I want to add “barely” but I don’t want him to feel bad for me. Or think that I’m a mess. Because I kind of am, but his opinion of me—the way he seems to see me as this badass woman he’s imagined me being since we were kids—is somehow really important to me. Even if it’s a lie.
“Good,” he says quietly and then adds, “Are you free tomorrow night?”
“What?” I heard him very clearly but I say it anyway—out of shock.
“Are you free tomorrow night?” he repeats. “I have a barbeque thing at a friend’s and I’d love some company. Your company.”
“How did you find me here?” I blurt out because, seriously, I never told him where I work.
“Dixie said you worked in real estate, and there’s this crazy thing called Google,” Jude explains and winks at me, and I laugh again. He steps closer, so now we’re inches apart, and looks down at me, his expression turning serious, which thickens the sexual tension already choking me. “I know that might seem like stalking and I’m sorry, but I wasn’t going to wait until you made plans with the sorority again to run into you. I wanted to see you again.”
“I’m glad,” I whisper.
He heaves a deep breath and clears his throat. “I should take a step back, because I am pretty sure everyone in the office is still staring at us.”
I shift a little to glance around his wide frame. Marti is staring at us from the photocopier. Anastasia is almost falling out of her chair to sneak a look from reception, and my other four co-workers currently in the office are also focused on us from their desks. I look up at him. “Yeah, they are.”
“Damn. I like being close to you.” He sighs and steps back, putting my desk between us and shoving his hands in his pockets. “So tomorrow night? Come with me.”
“I shouldn’t,” I say more to myself than him, because I really shouldn’t. I’m still married and it’s messy and I need to focus on my career and we don’t even know each other anymore. I mean, we’re not kids anymore and… “But I will.”
His smile lights up his whole face. “That’s my Zoey.”
God, the look in his eyes is like a meal placed in front of me. I devour every inch of it, like I’m starving. He’s literally feeding my ego—or maybe even my soul—with the happiness and desire in his eyes.
“Okay. Can I get your phone number?” he asks as he pulls his own phone from his back pocket. I tell it to him and watch as he punches it in. He’s typing for longer than necessary and then suddenly my phone buzzes on my desk. He grins as I reach for it. It’s a text from him with an attachment.
I open it up. It’s a shirtless selfie. Wait…he’s more than shirtless. He’s naked. At least I think he is. The picture cuts off precariously low, where his hip muscles cut into a V and there’s the slightest tip of well-groomed pubic hair. The background is a bathroom, a beautiful gray and white marble room, and the mirror behind him is steamed, but I can see the blurry silhouette of his body, including his bare ass. Water drops glisten all over his torso. Sweet mother of Mylanta!
I feel a blush hit my cheeks as I tear my eyes away from my screen and catch him grinning wider than before. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brand-new iPhone and places it on my desk. “This is for you.”
“Jude, I don’t need a free phone,” I say quickly.
“But you haven’t fixed or replaced your broken one.”
I shake my head. “But I mean, I can. I’m not poor or anything.”
He smiles. “But you seem to be busy. And I need you to have a functioning screen.” He puts a hand on my desk and leans across it so he can whisper. “I like to send dirty texts, and I need to know you’ll be able to read them.”
He steps back, away from me and the desk with that effortless yet sexy way he moves. Damn. He is blowing my mind in the best possible way. And for the first time in over a year I feel that delicious, hot tingle in the long-dead place between my legs.
He points to the phone on my desk. “Call your provider and hook it up. Use it. Text me. Make sure not to lose that picture or my number when you import your contacts.”
I nod, and he turns and walks out of the building, with every set of eyes watching him go, including mine. My gaze, very blatantly, slips from his broad, strong shoulders to his tight, round butt. Boy, oh boy…and then down to his legs, which carry him in that powerful easy glide. Yeah, he grew up to be even more incredible than I thought he was as a kid. This is yet another time in the past decade that I really wish that our one attempt at sex had worked out. I think it might have changed my entire life.
“What did Jude Braddock want?” Marti asks. I hadn’t noticed her walk up to my desk because I was too busy ogling Jude’s backside. “You know he’s the second-highest-paid hockey player in San Francisco, right? Is he looking for a house? Are you signing him as a client?”
“No. I mean, he’s just here for…” I don’t want to say the word “date.” For some crazy reason I can’t explain, I don’t want to tell anyone—even Marti, whom I trust—what’s going on here. I’m not even sure I know what’s going on. I just know what I want this to be, which is something more than a rekindled flirty friendship. “I mean, I think he’s looking into real estate.”
“Buying or selling? Investment or personal?” Marti asks eagerly, her eyes excited. “He’s going to be a big get with lots of high-end needs; if you want help on this one…”
“I’ll keep you posted,” I tell her absently.
“Okay, well, seriously, Zoey. I can help you with this one. It’ll be great,” Marti assures me.
“Yeah, I’ll let you know if he decides to hire me,” I mutter and sit in my seat as I examine the new phone. It’s the latest model, and it should be simple to switch it to my plan. I put it down on my desk, pick up my original phone and pull up the picture he texted me. Holy sweet mother of Mary. I am going to do obscene things to myself while I stare at this picture. In fact, I want to lock myself in the bathroom and do it right now. But I quell the urge, which is a momentous feat, and stand up, grabbing my purse.
“I have to run some errands,” I announce. “I’ll be back soon.”
