Yes, and clearly we’ve followed those thus far.
Lottie
We’re not very good at following the rules.
Noah
No. I suppose we aren’t.
His response leaves the conversation stalled, so I slip my phone in my pocket and grab my bag before heading back to my room to unpack. I’m throwing my dirty clothes in the hamper, and dreading the thought of doing laundry, when Kara comes barreling in through the front door and marches down the hallway. She throws herself across my bed and props herself up on her elbow, her cheek resting in her palm.
“What?”
“Oh nothing. I just came in to say I fucking told you so! Iknewyou weren’t going to be able to resist that man. The chemistry was too hot.”
“You met him—sort of—twice. And you were very drunk the first time and half asleep the second.Andwe didn’t have sex.”
“I don’t know why you won’t just tell me; I won’t even make you pay my half of rent . . .”
Her voice trails off as if she’s hoping that was the reason I wouldn’t spill.
“Sorry babes, I won that bet fair and square. Kept it in my pants all weekend.”
“Boo.”
She rolls over to stare at my ceiling as I continue to unpack. I feel a little guilty for lying, but the thought of opening up about the newness of this relationship still makes my skin crawl. I figure I’ll still slip my half of rent to our landlord, and by the time she finds out, I might be ready to tell her.
“Well fine then, if you aren’t going to come clean even though I can smell sex all over you, I’m going to go work on my puzzle.”
“Puzzle?”
“Yeah.” Her face lights up. “Henrietta let me borrow it. I sort of judged them before but I learned they are far more soothing than people give them credit for.”
“Are you going by Blanche or Sophie these days?”
“Excuse you, I am clearly the Dorothy of the lot. Those two biddies would be lost without me.”
While I was worried about coming to work this morning and dodging questions from coworkers who are too nosey for their own good, drowning in real estate listings and catching our team up to the changes for our timeline is making for a busy day—and very little time for daydreaming about Noah. Very little, but not none.
It’s after four by the time he stops by my cubicle, knocking softly. I spin in my chair and his eyes dart towards my neighbor’s cubicle, confirming Ben is still here.
“Are you ready to go see that listing, Charlotte?”
“Yes,” I say, spinning to grab my coat and giddy about the cover story we concocted via text message earlier today. “I am at your service, Mr. Graves.”
I actively avoid making eye contact, but savor the way I’m sure my pointed response is affecting him. As I expect, he clears his throat and follows me towards the elevators—at a respectable distance of course.
We barely make it through the parking garage and into his car before his hands are all over me, in my hair, skirting over my breasts, gripping my jaw as I shove my tongue down his throat. It’s only been a little over twenty-four hours, but there is a sense of urgency in our embrace. When we finally break, sitting back against our respective seats, a laugh breaks out of my chest.
“I’ve wanted to be touching you all day,” he admits.
“It has been hard pretending the other way. At least with the Barkers, we could be a little handsy.”
Then, as if he can’t handle not being in contact with some part of me, he keeps his hand on my thigh and he backs out of the spot.
“Laura sent us some decent listings today. We should probably see some of them tomorrow. Or maybe Friday?”
He nods as he checks his mirrors and pulls out onto the street into the flow of rush hour traffic.
