reach for my drink. Is she still wearing that damn pheromone perfume?

  Because she smells amazing.

  I’m dizzy from it, but in an intoxicating way that has me holding my drink halfway to my mouth like an idiot while she tilts her head at me like she’s wondering if I’m gonna make it through the night.

  “So…” She finally breaks the silence, sets her drink on the table, and leans forward. “We’re basically going to destroy everyone, right?”

  “Right,” I agree with a smile. “Mainly because we’re so good at Squid Game aka Max’s Ministrations.”

  Her laugh sends a jolt to all the wrong and right places. “Kind of has a ring to it, Max’s Ministrations.”

  “We would be unwise to encourage his madness.”

  “Cheers to that.” She lifts her drink again, tilts it back, and then motions for our waiter.

  I immediately hate him. Dave… Who’s named Dave these days anyway? Dum-dum Dave smiles dumbly down at her. He has piercings in both ears, sandy blond hair, and a megawatt smile that needs to disappear. “Another drink?”

  “Shots.” She shoots me a grin. “For me and my… partner here.”

  “Partner,” Dave repeats, then looks at me and back at her. “Ohhhhhh, partner, congrats. I’m all for same-sex marriage. Good for you.”

  I nod and then realize that means he thinks I’m a girl, right? Wrong? Or wait, what? I don’t want to be offensive, but I truly want to just pull out my cock and then pee all around the table, like what the fuck?

  “I meant in crime.” Ivy laughs. “But that works too.”

  “No. Doesn’t work.” I grit my teeth. “She’s my girlfriend. Two shots, top shelf, tequila, salt, lime. Go, go, go. I promise we’ll tip well.”

  Dave’s shoulders slump. He shoots me a glare, then smiles at Ivy and struts off like he’s packing, which, no way, I saw his hands and his feet. If he has a big dick, then I quit.

  “That was rude.” Ivy rests her elbows on the table and yawns.

  I point at his disappearing form. “He basically accused me of being this cockless thing sitting across from you because he was trying to hit on you.”

  “He so was not trying to hit on me.” Ivy laughs. “He was taking our order.”

  “No. Disagree. Nope. Not it.” I hold both hands out and put them behind my head. “He most definitely was trying to hit on you.”

  Ivy rolls her eyes. “And you’re the expert on this how?”

  “Manwhore.” I point at myself. “Recognizes manwhore.”

  “Oh, and he finally admits it.”

  “Please.” I nearly growl. “It’s not like it’s a secret that I was pretty much the worst. You were better off without me.”

  “Yeah, could have caught something.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I said manwhore, not stupid manwhore, I always used protection, and it’s not like I just went around throwing my dick everywhere. I made careful choices.”

  “Careful. Choices,” she repeats and then bursts out laughing. “Why couldn’t we have had the shots before this conversation?”

  As if on cue, Dave brings our shots.

  I glare again.

  He glares back but walks away.

  Probably spit in both of them, but whatever.

  I take the shot and hand Ivy hers. “Well, now we have them.”

  “Cheers.” She takes the glass. “To…”

  “Partners.” I throw in.

  She laughs.

  How do I get her to do that all the time? And why the hell does that feel like a weird request? What the shit is going on with me lately?

  It’s like she broke me, and now I just want her to touch me only so she can fix me and make it all better… and fuck, now I’m thinking about her in a nurse’s outfit. And great, I’ve been staring at her for longer than necessary like a total stalker; that seems to be my new thing. Some people develop good habits like working out and eating celery—then some people end up on Dateline.

  Sad to say, it’s looking bleak for me at this point if I keep just staring at her mouth.

  “Partners.” She clinks her glass against mine, smile easy, pretty. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been weirder than normal.”

  I start chugging my Manhattan like a boss and nearly choke on the cherry while trying to simultaneously nod at her. “Yup, yup, yup, so good, everything’s great, glad we won.”

  “Worth it.” She nods.

  In the back of my head, I wonder if we should just stick with one type of liquor, but I ignore that still small, wise voice and keep ordering shots of tequila with my Manhattans until I see three of Ivy and can no longer count how many fingers I possess on either hand.

  I mean, I know there should be five on each.

  But my eyes keep telling me I have seven.

  It makes no sense.

  It also makes me laugh a bit.

  “Seven,” I mutter with a grin and reach for my drink. “Wait, how is this empty?”

  Ivy shakes her head. “Because you’re on your third one, and you keep ordering shots and just chugging everything in front of you. Do you need fries? Should we order fries? Because I’ve heard fries help when you’re completely wasted and ready to fall off your bar stool.”

  “I’m not gonna farl off mya bar shtool,” I grunt.

  She laughs. “You realize you already did, right?”

  Panic sets in. “What?”

  “Yeah, it was, um…” She leans in and crooks her finger. “Right after you pissed your pants and started yelling about being the King of the World. Tears followed because, you know, Leo’s passing and all.”

  “LEONARDO DI CAPRIO DIED!” I wail. “Son of a bitch!” I jump to my very unsteady feet. Huh, did I untie my shoes? Did they untie themselves? I laugh because, for some reason, it’s funny, but then I remember Leo. “Why didn’t he just hold on, Ivy? Why?”

  Ivy’s eyes are wide with amusement. “Why indeed?”

  “And he couldn’t have just—” Am I crying? No, it’s the dust again, all the dust; my eyes do feel blurry. “It’s almost like I’m on that very ship.” I nod. “Sail away, sail away, sail away…” I can’t stop singing Enya; it just bursts past my lips without my permission as I sway in front of the table. I am seriously wasted, and I’m singing to Ivy.

  “You know—” I point at the three of her. “When he’s frozen there, I legit thought he would make it.” I shake my head. “We will not forget your sacrifice! We will not go quietly into the night!” I shout. “Because today is our Independence Day!”

  Ivy holds her stomach and laughs so hard that I’m convinced I just nailed happy hour. I mean, she’s happy, I’m happy.

  Fuck, Leo’s still dead, but we did win against the aliens. “USA, USA, USA!”

  “Alllllright big guy.” Ivy grabs my hand and then wraps an arm around me. “While I do enjoy you quoting random movies and somehow becoming more charming than usual, people are gonna start complaining, so let’s go back to the apartments and sleep this off.”

  “I’ll sleep you off,” I snap.

  “Good threat.” She pats me on the chest. “Very good threat.”

  “It’s a promishhh…” I’m suddenly exhausted. “Hey, do you think we can go to Leo’s funeral? Or light a candle?”

  Ivy leads me out of the restaurant. “Yeah, big guy, let’s do that right after we thank Bill Pullman for his epic speech.”

  “Fucking love Bill Pullman,” I say. “He’s an American treasure, and nobody can tell me differently. He’s like Keanu, KEANUUUUUUU!”

  She claps a hand over my mouth as we leave the bar, and I can barely see when we get into a waiting car.

  Cool trick.

  We just had a black car waiting.

  Oh yeah, because we won.

  What did we win again?

  My head lolls to the side as the lights pass by in a blur; the last thi
ng I remember is looking up at Ivy and saying, “Bet Keanu can’t do this.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ivy

  I’ve never seen him so drunk in my entire life. It’s like he was just blindly taking tequila like it was water, and then to make matters worse, I had to help him into his apartment, which didn’t really work out as planned since he couldn’t find his damn key fob.

  So here we are.

  Him snoring on the couch in my apartment.

  Me lying in my bed, wishing I could put a pillow over his head just so he stops snoring and a lot of moaning from his end. And not the good moaning, the whole, I’m gonna wake up soon and probably puke all over the carpet moaning.

  I finally fall asleep around two in the morning, only to wake up an hour later to the sound of a toilet flushing and more moans.

  “Sleeeep!” I yell.

  “So sorry, was busy puking out my brains.” Comes right back. “Hey, the couch is super uncomfortable. Can I just crash with you?”

  “You have an apartment!” I remind him.

  “Too much energy.” And then my door’s getting opened, and Jack’s stumbling into my room and throwing himself onto the king-sized bed. “Hold me. I’m sad.”

  “No!” I almost laugh. “You’re not sad; you’re just still drunk!”

  “Whose idea was the shots?” he grumbles into his pillow. “Demon woman.”

  I jerk the blankets away from him. “Clearly the drunk person’s.”

  “I hate drunk persons.” He turns on his side. “I puked once, brushed my teeth, wait, was that your toothbrush—”

  “Are you kidding right now?”

  He laughs. “There was a spare in the bathroom, most likely from Dustin stockpiling these apartments and getting worried about being fired.”

  “I’m sure that’s a daily concern where Max is concerned.” I take a deep breath and exhale. “Now, I need sleep. Which means if you’re going to just lay there breathing heavy, at least make yourself useful and attempt to even out the mattress.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You know.” I toss on my side, “Even out the mattress, where equal parties do their part in making sure that nobody just rolls into the middle.”

  “The hell kind of mattresses have you been sleeping on?”

  Single ones.

  Ones without other people.

  I stay silent. “Just… stop talking.”

  “No, I’m genuinely concerned that you think this is a thing.”

  “How are you so sober?”

  “Water?” His answer. “No, but seriously, this whole mattress balance act, how does it even work if we’re having sex.”

  “WE ARE NOT HAVING SEX.”

  “IN THEORY!” he snaps. “I’m not stripping you naked right now, am I?”

  Why does that make me want to say something snappy like, you should, or you wish, or I guess that’s not snappy; it’s just immature.

  “Why are we yelling again?” I whisper.

  He lowers his voice. “You started it.”

  “Very mature.” I pound the pillow beneath my cheek and stare at him. Who looks that hot after getting drunk and puking? Life isn’t fair.

  “Yes, I’ve been known to be addressed as an adult from time to time.” He leans in. I can smell his minty breath, and I hate that I’m tempted to kiss him.

  Hello, he just vomited up half of Tijuana from that mouth.

  Right?

  And he’s only kind of sexy.

  His eyes lower to my mouth. “Explain this whole mattress thing before I fall asleep between your boobs.”

  “Huh?” I shake my head. “How would you accidentally fall asleep between my boobs?”

  “Did I say accident?”

  “Men.” I roll my eyes.

  He grins. “I remember them being soft, and like I said, I’m sad. I feel like shit and deserve an award.”

  “I’ll buy you a trophy tomorrow,” I deadpan.

  “Promise?” He laughs, and I join in because I can’t not laugh and maybe because I’m a little buzzed too and a lot exhausted.

  “At least one for participation,” I add, tucking my hands under my head while he scoots closer to me.

  “Those shouldn’t even be allowed. You either win, or you lose. Teaching the youth of today that you get a high five for trying is like, I don’t know, giving a dude a high five for knowing where to stick it but getting no orgasm in the process. Wow, as I’m talking I realize how inappropriate and weird that just sounded, yet I just couldn’t stop.”

  I burst out laughing. “And you’re concerned about my mattress? You just went from kids’ participation trophy to sticking it to someone and leaving them wanting.”

  “Hey!” He smacks me lightly on the ass, the duvet padding the light sting. “I never leave anyone wanting.”

  “Ummmmm… do you not remember the other day?”

  “How could I forget?”

  We’re both quiet.

  I clear my throat. “Anyway, we should sleep; big day of torture tomorrow.”

  “Sleep, sure.” He wraps an arm around me and then tugs me close. “But first things first, I have a job to do.” I’m spooned up against him.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I ask.

  “Making the mattress equal, also known as spooning in the middle, now go to sleep before I’m tempted to show you just how thorough I can be when participating…” He kisses me on the forehead.

  I melt a little.

  Then I want to kick him for making me want to melt and for confusing me so much. We’re just partners in forced proximity, which makes feelings confusing.

  Plus, we’re both competitive, so really, he just wants to win when it comes to any and every argument.

  I stiffen.

  “Relax.” His breath tickles my ear. “Sleep.”

  “This means nothing.” Even as I say it, I’m snuggling closer to him and throwing my leg over his. We both adjust until we’re plastered against one another. He’s so warm.

  “Agreed,” Jack finally answers. “It’s just participation.”

  “Just participation.” I yawn against his neck.

  His hands start running through my hair.

  Funny how participation suddenly feels like winning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jack

  I don’t want to move.

  My head’s pulsing with a headache from hell, and I’m starving, but she’s laying across me, both legs somehow pretzeled between mine, her hair’s all over the place, across my chest, next to my mouth, my shoulder, it’s like she was attempting to see how much of herself she could get on me throughout the night.

  So why am I not moving?

  Partnership was either the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst. My heart’s already way too involved, and my brain’s screaming that we should have just stayed away.

  Because we knew this would happen, like seeing the cliff, dancing alongside it, and convincing yourself that you won’t eventually fall off the side, knowing full well that when you do, you’ll either crash and burn or land in the ocean and survive.

  Jury’s still out on that one.

  She moves against me, her hands sliding down my side until she grazes the front of my briefs.

  I bite down on my lower lip to keep from moaning out loud; her hand flutters by again. I’d almost prefer getting punched in the dick because this is torture. I want to move my hips toward her so bad that it hurts.

  She does it one more time. I pump against her fingertips.

  Her hand freezes.

  I squeeze my eyes shut in frustration.

  And then she starts to palm me through my briefs, and I’m so close to exploding all over her and myself that I can’t even be embarrassed.

  “Participation trophy,” she mutters.

  “If I had known,” I rasp as she continues to press hard on my cock, “that this was the trophy, I wouldn’t have slept last night.”

  Her hand inches along the band of my
briefs, and I hold my breath until she reaches inside and grips me.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I nearly come off the bed. “I’m so sensitive.”

  She strokes up and down. “At least you weren’t lying about being big.”

  “Never lie about dick size,” I say through clenched teeth. “They’ll always find out anyway.” I open my eyes and stare down at her. She’s not looking at my dick; she’s looking at me. “Your hand feels like torture.”

  “Imagine what my mouth would feel like,” she teases, her eyes sleepy.

  “Fuck!” I fall apart all over her hand as if I’m twelve.

  And all it took was her staring at me, stroking me, then mentioning her mouth.

  I’m a panting, sticky mess.

  She releases me and smiles up at me. “Thanks for keeping the mattress equal.”

  “Any day, night, afternoon, brunch, I’m your guy,” I whisper, wanting to kiss her so badly.

  Instead, I pull off my shirt, wipe off her hand, and clean up. She doesn’t seem to mind at all, though, and lays back down next to me, so I toss my shirt to the bedroom floor and do the same.

  Soon she’s lying on my chest, and I’m pretending that this is normal, that we have a cease-fire after all the hell we’ve been through.

  I pretend she’s more than a partner, but mine.

  Soon both of us fall asleep.

  Only to wake up to the sound of the doorbell.

  “The hell?” I jolt awake, then look at my phone. “Oh shit! Up, up, up! We have to get up!”

  Ivy startles awake, then slaps me across the face.

  “What the hell, Ivy!”

  “You scared me! I thought you were an intruder, and I had a dream about—” She looks over at my discarded shirt, then back at me. “Never mind.”

  “Not a dream; that was reality,” I point out. “Now get your ass out of bed. We’re going to be late!”

  “You’re welcome for the hand job!” She sticks out her tongue.

  “Trust me, I could have died happy, but we have to compete, remember?”

  Her eyes narrow as she jumps out of bed, and my eyes can’t decide if we should stare at her ass or just squeeze shut, so we aren’t tempted.

  “Back to enemies?” She crosses her arms, and her breasts could not look more perky if they tried. “Hey, eyes up here!”