Reid flashes me a charming smile and gestures to the chair I have been about to sit in. “Did you come up here to be alone, Sasha? Or for the view?”
My mind sputters for only an instant of uncertainty before I say, “Maybe it’s both.”
Still holding my gaze, he gives a sigh that sounds overly dramatic. “If it’s both, then I should probably offer to leave. So that you can enjoy the view alone.”
Alone? As in alone with my thoughts and my misery and my determination not to cry? No, thank you.
“Shouldn’t I be the one to offer to leave? After all, I already had my chance to watch the sunset.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “That would assume that I wouldn’t prefer your company.”
The implication hangs heavy in the air. He wants me to stay.
Which probably means I should leave. That would be the prudent thing to do. Except ...
He doesn’t recognize me. And he’s giving me let-me-pick-you-up eyes. When does this kind of thing happen to me? Never. That’s the answer. This kind of thing never happens to me.
Of course, I’m not going to let him pick me up.
He’s my boss, but doesn’t know he’s my boss. And the moment when I could have reminded him of that has come and gone. Sex with your hot, young boss is a fantastic fantasy, but ... jeez-us, talk about a morally gray area!
Morally gray! It’s not just a color palette anymore!
OMG. I think I’m going off the rails here.
Get it together Meg!Sasha—whoever the heck you are!
My point is this: right now I’m still very confused about the whole Keegan kissing me the other night issue. That kiss, which should have been nothing more than an innocent favor for a friend, rattled me. And, yeah, I’ve been telling myself that it only affected me so much because it was unexpected, but does it actually matter why it rattled me?
All of a sudden, after years of ruthlessly squashing any non-friendship feelings for Keegan, those feelings are back. And it’s very confusing. Especially given that we have our not-really-a-date tomorrow night.
Given all of that, wouldn’t it be better—smarter, in fact—to indulge in a little harmless flirting with my boss?
Isn’t that the lesser of two evils? The paler of two morally gray choices?
Thankfully, Reid doesn’t seem to notice how long it takes me to do all this moral calculus.
I step to the side and gesture to the table. “Do you want to sit?”
He exhales, giving me the impression that he was holding his breath. Like this moment was as tense for him as it was for me.
He glances pointedly at my ice tea and sandwich. “I don’t want to keep you from eating.”
I unwrap the sandwich and, on impulse, offer. “Do you want some?”
“I can’t eat half your dinner.”
“It’s a huge sandwich. I won’t be able to finish it, anyway.”
He eyes the paper. “From the deli downstairs?”
“Yep. Their New York Italian.”
He makes the faintest noise of approval. The sandwich is already sliced in half and double wrapped, making it easy to peel apart the two pages of butcher paper and divide up the sandwich.
Clearly still on the fence, he asks, “Hot or sweet peppers?”
“Duh. Both.”
