Six-forty p.m.
Shit.
Crane is due at my house in twenty minutes!
I groan, sliding the papers into a makeshift pile, shovelling them into my bag.
The traffic is relatively light, but it still takes me a good thirty minutes to get home.
I barely have time to think about seeing Crane, so when I pull onto my drive to find him leaning against the railing of my porch, I almost crash my car.
He’s wearing a hoodie and jeans, nothing revealing, but fuck me, is he beautiful.
He looks up at me, a smile curving on his lips as I park the car.
Everything I do is like I’m a novice—I try to open the car door and slam it back on myself as Crane watches me with amusement.
“Do you need some help?”
“No,” I bite out, gripping my bag to my chest. “I’m good.”
I lock the car, blowing my hair out of my eyes as I hurry to the door.
Crane eases my bag from my hands so I can unlock the door, grimacing when he realises the weight of it.
“What the hell have you got in here?”
“Bricks,” I joke, sighing as the door opens. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Crane follows me in, dropping my bag onto the floor beside him.
“It’s alright; I was early.”
“Oh.”
I feel even worse now.
“Do you want a drink?”
I look up at Crane, and he’s staring at me, almost like he’s trying to work something out.
“I’m good, thanks. Busy day?”
I smooth down my clothes, heading for the fridge.
I shouldn’t be drinking wine, but fuck it. I’ve had a long week.
“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?”
Crane swallows before shaking his head.
“Excuse me while I inhale the bottle then.”
I’m half kidding, but still. I pour a decent amount of red wine and take a long sip.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired.” I force a smile and wave toward the sofa. “Shall we?”
