I whip my head up to see Anton standing along the side wall with his impressive arms crossed and his eyes narrowed at me. The open, welcoming expression that once drew me to this man like a moth to a flame is long gone. He is not happy to see me.
I immediately take a step backward, my fight-or-flight response kicking in at being in such close quarters. But I bonk my head into the door of the elevator, which has already slid shut. Unfortunately for me, I lack Anton’s coolness. Instead of looking sexy or graceful, I stumble forward at the unforeseen contact, and Anton reaches out and grabs me around my upper arms, steadying me as the elevator begins to make its descent. His closeness—the feel of his strong grip on my biceps—triggers a total body reaction. It’s like biting into an ice cream cone and having an instant brain freeze. It’s painful and all-absorbing, andI want to whimper against the unfairness of it all. Something that should be, could be, so good it hurts.
I glance up into his eyes and am immediately transfixed by the green ring around his irises that morphs into blue, like a tie-dye swirl. I smell the wintergreen gum he’s chewing, and my brain short-circuits. I swallow and open my mouth to say…something. I don’t know what, but he beats me to the punch.
“What are you doing here?”
His voice is a bulldozer, and the rumble of it nearly knocks me back again. Goosebumps break out over my entire body. Like I can feel them pop up on the tips of my ears, which is absolutely ridiculous. I allow myself one shaky breath, and then I let a mask of indifferent superiority fall into place. I may not be inherently cool like Anton, but I can pretend with the best of them.
Fake it ‘til you make it, babe.
“Um, my job.” I force myself to sound condescending. It’s a defense mechanism. “I thought Scott made it pretty clear. Or were you too busy coming up with an exit strategy to listen?”
“I heard enough, and you know it. This”—he steps away from me and motions between us—“is not going to work.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I lift an uninterested shoulder, as if my body isn’t having a full-blown, meltdown reaction to standing this close to him. “I was hired to write this article, and I intend to do what I’m being paid to do.”
Anton shakes his head, and that delicious lock of hair falls over his forehead. I squeeze my fingers together, willing away the urge to reach up and brush it out of his eyes.
“I want you out of here,” he growls. “I told you to stay away from me. It’s the least you can do,” he adds more softly, and the rasp in his voice feels like a gut punch.
I tell myself not to feel it. Not to acknowledge it. I’m here for his own good. He doesn’t know that. He might think I’m out to cause him more pain, but it’s the total opposite—even if being around him maims me too.
“Get on board with this, Anton. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
“Harder than it has to be?” He gapes at me. “It doesn’t have to be anything. Itwon’tbe anything. I’ll talk to Scott and Roger after I get back from California. I’ll get out of the article. You may as well return your stadium lanyard and passes to Babs. This”—he waves his hand between us again—“is over. It’s been over for years. Now get out of my life, and get out of here.”
It’s cute that he thinks he actually has a say in this. Also, he’s going to California? I need to read Lennox and the team in on that.
I put my hands on my hips. “No.”
He takes a step toward me and glares down. Our gazes lock in—blue collides with blue. The stuffy air in the elevator crackles. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, I need this job. I’m not going to let you boss me around. So, no. I’m not going anywhere. You can be juvenile about it, but I’m going to stick around. I’ll be like a pesky little mosquito, buzzing in your ear, Bates. You can swat me away, try to squash me, but I’ll keep coming back for more.”
“Really? A mosquito?” Anton’s gaze searches my face. “That’s the analogy you’re going with? An annoying, bloodsucking insect that everyone hates?”
I admit I didn’t really think that one through, but I’m in too far to let him see me sweat—at least not visibly. Underneath my jacket is another story. It’s like a waterfall is pouring down my back. I’ve got to get some better deodorant for all the time I’ll be spending around Anton. My sweat glands cannot handle this man.
“The point stands.” I keep my tone bored, like I’m completely unaffected and unbothered by this elevator confrontation, even though we’re chest to chest and my lungs are heaving. Why is he standing so close to me? Doesn’t he realize I can’t functionlike this?
“Huh.” Anton searches my eyes, and then his lips quirk.
I know what those lips taste like. I know how they feel. I want his mouth on mine.
No.
Not. For. Me.
“What?” I say on a breath, silently cursing my vocal cords for giving out on me and sounding all wheezy.
“Just wondering if you know that mosquitos only bite the people they’re attracted to.” He clicks his tongue. “They smell the type of blood they like and lap it all up. What, exactly, does that say about you?”
I narrow my eyes at him. I can’t tell if he’s telling me the truth about this weird fact or what. Either way, I’m not going to answer that question. Instead, I counter with one of my own. “Why do you know that?”
He slips his hands into the pockets of his River Foxes joggers and leans away from me, suddenly looking more like the unflappable and cool star quarterback he’s known for being. Dang it.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirks.
