“Yup. I think you should let him take you out. He remembers you,” she smiles softly. “I think y’all met before you went to Columbia.”
My first inclination is to say no. But when I look at Cam’s hopeful face and Joy’s raised brow, asking me without asking me what I’m going to do about Graham, I realize I might be able to kill a couple of birds with one stone.
“Give him my number,” I say, getting back into Warrior position. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Graham
THE GREEN FLAGS COME OFF the file easily. Wadding them up, I throw them in the trash.
“Well done, Ms. Sims,” I say out loud. The first error was intentional. I was just curious how well she paid attention to detail. Apparently, she’s careful because the second two she found weren’t on purpose and that’s a problem in and of itself.
“Graham?” Mallory’s voice rings through the intercom. It’s sweet, professional as always. Anyone overhearing it wouldn’t think twice, but I do. I hear the little tease, the slight taunt that lies just beneath the surface.
Besides her keeping me in a state of constant distraction, I hate to admit Lincoln was right: It is nice having her around.
“Yes?” I respond.
She smacks her lips together, the sound going straight to my cock.
This is what I’ve been waiting on all day, the moment when she brings up what almost happened yesterday. Despite thinking about it all night and all morning, replaying the things I wish would’ve happened, I’m still not sure how I’m going to deal with it.
I want her. Of course I fucking do. I’ve admitted that to myself. Intelligence, round ass, sharp tongue—what’s left to be desired? But that’s just the thing . . . it’s all desire. It simply won’t work. Besides, desire uncontained can really fucking burn.
The women I fuck aren’t involved in my life in any way. They’re acquaintances, women that know our time together is just that—a few hours here and there. It offers me freedom to work without the trappings of a relationship. It gives me autonomy to do what needs to be done. It’s clean, organized, practical. Mallory Sims is none of those things.
So what happens if that box is opened? I already know she doesn’t fit inside a mold. I can’t just put this girl back in a box and I’m not sure where that would leave me. Her. Us.
I sit at my desk and stare at the phone, waiting to see exactly what she has to say. She’s been very coy all morning. Polite. Detailed. Hot as hell. But she hasn’t crossed a line or asked me about yesterday. Until now.
“Graham?” she asks again.
“I’m sorry. I’m here. What can I do for you?”
“Your mother is on line one.”
Chuckling, I place my hand on the receiver. “Not what I thought you were going to say.”
“Hmmm . . .” she says. “What did you think I was going to say?”
The silence is filled with a heaviness that’s undeniable.
“I can tell her you’re busy.”
“But I’m never too busy for my mother,” I grin. “Send her through.” I wait, relieved, to hear her voice.
“Good afternoon, Graham,” she says sweetly in the phone.
“Hi, Mother.”
“I suppose you heard the news. Lincoln and Danielle are getting married at the Farm.”
“I did. Barrett told me.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Linc didn’t say anything to you at all? That’s odd.”
“He did,” I grumble, turning away from my computer so I’m not tempted to check my email. “Barrett just spoiled the news.”
“Are you helping get things together?”