Kieran flashes a smile that I’m sure electrocutes and causes third-degree burns. He’s handsome, with a nice set of teeth. But that zing is missing. Not that I’m trying to rub materials with anyone at a potential place of work.
An image of Antonio pulls me back to this past weekend at my house. The softness of his hands and his hard body during our paint fight. That forehead kiss before he left.
I draw in a deep breath and try to forget the smirk on Lisa’s face at brunch. Who lies about sex with someone who’s running off to be with his mother in the hospital? Technically, he flew, but her audacity must have frequent flyer miles. Unless they hooked up before he went home to DC. That’s an image I don’t want roaming around in my head.
We don’t fantasize about friends who sleep with your sister’s friend, least of all in a job interview.
“Miriam?”
“Yes?” I swing my gaze up from the name plate on Kieran’s desk. I never understood the redundancy of having one inside an office if there’s one on the door.Focus. “Sorry. You were saying?”
A ghost of a smile appears. “I was wondering if I could answer any questions you might have about the position over dinner.”
Is he…no. Right?
I’m an overheated puffer fish sitting in his office, and he’s thinking about dinner. With me.Whyis he thinking about dinner with me?
“You mean just the two of us?” Why do we need dinner plates to fill in the blanks?
Maybe he thinks you’re pretty.
“Sorry. I’m not good at this. Engineering, yes. I didn’t mean to imply any unprofessional behavior on your part. Potential colleagues share meals all the time. Fraternization policy or not.”
In case it wasn’t clear, I never miss my daily dose of putting my size ten in my mouth.
I die from embarrassment three times. Once from the verbal diarrhea I spilled all over Kieran’s unnecessary name plate. Another from my pits, which are reactivating sweat stains through the tissue clumping to my skin. The third is from the beads of sweat between my toes, of all places.
“It was nice meeting you.” I stand and retract the hand I offer because of the sweaty tissue pits. “Best of luck with your projects.”
“Is that a no on dinner?” Kieran asks my back.
The look I aim over my shoulder inquires what the hell is wrong with him. I’m a mess with questionable common sense. He should be calling security, not confirming a meal.
“Does tomorrow at six work? I’ll make reservations at The Boathouse.”
I’ll need to cancel the friendship event. Not that I’m in any shape to meet new people if I can’t get through an interview my father set up. “Sure, sounds good,” I say. “Okay, bye.”
I swear I hear a rumble of laughter on my way out of his office.
Chapter 16
Antonio
Who got locked up?crossed my mind when Coach told me he wanted me in his office. Nothing good comes from an unscheduled meeting before training.
Shit, did somebody die?
“Come in,” Coach Washington calls from the broom closet we transformed into his office. The knock on the door was a courtesy. It opens from the outside.
D pulled the impossible out of his toolbelt. No way should a desk and chair fit in here, but they did, along with the extra seat he motions for me to take.
Deep frown lines raise above thick glasses aimed at a stack of papers. Coach Washington has what you’d call a baby face. It’s fighting against middle age and wear and tear from years of play. The gray at his temples is slowly creeping into the blond hair he keeps long on top.
“Have a seat.”
The tiny folding chair whines under my weight. I shift my knees so they don’t dig into the front of his metal desk. Anyone with claustrophobia would pass out in here.
“Who’s in trouble?” I ask.
