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“Future me will apologize in the morning.” Her words come across like a combination of a warning and a promise. My confusion lasts for only three seconds. Second one, she tips up on her toe and presses her lips to mine. Second two, she pausesand waits for me to react. Second three, I soften my lips and kiss her back.
Her arms wrap around my back, squeezing me tight, the sexy hum back on her lips.
Three seconds is all it takes for us to act on the attraction that has been building all day. It takes a mere three seconds for everything I’ve been working on for the last month to be jeopardized.
We’ve crossed a line, and the last thing on my mind is an apology.
Three seconds changes everything.
Chapter Seven
Zara
“Iknew he was perfect for you.” Stacy sips her Arnold Palmer, sitting backwards on the high stool next to me at the café. I’m back on my normal stool at the bar ledge by the window, my laptop opened in front of me. “And this is perfective.” I look over my shoulder as she lifts her drink and salutes Maggie the barista on shift this morning.
“Why exactly are you here two days in a row?” I tease my sister.
She spins on the stool, her feet resting on the footrest of my stool. “I was craving a real Arnold Palmer, and I needed to hear you tell me I was right about Devon. So, say it again.”
My mind floats to the spectacular kisses we shared last night. A secret I keep from my sister. “You were right. He’s the right size.”
“Music to my ears. And speaking of music, did you tell him yet?”
I shake my head. “He has two left feet. I’m going to have to change the routine.” I haven’t told Devon everything I plannedfor my pitch. He’d need to model the team outfits including the travel blazer, hoodie, and sweatsuit which he’s yet to touch. But the finale of the pitch has him in the full mascot uniform, performing a dance routine. It’s a perfect sequence for Michael, a fan ofDancing with the Stars. A routine Stacy has worked on for weeks. No way Devon will be able to pull off such a complicated performance.
“You can’t have him just stand there and clap his hands,” Stacy objects. “Your competition will have fireworks, marching bands, and probably a guest appearance by Lady Gaga.” Stacy is all about bringing the thunder. Her approach to life is to be loud and demand people take notice. “No joke, I found out one of the teams is bringing six members of a nationally ranked volleyball team. While their sales team pitches, the volleyball players will play a game on the court. That’s going to leave an impression.”
Nothing she says is a surprise. I’ve done my research as well. Businesses with a long history of designing sports uniforms are presenting. All with deep pockets and resources I don’t possess.
“At the end of the day, the best design should win,” I give the same pep talk I gave myself the first six times I pitched ideas for my company years ago. Even after I discovered Christine had worked behind the scenes to bury each of them.
Stacy kicks my stool and spins away. “In a perfect world, yeah. But we don’t live in a perfect world. People make decisions based on emotion. Give them something they can feel. Make it memorable, and they’ll never forget you.”
An image of Devon whipping off his tank top, standing in front of me bare chested, floods my head. My knees go weak with just the thought. A sight I know I’ll never forget.
Stacy hops off the stool, her gaze freezing on something of interest outside the café. “He sucks at making drinks. He must be good at something; maybe it’s dancing. I’ll talk to him.”
I follow her gaze and spot Devon approaching. He told me last night he’s been assigned to the lunch rush today. I grab Stacy by her wrist. “Don’t. I’ll talk to him when it’s the right time.”
She stares down at my hand gripping her wrist. I release it. “Okay. But the pitch is in a few days. You don’t have a lot of time. Don’t eliminate the dance—it’s the climax of the presentation. If you’re right about his two left feet, you’re going to need every second to get him ready. The sooner you get him on board the better.”
“Morning, ladies.” Devon’s smooth voice interrupts us, and we both turn. He’s wearing an oversized three-quarter-length baseball style T-shirt that looks as if he picked it up from a street vendor for three dollars. The material is paper thin with the wordsNot Todaywritten in a large purple font. The shirt screams fashion disaster.
“Don’t you mean afternoon?” Stacy corrects him. It’s eleven thirty, which is technically still morning.
He gives her a quick smile before turning to face me. We lock eyes, and it takes everything in me not to caress his face and kiss him. I, instead, point to his shirt. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to start to dress you full-time?”
The corner of his lip curls up for a split second as if he put on this shirt just for this reaction. “People have told me I’m fashion challenged. I’ve never believed them until now.”
“Why now?” I follow his lead in search of a reward.
“None of them were a professional fashion designer, like you. When you speak, I listen.”
I run a finger down the front of his chest, fisting his oversized shirt between my fingers. “We’ve only begun to scratch the surface of my skills.” I hear my voice; it’s filled with a confidence and flirtatious tone I could get used to. “You should lose the shirt.”
He reaches for the bottom of the t-shirt, his fingers fisting it. “I bet you’d like that.” It lifts two inches, and my treasonous eyes refuse to look away. I catch the sliver of skin, and I gulp. A slice of his golden abdomen I fell asleep dreaming about.
The loud slurp of a drink pulls our attention. I turn to find Stacy fingers pinching her straw, standing two feet away, staring at us. “So, you guys are just going to act like I don’t exist, huh?” I don’t respond, and she lowers her drink. “What exactly happened last night?”
