I thoughtI could buy myself one more day before I had to talk to him. The restaurant is booked all night, and I usually manage to get out to the parking lot before he does because when work ends, people always want to talk to him, and I simply don’t command that amount of attention. But as the night goes on, I’m increasingly sure he knows what’s on my mind.
He keeps glancing my way. I start to imagine his gaze on me every time I move, my body flushing warm in response, and then I start to imagine his hands on me. I piss off a few guests because I’m not paying attention, and I forget their annoying little requests, like a table in the corner or a high chair.
And yet, near the end of the evening, we end up alone together in the back hallway as I’m heading for the ladies’ room and he’s coming out of the office. But instead of stoppingme to talk, he gives me a smoldering smile and walks back onto the floor with nothing more than a “Hey, Jade.” And I’m left wondering why that’s all I get.
By the time I’m ready to clock out, I’ve gone from considering the fastest way to leave without Reeve seeing me to wondering where I can kiss him without the rest of the staff seeing us.
So when he catches up to me halfway between the back door and my car, maybe it’s because I was walking really, really slowly.
“What up, Flash?” he says.
“Hey.” Sometime during the last five hours I spent pretending I wasn’t aware of exactly how many feet he was from me on the restaurant floor, my nervousness disappeared. Now to stand close to him again feels warm and familiar.
“You’ve been busy.¿Has practicado español a diario?”
“Um . . .sí, señor.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Any idea what I said?”
“Something about Spanish.”
Making him laugh feels like the best thing ever, even if he rolls his eyes while doing it.
We reach my car, and there’s a charged silence when we turn to each other. I know I need to explain myself, but his lips are distracting me. His lips, his hands, the tiny flash of skin I glimpse on his chest when he moves just so and the buttons on his shirt pull too tight.
“We should talk,” he says.
I nod.
“My eyes are up here.”
Hell, was I really just staring at his chest? Am I a dirtbag? “Sorry,” I say, realizing that being in his presence opens up all sorts of new avenues for embarrassment.
“No, it’s cool if you want to stare. I was just saying, eyes are up here, balls down there; take your pick.”
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
“I do.”
“Okay then. Start us off.”
He leans against my car, taking his time. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“No, not really.”
From behind me, Jorge calls out goodbye to Reeve and then, as an afterthought, to me. “Later,” Reeve calls back, then waits for me to continue.
“I’ve been busy,” I tell him. “Figuring out the application process for Spain, stuff like that.”
“Uh-huh.” Clearly he’s not buying it.
“Bye, guys!” comes Lori’s voice across the lot.
Reeve gives her an impatient wave and glances at the back door, where our coworkers linger, smoking and talking, most in no hurry to get to their vehicles. “Let’s talk in the car,” he says.
“You and me sitting in the car in the parking lot late at night? Sure, that won’t get anyone talking.”
“No worries, we’ll sit in my car.” He looks at his Bronco, sitting in the far corner of the lot in total darkness. “No one will see a thing. We can do whatever we want in there.”
