I glance at him, surprised. He’s read my work? For a second I wonder if he knows about The Playbook. No, that’s impossible. He knows I write for Over Eighties, so he must be talking about that.
“Thanks,” I reply, suddenly feeling shy. He smiles, which makes me blush and tingle all at the same time. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and don’t quite know how to handle it.
“Can I at least buy you another coffee?” he asks. “Since I’m wearing your last one and all.”
“Sure,” I say. It’s not like things can get any worse.
An hour later I trudge home, feeling deflated. As I let myself inside, I sigh. All the excitement of my new project has been overshadowed by running into Adam. Getting over my stupid little crush is going to be much harder than I thought. Seeing him today…I groan and throw myself onto the couch.
Going out for coffee with him was all sorts of wonderful, but it also highlighted how far out of my league he is. Through our whole “date” the waitress was clearly trying to hit on him—right in front of me. She probably thought I was his sister or something. Because a guy that hot couldn’t be interested in me, right?
I reach for my phone and text Mel.
Me: Kill me now. Please.
Mel: What’s up? You okay?
Me: I managed to coat Adam in coffee again today. Yeah, I’m just great.
Mel: Dude. You’re hilarious. I’m shocked you had the balls to go back there. Kudos to you.
Me: Oh I didn’t. I managed to hunt him down in the street and cover him with coffee from Lil’s.
Mel: Oh Abs. I can’t even…
Laughing, I put down the phone. I can almost hear Mel’s laughter ringing in my head.
Me: How am I going to get over him, Mel? I’m such a loser.
Mel: You just need a distraction. Leave it to me, okay? Auntie Mel will fix everything.
I groan. Those five little words scare me more than anything. I’m about to text her back, begging her not to do anything, but I stop myself. Really, what can she do that is worse than what I’ve already done myself? Who knows? Maybe she’s right.
Maybe I do need a distraction.
Chapter Seven
Jake
I roll over and look at the clock for what feels like the millionth time.
12.45 am.
Ugh. I should be sleeping, but my mind keeps going over the abomination of that press conference. Being publically setup is not my idea of a good Sunday afternoon. The thing I took from the whole debacle was that Murray is an even bigger dick than I thought.
And now I have to spend the rest of my career with a group of guys who hate me as much as I do them.
I pull the black silk sheets off my naked body and walk out into the kitchen, my throat dry. I open the fridge and get out some orange juice, drinking it straight from the carton. Some escapes my mouth and trickles down my neck onto my ches
t. The coldness feels good against my hot skin. The only thing missing is some hottie to lick it off my skin.
I wipe a layer of sweat from the back of my neck. It’s so goddamned humid, which is odd, considering it’s the middle of fucking winter. I walk over to the heater, examining the settings. Mystery solved. It’s been on full all night. Flicking it off, I open the window, hoping some fresh air will help me sleep.
I’m about to walk away when something catches my eye across the street. A couple are going at it like crazed rabbits on a bench in the deserted park opposite. I stare for a minute, amused.
I watch as she straddles him, whilst his hands fumble underneath her shirt. She’s hot, with long blonde hair and a body I wouldn’t mind exploring. She pushes him away and lifts her shirt over her head, exposing her breasts. He kisses her neck, but even from here I can tell he has no clue what he’s doing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I just saw her roll her eyes.
I would be so much better at doing her than him.