Page 17

“Some women. I know,” Kelsey had said with a sigh. She’d changed the subject after that, but Stacy had continued to mull it over after they’d hung up.

Sometimes Stacy wished she were more spontaneous, more adventurous. She wished she didn’t worry so much about what other people thought and simply followed her instincts. She’d been around long enough to know that there were consequences to every action, though. Her divorce was proof of that.

When she and Nick reconvened after lunch, she immediately opened her training binder, but he didn’t.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

Uh-oh. After working closely with him this week, she’d already picked up on the nuances of his expressions. She could tell this was personal.

“Sure,” she said, wondering what it could be.

“Are you okay with me coming tonight?”

Coming made her think of something else entirely, and her face heated.

“Oops. Let me rephrase that.”

“Please.”

He chuckled and then licked his lips, making an awkward situation even worse. She watched his tongue flick out and trace the rim of his full, mauve lips. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about his mouth and imagined the things it could do to her.

“Are you okay with me coming to the bar with you and your friends tonight?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He leaned back in his chair, his shirt stretching over his broad chest. It was mid-March, but the weather had gotten warmer ever since he’d arrived. He’d traded his long-sleeved button-downs for short-sleeved polo shirts, much to her chagrin. She admired the male form as much as the next gal, but it had become even harder to concentrate with his arm muscles on display.

He shrugged. “I thought I sensed something earlier, but maybe I was mistaken.”

She inhaled deeply, and in doing so, her breasts pushed against her short-sleeved T-shirt. They were average-sized breasts, a respectable 34C; however, based on Nick’s expression, she might have been Dolly Parton. She leaned forward and crossed her arms on the desk, effectively blocking her traitorous breasts from view.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I didn’t want you there. I didn’t mean to.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple undulating in his throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to invite me because of my aunt.”

She recalled last Friday when Fran had asked her to include him in their after-work outings, but he didn’t need to know that. She suddenly felt guilty for not making him feel more welcome.

“It’s not that. It’s just that I usually don’t socialize with my trainees.”

He nodded. “I understand. So, if you’d rather I not come—”

Why did a simple, everyday word sound so different when he said it? She was so screwed! Not literally, but still.

“No. Please come…to the bar with us.”

He smiled, and she made the mistake of looking directly at the sun. His brown eyes sparkled, his white teeth gleamed, and his caramel skin glistened. If that wasn’t bad enough, it was blue jeans day at the office. For a small donation, employees could wear blue jeans and sneakers to work. The money went to local charities, so it was a win-win. Faded Levi’s had never looked so good as on this man.

“Okay, then.”

Afterward, she began explaining the various insurance forms they used, an extremely dry topic after the one they’d just had. Somehow she muddled through, and before she knew it, it was time to leave.

“See you at the bar,” he said as he stood up with his binder.

“Are you taking that home over the weekend?”

“Why not? It’s not like I have a booked social calendar.”

She was reminded that he hardly knew anyone in Michigan except his aunt and uncle. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you over there.”