Straight Up Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 2)

I stare at him dumbly. Sit? Does that mean we’re going to do this? As I was spitting margarita all over him, I assumed we’d have a little laugh and part ways. Because he’s my boss.

He waves to my chair and pulls out his own, dragging it over a bit so it’s positioned closer to mine before he sits.

I stiffen at his proximity. The music is loud in here, and this will make it easier for us to have a conversation, but he’s just a little too close to my personal bubble.

Don’t be ridiculous, Ava. Ellie’s always telling me that my bubble is bigger than most. I just need to relax.

“Ava, Ava.” He grins at me. “What are the chances?”

I exhale heavily. Given the size of Jackson Harbor, I suppose I was likely to know anyone I was set up with. Regardless, Straight Up Casual is going to get an earful from me about this. Somewhere on their form they should include your job so people don’t find themselves “matched” with their employer. And on the same note, is Mr. Mooney truly the best match they could find for me? This does not inspire confidence.

“So you’re in the dating scene too, huh?” I ask, desperate to diffuse the DEFCON-one levels of awkward I’m feeling. I reach for my margarita. The moment my fingers touch the glass, I make myself release it. I’m already feeling a little fuzzy around the edges, and if I’m officially on an accidental date with my boss, I think I’d like to keep the fuzzy edges in check.

Color rises in his cheeks, and he clears his throat. “I’m only here because my sister . . .”

I nod. “In my case, it was my best friend. A birthday present, believe it or not.”

He laughs softly. “Well, happy birthday. I hope she gets you something better next year.”

It occurs to me that maybe I’ve always been too hard on him. After all, I usually see him at work, where he’s operating under a lot of pressure, but tonight, his rough edges seem softer, his demeanor warmer—despite the fact that I just sprayed him with tequila and sweet-and-sour mix.

“Good for you,” I say. “I imagine your job has to be pretty stressful right now.” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and wish I hadn’t brought it up.

“With the layoffs?”

I nod. “Yeah. Everyone’s worried, but I’m sure it’s stressful for you too.”

“Are you?” he asks. His gaze dips down to my cleavage. Why did I let Ellie talk me into this dress? “Worried about the layoffs, I mean?”

I shrug. “I’m trying to prepare for anything, but obviously it’s hard not to worry a little when the future is uncertain.”

“May I tell you something in confidence?” His gaze dips again, this time lingering.

Okay, his eyes on my tits are making me feel super slimy. “Of course.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You’ve been there longer than anyone else in your department.”

“Seriously?” I let out a long breath, and relief washes like a cool shower over me. “That’s good to hear.”

“We’ve gotta look out for each other, right?” He thumbs the condensation off his glass. “Two single people just trying to get by.”

There’s that vague sense of sliminess again. “Um, right.” I force a smile, lecturing myself to be kind to him. What can a smile hurt?

He scoots his chair a couple of inches closer to mine and leans in. I rest my gaze on my margarita. Looking at him when he’s this close makes this feel like the date it was supposed to be. “I can’t say I was disappointed when I realized you were my date,” he says.

I snap my gaze to his just as he puts his hand on my knee.

Holy fucking shit. Mr. Mooney is touching my bare knee. Alarm bells go off in my head. “Mr. Mooney?”

He squeezes lightly. “Call me Mark. This is a date, right?” He winks at me, and his hand inches a little higher.

I shift in my seat, trying to pull away from his touch in the most casual way possible. I don’t want to make a scene or make him uncomfortable, but his hand on my leg is definitely not okay with me.

He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he shifts too, following me, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of my skirt. “What do you say we get out of here? Get what we both came for?”

I shake my head. “No thanks,” I whisper. I hate how weak I sound. I’m not the kind of girl who’s afraid to shut a guy down when he’s making unwanted advances, but this is my boss. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.” I shoot up from my chair, and it squeaks as it flies back behind me and clatters to its side. “I think I should go.”

He stands too, and color blooms in his cheeks. “Please, wait.”