I prop my elbow against the side of the door and set my chin in my palm. “Fine.”
“If you said that,” Elle continues, “it means you’ve cleaned up that person’s mess in the past. Possibly more than once. Most likely when you didn’t have to. That means you have common decency and compassion for a person who probably can’t help themself.” She’s staring forward again, her green eyes flicking across the passing greenery as we merge onto the Long Island Expressway. Her slender chest rises and falls as she silently takes in a breath and releases it. “I not only relate to that, I also appreciate it.” She cuts her eyes to mine just as I glance at her again. “You’ve been an asshole to me for half a year.But,I know outside of work and with people you care about, you’re probably a different person. Based on that phone call, I can tell you’re actually a good, caring person, and I like that about you.”
God damn it.
Well, so much for her turning out to be a bitch.
Her confession not only doesn’t contribute to my bottom line of ridding myself of the temptation of her, it does the exact opposite. It makes me have to grip the wheel harder and force my face forward so I don’t lean across the car and kiss her. It makes her that much more of a three-dimensional person, akindperson, and all of it is suddenly part two of that hope for something potentiallygoodand it being instantly dashed.
I am totally fucked.
If Elle doesn’t decide to take her half of the commission and run as fast and far away from her job as she can, I’m just going to fucking fire her. There’s no other way to deal with this.
I squint sideways at her. “Are we going that deep with this? All I said was that I like that you like crappy old movies. Are you trying to one-up me?”
She folds her arms across her chest and shoots me a look that’s equal parts exasperated and incredulous. “This isn’t a competition, Colin. It’s an exercise to get us both in a mindset of not hating each other so people who know you well enough to see through your bullshit will believe we actually like each other enough to be in a serious relationship.”
“Iknowthat.” I waggle my upturned palm back and forth between us. “This is me fucking with you. I’m trying to be funny.”
She hitches one shoulder, and her strap slips again, and I want to slide it back up, but I don’t. “You’re not funny, but you get an A for effort,” she quips, drawing her fingers up the side of her arm to fix the strap.
My mental decision to deal with this by firing her later combined with the strap falling out of place again manages to dissolve my give-a-fucks. I might as well break the ice with the touchy-feelycouple-ybehavior now, so I hold out my upturned palm in front of her.
“Give me your hand.”
After a beat of hesitation, she does, but not without a patronizing coo. “Aww…you really do want to hold hands.”
I risk taking my eyes off the road for a little longer than necessary to meet her gaze over the crest of her wrist as I press a kiss to the back of her hand. A look passes between us that dissolves the snark from her expression, and color blooms in her fair cheeks.
After allowingthatto marinate for a second or two, I release her hand and turn my attention back to the road. A heady silence fills the car, and Elle crosses her legs away from me, turning to look out her window.
“This was a bad idea,” she mumbles so quietly that I think she believes I can’t hear her.
I lean sideways and make a big show of cupping my hand around my ear. “What was that, Elle?”
She swings her head around to toss a glare at me. I catch about half a second of it before she clasps my knee and draws her hand halfway up my thigh, andeverypart of me stiffens.
And I do meaneverypart of me. Including the part that is fortunately covered by the hem of my suit jacket.
“Nothing,honey,” she coos in that same patronizing tone. She squeezes my thigh. “Are you okay? You look a little…warm.”
I press my lips in a firm, flat line and shake my head as I mentally recite the roster of the Yankees starting lineup. “Just fine.”
“No… you look warm.” Elle releases my thigh and reaches to do stuff to the knobs and vents that I’m currently blind to, and what feels like gale force winds blast my face. “How’s that?”
I clear my throat and shift in my seat, adjusting my jacket to ensure it’s still laying strategically over the hard-on that I have no ability to deal with. “It’s great.”
She offers me a flippant double pat on my leg before leaning forward to retrieve her phone and nestling deep into her seat. “Good.”
In the corner of my eye, I see her typing a message wildly to a person I know is Celia, undoubtedly a play-by-play of the past two minutes, and I resist the urge to groan for a lot of reasons.
I’m so fucked.
And I’m going to have to fire her.
And since I’m going to have to fire her…
I’m gonna go ahead and let this thoroughly shameless weekend go wherever the hell it damn well pleases.
