“Well, Wesley, with Madelyn’s blessing, what do you say? After all, you do put the ‘moo' in Moon—you know, your last name. Maybe then, a cow will jump over you and supply the milk you need to deliver to all the milk-maids."
“Geez, woman. You are milking this joke to death," Wesley says.
“Did you know that Mads has a sensitivity to lactose jokes,” Layla adds in. “She even cries over spilled milk. Who does that?"
If they want to call me sensitive, they can have at it. “I’m going to go finish up what I was doing. We can chat when you’re done deciding, Wesley.” They're annoying me and Wesley doesn't need me around to iron out his details.
The moment I close myself into my room, I ponder the meaning behind my irritability. The sound of the job sounded funny at first, but I like this guy, and he's about to start this business deal, hiring himself out as eye candy for lonely women. It's not like we're in this relationship that has been built around trust. Leave it to Layla to take the one good guy I've hung onto for more than a week and sell him out to others. This will only cause me more frustration, and if we end up in a relationship, I don't see how I could be comfortablewith a job like this since I don't know him well enough. This sucks. Plus, I'm starting a new job, and I should focus on that, not a guy. I can't be thinking about what he's up to during the day and succeed. It's just bad timing all around.
A knock on my door forces me to take a deep breath. “Moo," Wesley says into the door jamb.
“Thanks, but I don't need milk today," I answer.
He walks in with a smirk, and his head cocked to the side. “Look, I know we just met and stuff, but I like you. I really like you, so if this will kill things between us, I’d rather wait for another opportunity to come around. There isn’t anything about this job that will help my situation other than the money, and I don't want to wonder what could have happened to you and me over this.”
As soon as the words come out of his mouth, I realize how ridiculous I would be to tell him I won't continue forward with him if he takes this job. He's not mine to persuade. He's not mine to influence, and I shouldn't impose my concerns. I shrug. “I don't want to keep you from earning money when you need it."
“Yeah, but I want to see what happens with us," he tells me.
“You don't even know me."
“I want to know you, Maddy."
“You should take the job," I tell him. “Money is a necessity.”
“I don’t know. They say a person can’t have their cake and eat it too," he says, showing off his ability to make a pitiful puppy dog frown while widening his eyes.
“Is that how you get what you want all the time?" I ask him.
“This look?" he asks, pointing to his face. “Actually, it's the catwalk look."
“Are you trying to make me want you?" I ask him.
He switches his stance and crosses his arms, then places the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip. With narrowed eyes and a gaze that looks like it's breaking through me, he smirks ever so slightly. “No, that's this pose …"
It works. Damn him. I huff a fake cry. “Stop doing that."
He closes the space between us and wraps an arm around me, pulling me in. “Look, if things aren't as simple as what Layla explained them to be, I won't continue. You have my word. I know you don't know me enough to trust me, but I'm not the type to play games with a woman I like. It's all I can offer until you get to know me more."
“I think your word isgood enough for now," I tell him.
“Can we still get to know each other?"
“If you keep looking at me like you were, you can get to know whatever you want about me," I tell him, arching my brow with mischievousness.
“You know, there's a flaw with your innocent jealousy for a man you hardly know," he says, pulling me over to the side of my bed.
“What's that?"
“May I?" he asks, putting his hand on the drawer of my nightstand.
“No, you may not," I reply.
“Why is that?"
I stare at him, giving him my coldest “back away" look, but he doesn't seem to care about my reaction. “Because that'smydrawer, not yours."
“I want to know what's inside though, and I thought you said I could know whatever I want to if—" He releases his hand from the drawer and returns his thumb to his bottom look, giving me the contemplation, “get into my pants, look."
