I stroll into her office. It’s a pretty cramped room, but there’s enough space for a small couch in front of her desk next to a row of filing cabinets.
I drop my backpack on the floor next to the couch and plop down into the cushions, legs wide and arms folded across my chest.
“Who said anything about ghosts, boss?”
Connie’s laugh tickles my nape.
It feels good. Making her laugh.
Her lips are quirked, but her gaze is cast down, typing something on her computer.
“Don’t call me that,” she says lightly.
“What should I call you then?”
She’s still smirking when her hazel eyes lift to meet mine. But when they do, her expression shutters as if suddenly trying to conceal her thoughts. Her gaze dips to my open legs, then quickly back up, her cheeks turning pink, just how I like them.
She laughs off her blunder as if I didn’t witness any of what just happened. My throat turns dry, wondering what thoughts took over during her obvious moment of weakness.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t waiting for another chance to make her squirm.
Although, was it even about me that night? Or was I just at the right place at the right time?
“You can keep calling me Connie,” she says, looking back at her laptop.
“Everyone calls you Connie.”
“Yeah?” She smirks. “And you’re not everyone?”
“Aren’t I?”
Connie’s smile slowly fades as if turning apprehensive, her gaze slowly lifting back to study me from across the small space. I don’t know what I’m playing at, but I don’t care enough to figure it out.
The moment turns tense, and something about it makes my skin electric. I always feel the most comfortable when there’s a whiff of unease in the air.
Feels familiar. Feels like home.
Connie licks her lips before she speaks, and my head starts to spin before I even hear the words come out of her mouth.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something to call me.”
She cocks her head, her eyes narrowing just a breath. She’s challenging me. But I’m not a hundred percent surewhy. It almost feels like she’s playing chicken with me. To see if I have the balls to push our game even further.
She takes my hand and squeezes it. She leads me down a dark-lit corridor, pushes me against the wall, and kisses me. Her lips are warm and hungry. She tastes like wine and sugar.And I’m fucking starving.
I don’t want to be careless this time. I suddenly feel like playing chess instead. I crave calculated moves pushed across the board. I hunger for a satisfying, well-deserved win.
“I’m sure I will,” I say slowly.
Her teeth sink into my bottom lip. I groan into her mouth, pulling her hips harder into me. Her laugh drips with lewd promises I ache to have come true. We stumble into the bathroom. The door locks behind her.
Connie matches my stare for a few seconds longer before she clears her throat and returns to her computer.
Silence settles between us like a blanket of snow.
Eventually, I pull out a book from my bag and settle deeper into the couch, hyperaware of Connie’s every move as the minutes tick slowly by.
“Oh ... My ... Fucking ... God.”
