"Who make out in kitchens," all three say in unison.
“For fuck’s sake, it was just one time.One time.Won’t happen again.”
“Famous last words,” Alex says, green eyes practically glittering."Trust me.Mac and I started with 'just one kiss' in an office ‘wellness room.’Now we're married, and the number one item on my agenda each morning is how best to make her eggs.”
I pull out my phone, staring at Sage’s contact photo like it holds the answers to my current unraveling.
I’ve typed and deleted six messages since last night.
Half were apologies.
The kind that feel clinical, detached, like they were drafted by legal counsel and not by a man whose hands had been inside her shirt less than twenty-four hours ago.
The other half?
Pure, unhinged nonsense.Half-formed thoughts and denial disguised as professionalism.
Things like:
“Last night was a lapse.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“We need boundaries.”
Which is a joke, because if I had any real boundaries left, I wouldn’t be able to recall the exact sound she made when I gripped her thighs and pressed myself between them.
Wouldn’t still feel the phantom heat of her bare skin under my palms.The taste of her mouth.The scent of her.
The sweet, brutal catch in her throat when my body pushed against hers and her nipples went pebble-hard through her shirt.
I press the heel of my hand to my eyes.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t.That’s the problem.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.Not with her.
Not with the woman I’m technically mentoring, professionally collaborating with, and most definitely not supposed to be imagining naked, sweat-soaked and writhing every time I close my damn eyes.
"Just call her," Connor says, jolting me back.“Rip off the Band-Aid.Whatever it is you’re telling yourself, it’s obviously eating you alive.”
He’s right.And that pisses me off.
Before I can lose my nerve or rewrite another emotionally sterile draft into my notes app, I hit call.
She picks up on the third ring, voice breathless and laced with chaos.
“Luke?Is everything okay?Is the system attacking guests again?”
“No.The system’s fine.”
I rise from my chair and move to the window, needing motion, distance, anything to offset the memories that pop into my head just as the mere sound of her voice.
“I have a scheduling conflict tonight.My grandmother roped me into a gala for the children’s hospital foundation.”
“Oh.”There’s a crash in the background.“Buttercup, NO!Sorry.You were saying?”
