Can't Fix Cupid

He looks away uncomfortably and gets up, moving around me to put his cup in the sink. “We should go, or we’ll be late.”

My eyebrows practically shoot to my hairline as I look from him to the sink and back again. “Oh shit, I totally have you flustered,” I say as a slow, flattered smile spreads across my face. I’m right. He does like me. He never leaves dishes in the sink. Ever.

“What are you talking about now?” he demands.

I grin. “It’s true. You have a massive crush on me.”

When I realized I had feelings for him last night, I never imagined that he would actually reciprocate them. But based on the way he’s nervously pulling on his tie and the red blush that’s creeping up his neck, I know I’m right.

He shuffles me out the front door, and I follow him to his car, where a driver is already waiting. He holds the door open, and I get in, letting my fingers run over the smooth leather seat as he slides in after me.

“Now that I know the reason, I think it’s cute that you got all huffy puffy mad at me,” I say as the car pulls out of the driveway. The back is completely private, with a fancy partition separating us from the driver.

“I don’t huff.”

I scoot closer to him, letting our thighs touch, and he tenses slightly.

“There was definitely huffing,” I say pragmatically. My eyes drop down to the front of his slacks before raising again. “Next time, you should just tell a girl that you have a big, gigantic, throbbing crush on her.”

He chokes a bit and looks over at me incredulously. I just wink at him because making Warren Knight flustered is basically the most fun I’ve ever had. “Don’t worry, I have a super big crush on you, too, Mr. Asshole Bachelor Dud.”

He skips over my nickname. “You do?” he asks suspiciously.

“Yep, I realized it last night.”

“When?”

I tap my lip in thought, noticing the way his eyes lock on my mouth. “I guess it was right around the time I saw you playing footsies with your date.”

He blinks at me, his eyebrows pulling together. “I was not playing footsies.”

“Eh. It was dark. So who really knows?”

“Me. I know. Because I wasn’t playing footsies with her.”

I cock a brow. “You got something against footsies?”

“What? No, that’s not...I

mean…” he trails off, totally befuddled. See? So much fun.

I laugh. “Oh shit, you’re so easy to rile up. I love it.”

He shoots me a look. “What am I going to do with you?” he asks, though it seems like it’s a question more for himself.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But you better figure it out quick.”

“Why?”

I let out a sigh and relax back on the seat. “Because, I’m leaving,” I admit, my expression turning sober.

He straightens his black tie against his shirt and leans back as well, his knees spread wide enough that our thighs are still touching. That innocent connection alone makes my pulse race.

“I’m only here for a little while…for work,” I explain lamely.

He runs a hand over his jaw. “I see.”

“But I wondered…” I lick my lips nervously before my eyes drop down to my lap. Shit. What am I thinking? I need to stop. I need to—