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A broken laugh bubbles from my throat.
“There is no us, Harris. We have a bet. That’s it.”
“Can we talk, maybe somewhere more private?” He looks around and only then do I notice that we’ve drawn a little audience.
“I can’t. I have a lot of work to get done. Maybe later, yeah?”
He hesitates like he’s not sure what to do and it’s oddly endearing to see him so unsure. A man who usually oozes confidence.
“Blue.”
“I said maybe later, Harris.” I give a look that tells him I mean it.
He blows out a heavy breath and nods.
“Okay.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me both proud for not losing it and yet so freaking confused about what I’m feeling. Like I want to throw myself on the floor and have a temper tantrum of all temper tantrums.
——
By seven o’clock I’mhome, dressed in my favorite plaid pajama bottoms and black tank, pizza on the coffee table, and a glass of wine in my hand.
I didn’t see Harris again after he left my desk, not that I actually expected to.
No, that’s not true. I completely expected him to show back up. And the fact that he didn’t bothers me more than what I walked in on in the break room.
I’ve just logged into Netflix, determined to push Harris as far from my mind as possible, when a loud knock sounds against my door.
“Seriously,” I grumble aloud, not sure who it could be.
I drag my ass to the door and rise on my tippy toes to look out of the peep hole, once again spotting a huge bouquet of flowers taking up my entire view into the hallway.
“Not again,” I murmur, unlocking the door before pulling it open.
“Blue Daniels?” the young delivery guy asks, reading my name off the card.
“That’s me.” I sigh, taking the flowers, which like before are a mix of blues and red, when he shoves them in my direction.
As much as I want to be annoyed that he sent me flowers,again, I find myself smiling as I take them to the kitchen and eagerly retrieve the card.
Roses may be red,
but violets arenotBLUE.
This isn’t just a bet to me,
Even if it is for you.
Am I winning yet?
Harris
I haven’t even begun to process what his note might mean when another knock sounds against my door.
Figuring it’s probably the delivery guy forgetting to have me sign or something, I tug the door open without looking to see who it is.
My jaw goes slack when instead of the delivery guy, I find none other than Harris Avery standing in my doorway, looking so damn delicious in his fitted white t-shirt and jeans. I nearly lose my ability to stand up straight.
