“Good girl,” I say, because when she’s mad at me she forgets to be embarrassed.
And maybe also because I want to see her reaction, because when she’s full of fire and steel instead of sadness and shadows, I feel like I’m not totally fucking up this with her, that I might seriously have a chance at fixing it, of filling that emptiness inside her.
And also because when she’s spitting fire, her eyes sparking, the color high on her cheeks…
I want to kissher.
Maybe that makes me a glutton for punishment.
But I don’t care.
“Just when I’m starting to think you’re not an asshole, it comes right back out again.”
I snort, tug at her ponytail this time, and turn for the cabinet I know houses her plates. I’ve been here often enough for planning sessions that I know where everything is, and maybe I’ve also…dreamed about fucking her on nearly every surface. “You’ll think differently when you have some wonton soup and lo mein filling up your mouth.”
There’s a blip of quiet.
I turn back.
She lifts her eyebrows, the blip of humor sparking across her face again. “You wanna rephrase that, boss man?”
I lift mine right back. “You want me to?” And fuck it all, I don’t know why I say what I say next.
There’s no excuse for it.
But it just…fucking slips out.
“Or do you want me to fill your mouth up with something else?”
NINE
Joey
My mouth drops open.
Because…
Had he just said that?
Seriously. Had he just saidthat?
My mind is spinning so quickly I can barely keep my feet—one second I’m shriveling up from embarrassment, another I’m pissed that he’s being pushy as fuck and stepping over every boundary we’ve erected in our relationship. The next I’m confused because are we boss and employee or are we—what I thought we were—co-workers who are friendly (even if I lust after him)? Or are we something completely different—as in a man and a woman who are dancing around each other because we have mutual attraction?
The last one doesn’t make sense.
Because Damon doesn’t do messy.
Doesn’t do connection.
Doesn’t do women.
Or, at least, he doesn’t do anything more than scratching an itch and then moving right the fuck on.
How do I know this?
I’ve seen the women making their way up to his hotel room on road trips…and then making their way right back down a couple of hours later.
Same as I’ve seen the women meet him at the arena…and then be dropped back off at their cars to drive themselves home.
