Page 29 of About That Pact

Chapter 11

WRITING HAD ALWAYS come easily to Rafe. When he realized he could turn his love for writing into a career, he never looked back. His latest blog was about sports etiquette for fans, and while it wasn’t the most fascinating story, he’d learned a lot. Apparently, a vast majority of fans didn’t approve of people asking them questions during a game. For Rafe, he didn’t think it was a big deal, because how could someone enjoy the event if they didn’t understand what was going on? Specifically, the British were quite particular about watching soccer games uninterrupted.

Once he was done writing, he grabbed his phone and called Charlotte.

“Hey,” she greeted him. “I was just thinking about you. I took you up on the whole hobby thing and joined a book club. I’m about to leave the library after I check out this month’s book.”

This was a big step for her. Rafe was proud she was giving herself time to enjoy other things in life.

“Nice. What book?”

“One for the Money,” Charlotte answered, then thanked the clerk. “It’s by Janet Evanovich. I heard great reviews so I can’t wait to start reading it.”

“Any chance reading could happen tomorrow? I was going to see if you wanted to come over and see how the furniture looks.”

She paused, which he didn’t like. Yeah, he loved that she had a hobby now, but he wanted part of her time away from work too. So, he added a bit of a stretch. “I’m not sure if you are going to like the way the coffee table pairs with the red couch.”

He cringed. That last sentence may have been the most idiotic thing to ever leave his mouth, but he was determined to have her come over.

“Oh no! Do you think the color is too much?” There was a touch of worry in her voice, like his couch was going to be on the front page of Vogue and had to look perfect.

“I guess the only way to find out is if you come over.”

He baited her, but only because he was desperate to see her.

“I am sure you could always text me a picture.” Her sass was back, and he loved it.

“What if the lighting isn’t right? Or if I take the picture at the wrong angle? There are too many factors to consider for you to risk it.”

Her laugh, the one he was coming close to obsessed with, came over the phone. “Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Don’t even open the new book,” he warned her. “Or I won’t hear from you at all.”

She promised she wouldn’t start reading before they got off the phone. Rafe sat on the new couch that did, in fact, go great with the color scheme, and waited for her.

WHILE IT WAS tempting to dive into the new book, for once in her life, she had a better option. It was packaged as a six-foot-two, black-haired, green-eyed man named Rafe. She knew damn well the red couch looked good in his apartment. She’d seen the pictures he’d posted as a follow-up on his blog about bachelor pads. Even if he was full of it, she was taking his lame excuse to see him. Ever since he’d pointed out her crazy work hours, she’d been trying her best not to work herself to death. She was now down to sixty-five hours a week, which was a big deal. Her plan was to be down to an average of fifty by the end of the year.

Maybe.

It was a wishful thought. Manageable, but she had this innate need to check her team’s work, like, all the time. Her goal was to stop checking, or just doing, their work, then she could have the better work-life balance she wanted.

She knocked on his door, realizing it was the first time she’d actually been to his apartment. It was in a nice area just outside the city, close to Menlo Park.

Rafe opened the door wearing an outfit that was every woman’s fantasy. His gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his white t-shirt fit tightly across his chest. His hair was finger-combed, and his smile was sexy. Relaxed Rafe was just as delicious as out-and-about Rafe.

“You look awful,” she lied through her teeth.

He opened the door and welcomed her inside. “Your compliments overwhelm me.”

“Please, you know you look good.”

“Thank you, maybe?”

Going straight to the living room, she adored how the red couch contrasted with the dark colors of the paintings and the wood floor. The throw rug was varying shades of gray and black, adding a touch of retro to the space. It had all come together so well, it was no wonder he’d posted pictures.

“Well, take my next compliment seriously. The room looks even better than I expected. I saw the pictures on Instagram, but they didn’t give the room any credit. Maybe your living room deserves its own story. Perhaps, bachelor pads with style?”

He shut the door and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. “I did something similar recently, so probably not. But I love that you check my social media.”