“I’m a hashtag,” she said in a monotone voice.
“Cheer up.” Max grinned. “It could be worse.”
I opened my mouth, but Jordan smacked me in the chest. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
The elevator hit the bottom floor. Max waved. “Toodles. Have fun at work today, kids. Try to play nice. Oh.” He snapped his fingers and turned. “Also, Jordan you may have flashed some boob in that video, but don’t worry, I highly doubt anyone will notice.”
Jordan lunged.
I jerked her back by her purse.
“Let me at him,” she seethed.
“That’s what he wants . . . you to chase him so he can record it and put it on YouTube with the hashtag #hairchasesmandownstreet.”
Jordan touched her hair. “Hey, it’s in a bun today.”
“Putting your hair in a bun is like wearing tight pants on Thanksgiving. Eventually the stuffing’s gonna pop right on out.”
“Wow, should have saved that romance for the video.”
“Unfair! You’re just pissed because I was right and because you did arch, you little archer!”
“I was sitting at a weird angle!”
“So you arched ten times beneath my touch? Because of the angle of your ass?”
Jordan’s eyes went crazy as a stray hair spiked up out of her bun. “I’m so glad I didn’t have sex with you last night, because I’d so be regretting it this morning.”
My body tensed while both my heads screamed, “Abort, abort!” Arguing with her meant no sex, no naked time, no Jordan, but words just kept pouring out of my mouth. It was an out-of-body experience. Like watching myself dig the hole I was going to be buried in. I wanted to stop, but jump I did. “Honey, the only thing you’d be regretting is that I wouldn’t be giving you a repeat performance!”
“Like you could even perform without injuring yourself!”
The dirt piled over my head, I could barely see the sky, yet I continued digging the hole because my manhood was at stake even though I wanted her—desperately. She attacked my sexual prowess—nobody does that to an Emory, least of all me. “You’re just mad because you didn’t get an orgasm!”
Yeah, may have said that a bit loud.
At least ten phones were thrust in our direction, smiles on people’s faces. Great, glad I made their Saturday morning!
Jordan swallowed, then looked shyly around while I cursed and searched for my sunglasses.
“Ten bucks orgasm’s the new hashtag by noon,” Jordan said under her breath, grabbing me by the arm and jerking me into the outside air.
“Twenty.” I coughed uncomfortably and looked up and down the street, anywhere but directly at her face.
“Reid.” Jordan snapped her fingers in front of me, like you would do to a dog when you were trying to teach it a new trick. I’d be insulted if I wasn’t still so sexually frustrated that my eyes lingered a bit too long on the hot dog stand. It was like a gentle reminder that my hot dog should be doing no standing, none at all. “We’re adults. We can get through this. I only have a few more things scheduled for us over the next few days and then I think we’ll be past the worst of it. This little . . . thing will be done.”
For some reason that made that stupid heartburn come back full force. I cleared my throat and clenched my jaw. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“So, maybe you should actually find an apartment, since there will no longer be any need for us to be working such crazy hours together.” What the hell was I saying? If she moved out, what would happen? I’d no longer be able to hear her toss and turn at night, or face her in the morning and share a pot of coffee. I froze. Wait. What the hell. Was I in a relationship? My body started to shake a bit. Would I miss her? Was that the issue?
Her face fell as she chewed the lipstick off her lower lip. Swear, it was physically impossible for the woman to keep anything on that pout of hers, not that I minded. Damn it, and now I was staring at her lips. “I’m working on it.”
“Work harder,” I said hoarsely, just needing her to get the hell away from me so I could think without her perfume making me want to take her into my arms and kiss the crap out of her.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re an ass.”
“Not what you said last night.”
“I was inebriated!”
“You were naked!” My voice raised. So. Naked.
Ass, hips, breasts. Damn those breasts.
Another phone in the air.
“We really need to get this under control,” Jordan muttered as more people took pictures of us. “Look, you have an interview this evening for Sirius radio. I’ll text you the address. Don’t show up drunk, and make sure your shirt’s tucked in.”
“Oh, good, I’ll do that. Just make sure you don’t have any stains on your breasts so I don’t get distracted.”
“I’ll be sure to eat with a napkin tucked into my shirt.” She grinned wide.
“You know, they do hand out those bibs with little crabs on them over at the Crab Shack. Meet me there for dinner,” I blurted.
She fidgeted with the strap of her purse, her eyes downcast as if the idea of dinner made her uncomfortable. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, rocking back on my heels, “we both need to eat.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows scrunched together while her shoulders noticeably slumped.