I peered into my bra and peeled the cotton away. Ick, some of the coffee had soaked through. I didn’t have a spare bra with me. My locker was only so big. At this rate, I’d need to store an entire new outfit in there.
Handily, my loft was close by. I could sneak out and run over to my place, then take a quick shower and scrub my cheeks until I stopped blushing like a…well, a virgin.
I tugged out my tank top and spare apron, slipped them over my head, grabbed my lanyard with my apartment keys, and slammed my locker door shut.
And turned to find Oliver standing in the doorway, arms folded over his distractible chest.
“Jesus Christmas! You’re like a goddamn cat, always sneaking around.”
So much for my New Year’s resolution to stop swearing. I never used to, but working at the diner, I’d picked up the habit. Since the first of the year, I’d been trying Seth and Ally’s swear-jar trick. They’d started the practice to cut down on swearing so their daughter Laurie didn’t overhear bad words, but I’d decided to employ it too.
Thus far, I’d had to trade in my swear jar for a swear milk carton. The plastic gallon size. And it was only approaching the end of January.
“I do not sneak. I followed you at a reasonable pace, but you were far too involved in your task to notice me.” He cocked his head. “I must say, your sense of fashion is truly unique.”
My first inclination was to make another undignified noise and wrap my arms over my chest. But the apron was thick and, all things considered, offered decent coverage. The tank, not so much. Whatever. I’d be damned if I acted flustered around him again.
I’d be darned. Whatever. I’d just count this day as one big swear and put a twenty in the dang carton.
“Do you have a purpose in being back here or did you just want to make an already shitty day worse?”
No one could say I didn’t go all in with breaking my resolutions.
An unnamed emotion flitted through his dark eyes, but his lazy, curious pose never changed. “You don’t have to tolerate this, you know.”
“She’s new, trying to prove herself. I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine once she settles in.” I wasn’t sure of that at all, but I wasn’t going to spill my guts to a guy who didn’t really care one way or the other.
“You have money from the sale of the bed-and-breakfast,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You must. Your parents wouldn’t have taken off in their Airstream and left you penniless after such a profitable sale.”
“How do you know how profitable it was?”
Dumb question. Hamilton Realty was run by Oliver, his brother Seth and their father, and they’d handled the deal. Even if they hadn’t brokered this particular one, real estate transactions that occurred in Crescent Cove were their business. They knew what would be hitting the market before the owners had made up their minds.
Now Oliver was trying to peer into mine, and I didn’t appreciate it.
“Working isn’t merely about material compensation.” I sniffed and looped my lanyard around my neck. Which required me to lift my arms, of course, and shifted the apron in a way I wouldn’t have thought much of, if not for Oliver’s sudden shift back from the door. He didn’t leave, just backed into the shadowy hallway.
I frowned. Weird. I hadn’t forgotten the deodorant today, had I? There was no way to discreetly check, but then again, I couldn’t smell anything but coffee right now. Good thing I was learning to almost like it.
“So, you expect me to believe you work here for the satisfaction? Does that include the bunions you’re trying to avoid by wearing such ugly shoes?”
This time, I did gasp. There was no avoiding it. When dealing with a frenemy, not much was off-limits. But insulting a woman’s shoes? That was beyond the pale.
“They are exceedingly comfortable. What exactly is it that you want? And why are you hiding in the hallway?”
“I’m not hiding.” His voice sounded strained as he stepped forward, moving quickly enough that he seemed to be right in front of me in two long-legged strides. “I have a meeting I’m late for, and I almost forgot to give you this.”
I was still trying to adjust to his sudden nearness—how could I smell his spicy cologne even over the coffee?—when he plucked an object out of the inside pocket of his jacket and dangled it in front of me.
“Missing something?” he asked when I didn’t move.
How could I? I’d just accidentally cut my gaze to his waist. And below. Right below. To where either his impeccably cut suit had a design flaw or else he was facing an affliction even a virgin could spot from five feet away.
He was hard. I was almost positive. Surely, even I could detect an erection despite my limited experience.
“Sage. Eyes up.” His voice was pinched. Utterly without amusement. Because it was fine if he sorta-kinda ogled my breasts, but I wasn’t allowed the same courtesy.
Not that I was ogling so much as trying to understand. Did he have one of those conditions where a swift breeze got him going?