She may not know it, but at this point, I’d be willing to do anything to prevent her from getting fired after hearing what shewent through with her parents and at her other job. I’d be willing to do anything to see her happy.
When her face suddenly lights up and I think she’s going to give up and argue that it’s not working, she drops a bomb I never could have anticipated.
“You have to kiss me again.”
15
SAVANNAH
It’s the only thing that I can think of.
After we kissed at the party a few weeks ago, everyone assumed we were together. It’s hard for me to wrap my brain around someone like Warren wanting to date me, but they still bought it. And that’s what I need from my boss too.
He thinks the world of Warren. If he sees that Warren loves me, even if we’re faking it, there’s little chance he’ll send me packing after the end-of-the-year performance reviews.
“It worked the first time,” I shrug, not meeting his eyes. We’re standing a few feet apart, but I don’t care to see his adverse reaction to the idea.
Not to mention the fact that this is a welcome distraction from the previous topic of conversation. It felt good to talk about it. But I’m not sure I could have kept going much longer without him realizing that I’m more messed up than he thinks.
Thankfully, he seems to have forgotten about it for now.
“That’s true,” he says with one eyebrow raised.
“There’s a customer appreciation event at the firm two weeks from now,” I point out. “Everyone from the office will be there. It’s a perfect place to do it.”
The center of his forehead crinkles, deep in thought.
“A kiss might make things worse. If it’s not real, it’d be easy to tell.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs.
All this talk about kissing has my tongue wetting my lips. I stare at his facial hair wondering how it would feel against my skin again, my eyes falling half-lidded at the thought. I wasn’t paying close enough attention the first time.
This is just an involuntary biological response that any warm-blooded female would have in the middle of this type of conversation. I’ve been drinking. He’s a fucking hunk.
It’s not surprising the way my body responds to that. It’s basic science.
“We could practice it,” he suggests. One hand rubs the top of his right thigh, and the other combs through his thick wavy hair at the nape of his neck. I like that it’s a little longer in the back. It makes me want to grab it and hang on for dear life.
“Oh,” I say softly, just above a whisper. It’s a logical idea. Practicing might make it seem more natural and less forced. “Okay, practice. That’s . . . certainly an option.”
My hands meet in front of me, twisting together at my midsection. My ears feel beet red, and I’m glad that my hair is down to cover them. Warren does not need that neon sign indicating that I’m nervous.
We can kiss. In this situation, it’s just remedial. Practice.
It’d be like washing the dishes or tying my shoes. A simple task.
“Like, now, or?” he asks. It’s stupid that I notice how much lower his voice got with every word of that question.
To make it seem like I have full control of my composure right now, I answer quickly and in an unemotional tone of voice.“It seems like now would be a good time. The most convenient, since we might not be together again before the event.”
I’m not swaying on my feet, I don’t think, but the room seems to shift around me. I swipe a strand of hair off my forehead and make my best attempt at erasing all evidence of inhibition from my face before looking up at him.
Time seems to pass slower than molasses while we each wait for the other to do . . .something.
What should it look like? Would I reach up to pull him down or would he bend to meet me first? Would it be quick?
