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“I’ve heard about athletes doing that.” She gathers up all the other colors, tossing them in her bag. My eyebrow lifts in question. “You aren’t going to eat them, and I have a roommate who will. Why let them go to waste?”
I smirk but don’t comment.
She isn’t wrong. They would’ve hit the trash as soon as she left. And then, I’ll clean the table, but that’s a whole other thing, and now that I’ve thought about it, I can see the specks of sugar tormenting me from beside the bowl.
All of a sudden, she gets up and crosses the space. I have no idea where she’s going, but a second later, I understand. She’s grabbed the cleaning antibacterial wipes from the bathroom and is removing all traces of the dust left behind.
The mess is gone. I can breathe again.
“You know…” she says, and I prepare to hear something I don’t like. “You could hire someone to do these things for you.”
My shoulders straighten. “I said they’re pre-game rituals. I have to do it.”
She purses her lips, and I know she wants to argue with me, but she doesn’t, and for some unknown reason, it puts me more at ease than I already was with her.
“I don’t want people knowing my business.” That’s the truth. I don’t need people to know about all the stuff I do because I have to, to function. I can pretend some of my stuff is superstitions but not all of it.
“You make them sign your NDA.” She turns toward me. “Make sure you’re—” She pauses, trying to find her words. “Comfortable. With the person. With the process.”
Someone like her. Can I find a person who doesn’t judge like she didn’t? Hiring someone would pose too many questions. The applicants would all have to sign nondisclosure agreements, and someone would talk. It would get out.
They would look at me like I was a—nope. Not going there.
Plus, although her idea holds merit, it wouldn’t really help my problem. I’m the one who has to do my rituals. That’s the only way to calm my anxiety. It’s not as easy as just having someone do it for me.
If only it was her.
Just her presence alone has worked magic over me. It’s like she cast a spell, and the tension inside me dissipated.
Even now, when she caught me sorting, I didn’t feel the usual shame that falls over me.
The only thing I felt was tension as I waited for the ridicule, but when no damaging words followed and she sat beside me, I felt at peace for the first time in years.
If only I could bottle her up, then I’d always have her calming energies.
A crazy thought pops into my brain. One that I should immediately forget because it’s so asinine. But no matter how long I sit here, it just remains a constant thought.
She could do it.
She could be the person I hire. I’d let her think I’m hiring her to help me with my quirks, but in reality, I’d be hiring her to be near me. The thing is, I want her around. She soothes me and helps me. I just can’t tell her the real reason.
Not that she’d judge me, but I can’t run the risk of her saying no. Even in my own head, hiring someone for their presence alone sounds like a crazy idea. I’ll just ask her to be my assistant.
Our eyes lock, and I see it. Her blue irises glaze over, the lust permeating from her.
“You could do it.” The words are out before I’ve really contemplated all the consequences.
Her mouth opens and then closes. Her eyes blink rapidly all the while. She’s speechless, and I have to admit, she’s damn cute when caught off guard.
“What?”
I recline back, going for nonchalance. “You could work for me. I’d hire you to—” I take a deep breath, hating that I feel vulnerable, but I see no judgment in her eyes, so I press on, knowing she’s perfect. “Help me.”
“Work for you as what? Your assistant?” she asks, sounding skeptical.
I dissect the cynical tone she took on and realize my error. I’m about to say yes, but then something hits me—an assistant won’t work.
Shit.
