“Like my what, Andrea?”
She frowns, displeased, and then says, “Nothing. Forget I even said anything.”
“How am I supposed to treat you like my ‘booty call’ when I see you five days a week? It doesn’t work like that.”
“Then how does it work?”
I rake a nervous hand through my hair, my mind wrenched with confusion and frustration. Ending what we have seems impossible despite knowing I should.
“I don’t fucking know! I can’t bring myself to end it. I don’t know where it’s going. I don’t know where I want it to go… I can’t fucking think straight when you’re around.”
I take a moment to breathe in an attempt to think this through. I need the rational side of my brain to take over. “It hasn’t even been two weeks yet,” I continue. “I think we should wait more before trying to label it. We’ll have a better vision of things a month in.”
“So, we keep it light and breezy for another two weeks, and then we see where we’re at?”
I let out a low chuckle, some of the tension vanishing. “I don’t think we’ve ever been ‘light and breezy,’ but we can try.”
“You can’t keep saying those meaningful things to me, then.”
“I won’t. Feel free to whack me if I do.”
She’s the one to laugh softly this time.
We look at each other for several moments and something meaningful passes between us. She’s the one who puts an end to it when she offers, “We should use this time to start working on the presentation.”
I release a hoarse groan, fastening my pants. “I don’t think anyone has ever left me with blue balls as often as you have, Andrea.”
“They match my blue ovaries.”
I laugh at her bad joke, and we quickly return to work. Since we’re used to being in tandem like this, we accomplish a lot of work in the little time we have. I handle some back-and-forths with Seattle, and she prepares her pitch, showing it to me as she goes.
“Who did you have in mind for the live demo?” I ask at some point.
“Well, you.”
I tense, the mere idea of it making my skin crawl. “I don’t do public speeches.”
“Really? Are you secretly shy?”
“Something like that.”
For some reason, that earns me a smile. “It doesn’t leave that many options. It’s either Mason or Oliver with me on stage.” My jaw clenches before I can stop it, and she notices, her lips pinched in a displeased line. “I’ll go with Mason.”
“Pick whoever you prefer.”
“I’m fine with Mace. He’s charismatic, and we get along well.”
“I don’t expect you to cut ties with people because of how I feel. Go with Oliver if you want to.”
Again, she offers me a soft smile. “I’m happy to do it with Mace.”
We order food when the evening comes and take a much-deserved break… At some point, when I’m unfamiliar with some pop star she mentions, she forces me to listen to a few of her most famous songs. It rings vaguely familiar, so I suppose I’ve heard them in the past. At some point in the evening, I meticulously paint the nails on her right hand after she did the left one, and she uses that time to review the visuals Seattle sent us back.
“Alright, I’m done,” she sighs as she leans back. We’re nearing midnight, and she looks just as exhausted as I am. “All work and no play makes Andy a dull girl. If you don’t want to be chased with an axe, we better stop,” she says with amusement.
Fuck. That also rings somewhat familiar, but I don’t know what it’s from. “Before you get all angry at me,” I cautiously start, “I realize it’s another pop culture reference. I just don’t know which one.”
“Lex, no! I didn’t say anything earlier when you didn’t know Britney Spears, but—”
