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The dry humor would normally make me laugh, but now, I’ve got a one-trackmind.
Even in my heels, I have to tilt my face up to look him in theeye.
I wonder what he’s like in bed. Whether he brings the same deliberateness to making a woman come that he does to having aconversation.
“It’s been a crazy week.” I play with the knot of his tie, looseningit.
“It’s Monday.” But he lets me do it, and his tone lowers to matchmine.
His shirt’s pressed, and though it’s not designer, it fits him well. But the clothes aren’t on myradar.
I’m hoping they’ll be on myfloor.
I smile, stretching toward his ear. “Points for the dinner. It’s classy. But I don’t think I can wait untildessert.”
I pull back enough to look in his eyes, which are working over mine with desire and a hint ofpanic.
Then I shift up on my toes and press my mouth tohis.
2
Wes
Ihate the word “crazy.”
It’simprecise.
Crazy could mean the vending machine ate your change. Or the editorial committee rejected the paper you’ve spent three years honing toperfection.
But if the woman offering me her tongue in the hallway of this Midtown tapas place is right about one thing? It’s this—it has been a crazyweek.
No. It’s been a crazyyear.
Three months ago, I dropped everything I’d worked for to move back to NewYork.
Then my fatherdied.
He was here one second and gone the next. I don’t care how much time I spent in a classroom—there was nothing in my education on how to pick up the pieces after the most important man in my life vanished from it. Especially given the way things ended betweenus.
When the woman Jake wanted me to meet crossed the restaurant he’d suggested, my first thought was,She’s pretty. Not beautiful, because that implies a kind of untouchability reserved for elves inLord of the Ringsmovies.
My second was,She’s not here forme.
But she’d come to my table, her cheeks flushed, her green eyes settling on me under thicklashes.
Her hair was straight with a hint of bend, dark near her head and white at the ends through some feat of modernchemistry.
Despite the fact that my interest in all things had been next to zero for weeks, I couldn’t resist dragging my gaze down the rest ofher.
Spending months on end in a university lab in Seattle doesn’t typically mean encountering women wearing sleeveless tops clinging to perky breasts or sky-high heels and black leather leggings that hug every slow curve. Not to mention the red lipstick that somehow resisted wearing off on her wineglass.
Yeah, lips like that weren’t usually oncampus.
Even before my dad got sick again, my short list of priorities didn’t involve women. Everything in my life for the last ten years has been directed toward one goal: getting a faculty position at a university with an excellent life sciences researchprogram.
In fact, it’s been months since I last got laid, and I didn’t care that much until about three secondsago.
I’m thinking about itnow.
