I rub my eyes with two fingers.
What did I do wrong to deserve this level of arrogance?
Why does he keep acting like this?
Me??: 2:00 PM. Compatibility Session. Bring focus and appropriate clothing. In that order.
Cohen-pain-in-my-ass:Mmh. You like me distracted and half-naked, admit it.
Me??: I only like you when you’re silent.
Cohen-pain-in-my-ass:Then you’re screwed.
I lean back in my chair and let out a silent scream into the void.
The problem is, I can’t entirely hate him.
I hate how he makes me feel.
That mix of irritation and adrenaline, of “I’ll kill him” and “I’ll kiss him.”
Dangerous.
I stand up, determined to make coffee.
I’ll need it to survive the afternoon.
When I open the window to get some air, a gust of wind ruffles my hair and scatters the program sheet I left on the table.
I watch it fly away, sighing.
“Great, universe. Go ahead and let me know who’s in charge.”
Then, with a bitter grin and a dash of self-mockery, I pick up the paper, fold it, and murmur:
“Alright, Cupid. Get ready. Today the devil is coming.”
When Cohen walks into my office, the air shifts.
It's like someone lowered the temperature but raised the level of erotic oxygen.
He's covered in a giant hoodie that he immediately takes off as soon as he crosses the threshold.
He's still trying to maintain anonymity in Elm Hollow, I chuckle, thinking about how much longer he’ll manage it.
The laughter, of course, dies in my head the moment he pulls off the hoodie and his white T-shirt lifts, showcasing his stomach and abs.
Those lines that go so low…
Damn.
When he finally escapes the hoodie and stands almost shirtless, with dangerously low black jeans, his gaze is lazy and damnably aware.
He gives me a half-arrogant smirk.
He caught me looking.
How was I supposed to breathe? I try to repeat the inhale-exhale from this morning subtly, but I fail miserably.
