Page 39 of Fast Break


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Her mouth gapes open."Are you seriously threatening me with HR,Charlie? Fine."She lifts her hands in a flourish and lets themdropdramatically before turning to leave. I haven't gotten my sigh of relief out, though, before she spins back around and marches right up to me, her head tilted all the way back to look at me.

"I saw you at thebarthe other night. I heard you. I see the way you look at her, talk to her,touchher. I won't pretend to understand why her and not,"she inhales a sharp breath, a glassy sheen to her eyes,"not me. I act like a jealous bitch because I am one."

Her waterylaughis without humor."You reallycareabout her, don't you? It's different for you this time?"

I flex my jaw and look away before nodding slowly.Libertyharrumphs.

"How ironic, then,"she says."Because I overheard her talking toTishayesterday. I was downstairs looking forCoachArkhady, andPalmerdidn't realize I was behind her. She was emphatic about how you're only havingfun, that you're just a distraction while she figures things out."

I scowl at her."You're makingshitup to stir the pot."

"I'm not,"she says calmly."It's what I heard. I'm telling you because a part of me doescareabout you, but another, maybe bigger part, is taking pleasure in watching you learn how it feels to be on that side of the equation."

She stalks out of the breakroom.Libertyis trouble and I won't put it past her to makeshitup. But what she said has a ring of truth to it. Afundistraction. Aplantobreakold patterns. That's how this began withPalmer, at least for her. It's always been about more for me, and I thought I was making progress. If whatLibertysaid she overheard is true, then have I just been spinning my wheels this whole time?

Iclosemy eyes and conjure up the memory ofPalmerthe first night we made love, the wonder in her eyes, the heat, the connection. I didn't imagine it. I know I didn't.

I add cream to my coffee and return to my desk, eager to finish up and resolved to remind myself–andPalmer–what we have is more than a distraction as far as I'm concerned.

It's a little after six when I knock on Palmer's door. She swings it open, a hand resting on her hip, and her small purse slung across her body. A pair of sunglassesholdsthe hair off her face, and she'swearingcut-off shorts with adeeppurple sleevelesstopthat highlights the definition and tone of her arms. I admire the smooth muscles with my eyes, my groin already tightening in anticipation of touching them later.

Whoa, boy. Don't get ahead of yourself.

"You're late,"she chides, but there's no heat in her voice.

"Long day at the office,"I sigh and look down at my navy blue trousers and silvery-gray Van Heusen button-down."I haven't changed yet, and I'm greatly overdressed."

She reaches up to undo a couple more buttons, exposing more of the dark hair covering my pecs. She pats mychest."There. Now, come on. We're going to be late."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She takes my hand and we ride the elevator to street level. Wherever we're going, it's within walking distance. While wewalk, she tells me about thepartyat her parents' house and her mother's muted reaction to her hair.

"I had a really good time, which seems so odd to say."She shakes her head."I never have a good time at home. It's why I jumped at moving in withBrennanat the time. I had to move away."

I swing her hand to my lips and plant akisson her knuckles."I'm glad things are getting better between you."

"I'm hopeful they may come to thegameon Saturday. I'mleavingtickets at Will Call just in case."

We turn a corner and she announces,"Here we are."

We're at a storefront with a large bay window, Charm City Inkslingers scrolled in on the glass in a retro font. Inside, a guysitsin a chair with his arm outstretched while another man in leather andwearinga pair of bifocals uses a tattoo gun on his inner forearm.

I turn to her, my brows raised in surprise."A tattoo shop?"

"Yep."Shepullsopen the old-fashioned door and drags me inside, the tinkle of a bell announcing our arrival. I'm still not sure if we're here for me or her, as she strides up to the counter still holding onto my hand for dear life.

"Hi. I'mPalmer. I have a six-thirty appointment?"

The woman behind the counter taps on an iPad, her blue hair swinging around her face as shemoves. She has a tiny hoop piercing one eyebrow and a metal ring hooked between her nostrils. Her arms are tapestries of intricate Japanese art in bold reds, blacks, and greens.

"You're getting a tat?"I ask.Palmernods.

"Yes. And you're going toholdmy hand through it."

Twenty-Three