I watch him jog across the street and back to his car in the rain. Water presses against the white linen, and it molds to his frame. I see his rear lights flip on a few cars down and watch him pull away.
Still, I sit and let the events of the evening settle into my soul. After a few long minutes, I start my car and pull onto the street.
“And I thought the hardest thing would be not having sex with him,” I say aloud. “I had no idea it would be this.”
I take a right at the end of the park and head back to Holt’s.
Chapter Eighteen
Holt
The lamp on my desktop shines a warm, yellow light onto the papers spread out in front of me.
My back aches from sitting for four hours and delving deep into the Landry offer. I always work at night but never at my desk for hours on end.
I sit back and stretch my arms overhead. My muscles scream at the sudden movement. My brain, though, cherishes the opportunity to stop analyzing numbers.
The reprieve doesn’t last long. It just changes topics.
Blaire arrived a few minutes after me. I made us a drink while she went upstairs and retrieved her briefcase. Then we sat in the living room—her with her briefcase and me with a book.
It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it might be, but I do think I pissed her off. She shied away from making eye contact and pulled away when I reached across her to take her empty glass. It wasn’t our usual flirty interaction. It wasn’t nearly as easy either.
And I hate it.
It’s because I walked away from her on the street. I know that. But I had to.
It was clear she didn’t want to talk. Even though I was curious and wanted her to open up, I was exhausted. I’d pushed all day. I’ve pushed people and things and schedules for weeks. I don’t want to have to push with Blaire, too.
My stomach tightened as she snapped her briefcase shut and announced she was going to bed. I absorbed her grin and little wave good night—neither cold, exactly, but also not filled with the warmth I’ve come to expect—and told her good night. But after a quick workout, a long shower, and too much time to think, I ended up in my office. The place I should’ve been for longer today anyway.
What makes this woman tick?
The question has rolled around my mind all damn night. Hell, since the moment I met her I’ve wondered this very thing. But the more time I spend with her, the more I should know about her and the less I do.
I’m getting tripped up. I’m caring. I’m giving a fuck on a plethora of levels.
Her refusal to open up to me is irritating. The fact that I want her to is downright infuriating. Me pushing her makes me a dick, but if I don’t, that feels wrong too.
How did I get myself into this position?
I bend my neck side to side to relieve some of the tension before turning back to Wade’s plans. I pick up my pencil when I hear something behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I see her. Blaire is standing in the doorway in an oversized T-shirt. Her hair is messy, spilling all over her shoulders, and her eyes are heavy yet clear.
“Everything all right?” I ask.
She walks across the room and stops a few feet away from my desk. Her features are sober.
I turn in my chair to face her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice just above a whisper.
It’s soft and delicate and void of the confidence she usually oozes into everything. While it’s beautiful to see her stripped of the maskshe wears, it’s painful too. Because I’m convinced this isn’t easy for her.
“What’s going on?” I ask.“What are you sorry for?”
I want to reach for her, but I don’t. After tonight, I’m not sure what she’ll do.
