“Would you rather me tell him I’m me and have him coming back to shoot the shit?”
“No,” she says quickly.
I ignore the idea that maybe she might be inclined to chat with the good doctor and press on. “Me either.”
She laughs. “Why is that, Landry?”
“I think he’s an asshole.”
“He is not!” she exclaims. “He’s here for training from Phoenix. He leaves next week.”
It’s obvious I just relaxed, but whatever. “Good.”
“Lincoln Landry, are you a little jealous?”
“Of that? Please,” I scoff.
Her head shakes, a chuckle escaping much to her chagrin. Instead of answering me, she fishes through a drawer and pulls out a file. A piece of paper is slipped across the desk with a bright red circle scrawled in the middle and an X denoted on the bottom.
She holds my gaze and doesn’t say a word for a long time. The air between us crackles, and at the same time, I remove my hat and she tugs at the collar of her shirt. We both notice, but don’t bring it up, and instead, exchange a knowing grin.
“Can you just fill this out?” she asks breathlessly.
“Sure.” I give it a quick review before reaching across her desk and picking up a pen right by her arm. My forearm skims the inside of her wrist. Her gasp at the contact ripples through the room and heads straight for my cock.
I don’t look at her. I don’t want to embarrass her. I also don’t want to let her know how badly I want her, and if I look at her right now, she’ll know. It’s written all over my damn face.
And the crotch of my shorts. In an attempt to adjust the package, I reach inside the pocket and try to discreetly get comfortable. As I pull my hand out, I grab my wallet and sit it on her desk like it was the intent of my movement. With a still-raging hard-on, I fill out the circled information, sign the document and scoot it back to her again.
“Landry” she breathes, just as her desk phone rings. Her lips are pressed together, obviously torn about what to say next.
“Take it,” I say, smirking. “I was just leaving anyway.”
“I . . .” she says as I turn my back and head out, leaving her hanging.
Let’s see what you do at the plate, Dani.
Danielle
TURNING THE CORNER AND IGNORING a passing car with a driver laying on the horn, I make my way down the cobbled sidewalk and into the Smitten Kitten. Pepper looks up as the chimes alert her of my arrival.
“I HOPE YOU want soup,” she says, sitting a paper bag on the counter. “I had this dream last night about clam chowder. Weird, I know, but I woke up and had to try it, and it is delish. I can’t even lie.”
Plopping my bag on the floor in front of the counter, I fork over my credit card. “I bet it is.”
“No, this one is it, Danielle. The flavors married so well. I hope you love it.”
“I’ve never met a Pepper soup I didn’t like.”
She runs my card through the machine then zooms off to refill a customer’s coffee cup. Sorting through my bag, I find my wallet . . . right next to Lincoln Landry’s. My hand stills over them side-by-side beneath my car keys.
His luxe brown leather lies next to my pink and yellow floral print. They touch barely on one corner and I can’t help but think of all the metaphors that could be made out of that.
I slide my card into mine, feeling the buttery texture of Lincoln’s as I do. It’s smooth against my skin, the rich material oozing opulence. It’s the best leather. My father had one similar.
“See you tomorrow,” I tell Pepper as I pull the front door open, my mind still on the baseball player.
I tried to run him down as soon as I saw his wallet perched discreetly behind a picture frame on my desk, but he was gone. Considerations were made about leaving it with security, but all it would take would be for someone to realize exactly who it belongs to and who knows what would happen. I also couldn’t leave it in my desk for fear of it getting stolen. So into my purse it went. Now it feels both like a responsibility and an opportunity as I lug it through the parking lot and into the backseat of my car.