Pause (Larsen Bros)

Yep. Lots to think about. Plenty to do.

And the thing with a sternum tattoo is that you’re not just going to see bare breasts, but there’s a very strong chance you’ll be touching them too. I mean, you’d have to. Lift them up. Hold them out of the way. Maneuver them here and there. Things like that. With gloves on, but still. The fact remains that my special sexual someone is perhaps right now handling another woman’s breasts. I must have feelings about this. Lots of feelings. My mind, however, is a mess. I’m having issues sorting out exactly what those feelings might be.

Stupid thing is, I didn’t have the presence of mind to ask if we were exclusive. I mean, I think we are. Probably. I’d be highly impressed with his organizational skills if he did manage to find time to see another woman given all of the time we spend together. All right, so I wouldn’t be impressed, I’d be pissed. Are we together? I wouldn’t say that exactly. Together kind of entails a commitment of some description. Are we dating then? Sort of? No, we’re not. Because that would entail going out on dates and we’re not doing that. We just added sex to our regular hanging-out activities. And hey, I’m not complaining. The sex is amazing. Best I’ve ever had. Guess I just have questions. Like what are the rules in this situation?

But it’s his job. It’s just his job.

He did not ask for that woman to take her top off. And if he walks out of the back office and I’m immediately all up in his face with my insecurities it won’t be good. I need to be cool about this. Bring it up all casual like later when we’re at home. Just sort of have a chat about things. Again.

God knows how long I’ve been staring off at nothing contemplating Leif’s hands on another woman’s body, but Courtney comes out of the back room, still tugging on her loose top. I jump to my feet for some reason. Not on edge at all.

“Time for a cigarette,” she says.

I fake smile again because customer service matters. Also, my boobs are a bit smaller than hers and about five years older. That’s five extra years of dealing with gravity and underwire, thank you very much. Oh well. There’s nothing I can do about them right here and now. Not that I would if I could. Heck. I’m driving myself insane.

Behind her comes Leif, looking no different regardless of where his hands have been. Jeans, sneakers, and a tee featuring Godzilla. He’d suggested this morning that it was a subtle reference to his monster-size dick. Bless him. He keeps right on walking until he’s backed me against the counter.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

Our faces are close and our bodies even closer.

“I guess we’re not playing it cool at work?” I ask. Another thing we forgot to talk about.

“Eh. Whatever.” He gives his brother a disinterested glance over his shoulder. “Unless you want me to play it cool at work? You’re not worried about idiot over there, are you?”

Ed calmly raises his middle finger and keeps setting up for his next client.

“You mean my boss?” I ask.

“Yeah. Him.”

“I guess not,” I say. “I mean, he seems okay with us.”

“Of course he is.”

“Though this does seem a little beyond roommates with benefits.”

He scratches at his stubble. “You think?”

“What I think is that we should talk later.”

Leif blinks. “You want to talk?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He shifts even closer. “I don’t have a lunch break today, so can it wait until we go home?”

“Yes.”

“So we’ll go home, talk about whatever you want to talk about, and then I’ll dance for you.”

My brows rise. “You’re going to dance for me?”

“Yes, I am.”

Ed snorts. He tries to turn it into a cough, but it’s not very believable.

“Did you study dance when you were at school or something?” I ask, curious. Honestly, nothing would surprise me when it comes to Leif.

But it’s Ed that answers, “He was on the cheer team for like three weeks because he thought it’d get him in with the hot girls. But all that happened was he pulled a hamstring showing off trying to do a backflip.”

I bite back a smile.

“I wasn’t trying to do a backflip,” says Leif. “I was executing one perfectly. Right up until the hamstring went ping. My dream career cut tragically short.”

“That’s so sad.” Still trying not to smile. “I feel bad for you.”

“Thanks.” He inspects my forehead. “Anna, you’re ‘I’m worried’ line is on display.”

“My ‘I’m worried’ line?”

He tips his chin. “When you’re overthinking something with all your heart and soul, you get a little line between your eyebrows. It’s how I know to tread carefully.”

“I’m really not mysterious.”

“You’re really not,” he agrees. “But I like you anyway. Can you give me a hint what’s going on?”