Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

He notices.

“Fine.” His voice is gruff. “Eight tomorrow.”

Ten minutes later, we’re both sprawled on the couch. I’ve lucked out, and there’s no sports that he cares about on TV, so he’s settled on some suspense-thriller movie neither of us have seen.

His legs are outstretched in front of him on the coffee table. Mine are stretched across his lap so I can lie on my side while watching the movie.

It’s just like always. Nothing feels different; nothing feels weird.

Except one thing is a little different.

I find that I can’t wait until eight o’clock tomorrow night.

Chapter 10

Ben

I like my job. I really like my job. And I seem to be pretty good at it, because rumor has it that I’m up for a promotion.

But today?

Today I can’t concentrate for shit.

And I’ve become a clock-watcher. As in, I’ve become one of those sad day jobbers who look at the clock constantly, only to realize in outrage that just five minutes have p

assed since the last time they looked.

Except most people are anxiously awaiting five o’clock. The hour when they can jet to happy hour or yoga, or just get the hell out of Dodge.

Five o’clock means nothing to me. I need it to be eight o’clock.

The time when I’m going to see Parker Blanton naked.

The thought should fill me with dread, or at least panic. She’s my best friend. It should be…wrong.

But after that kiss, I’m pretty sure the only thing wrong is that we haven’t thought of this before.

No-strings-attached sex with the hottest girl I know, who I won’t be dying to get rid of after?

Hell. Yes.

I try to turn my attention back to my computer. I’m a product manager on the e-commerce team, one of a half dozen assigned to the men’s golf section.

I fucking love it. I know it’s not cool to get all geeked out on a day job, and I certainly never expected to, but it comes pretty easy considering I didn’t know much about websites before I started here, and knew even less about golf.

My days are made up of brainstorming enhancements for the section, writing the requirements documents for those enhancements, then testing them, et cetera.

There’s something very satisfying about managing the entire life cycle of something, and it’s hard not to pat myself on the back for trusting my gut and not going to law school.

Even if it did put me at odds with the old ’rents.

“Wanna grab a burrito?”

Jason Styles has his palms resting on the ledge of my cube wall, chin resting on the backs of his hands as he gives me a pleading, hungry look.

I glance at the clock. “It’s 11:07. I’ve barely finished breakfast.”

“Exactly,” he says. “We can beat the lunch rush.”