Ouch!
The sizzle of pain sent an embarrassing jolt of electricity straight to my lady bits. I sucked in a hiss, rubbing the spot as Mark shoved his hand back in his pocket like my boob was hot-lava. His eyes followed my hand as I soothed the sting, trying to cover the fact that my nipple was hard.
When he glanced back up at me, I should have looked away, but I didn’t. I watched him, not hiding the mischievous glint in my eyes, wanting him to know I saw the way he tracked my movement.
“Sorry about that,” he said, clearing his throat and taking a step back, only to hit the chair in front of my desk.
He put his hands on the back of the chair, squeezing the leather until it creaked underneath his strength. “Jenna, may I shake your hand?”
I paused, drawing my lip in between my teeth again. I couldn’t figure out what caught me more off guard. That he asked permission to touch me, or that I found it so incredibly sexy I had to squeeze my thighs together.
“Sure,” I said, leaning in with an out stretched hand. His hand engulfed mine, and when I took a step back, his hand stayed put for an extra second.
By now, I’d typically be babbling about how guys are always looking for a way to touch boobs. But that touch, that extra intimate touch, shut me the hell up and left me tongue-tied and staring into his dark eyes. You would think eyes that black would be cold and calculating, but his were like deep pools of delicious dark chocolate.
“It’s good to see you, Mark. Is everything okay with Phoebe?”
“What? Oh—yes. She’s fine. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. I’m almost done for the night and have takeout waiting and an exciting evening of Netflix and Chill planned.”
He let go of my hand abruptly and took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing at the open door like he was calculating how long it would take him to run to the parking lot.
What had I said? Shit. Netflix and Chill was code for bom-chicka-wah-wah.
“Oh, god, no. That’s not what I meant,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m literally binge-watchingFrasierwith a frozen drink and a big bowl of Pho from the Vietnamese place close to my house. Alone. I don’t remember the last time I actually Netflix and Chilled with someone. So my Netflix and Chill is just that. Not that I’m standing here having a one-woman pity party. I love my life...”
Mark reached out and put his index finger on my lips, silencing my words. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. The pad of his finger was rough, and when he pulled his hand away, I leaned closer, selfishly wishing he hadn’t.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” he said, his voice trailing off as he grasped the back of the chair again. I was seriously worried about the leather.
Again, his one-touch silenced my thoughts, bringing them all back to him.
His fingers.
His tattoos.
“Thank you. I ramble, remember?”
I moved back around my desk where Chick and Duck were staring at us like we were an exciting game of Ping-Pong. I leaned down and put a cat under each arm, walking over to lay them on their matching cat beds, needing the distraction to catch my breath.
“Well, as long as it’s not a blow by blow of your last Netflix and Chill, I enjoy listening to you talk,” Mark said, following me around behind my desk. He wrapped his knuckle on the wood, watching me settle in the office cats. His presence in my small space was powerful, and my body felt twitchy and on edge.
“Yeah?” I rubbed my hands on my pants, focusing on a poster above Mark’s head so I wouldn’t stare at his eyes like a creeper.
“Yeah. My brothers are always trying to get me to talk more, and it’s nice you don’t.” He followed my eyes to the poster, and I shook my head, ignoring it to focus on him.
“Why would I try to make you talk? I mean, I assume it’s part of who you are, but we’ve only known each other for all of five minutes, so maybe it’s crazy to assume stuff. Still, you seem like the kind of person who only talks when there’s something to say.”
Why couldn’t I stop talking? Touch me again, Mark. Shut my mind off.
He chuckled. “It’s not crazy, but my question probably is.”
“Well, um. Do you like Vietnamese food?”
“Hmm?” he said like I was speaking Vietnamese.
“Vietnamese food,” I repeated. Whatever Mark wanted to ask or talk about would go better with food and bubble tea. “I haven’t had dinner yet. Want to join me, and we can talk about this crazy question?”
