Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

“Even the gym.”

I pounce. “Okay, seriously, where? I mean…there’s nowhere private. Is there? I guess there’s the bathroom, but nobody would ever—”

I break off as I see his wince that he tries to hide and fails.

“No!” I say, scandalized. “You do it in the bathroom?”

“Trust me, it’s not as weird or unusual as you think.”

“But—”

He shook his head. “No way. We’ll talk about it later. Go to work. I’ll tell you about the ins and outs of gym sex later. If you’re good, I can even explain how to do it in the shower.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter, opening the car door. “I bet you have athlete’s foot and don’t even know it.”

He motions impatiently for me to shut the door, and I do, turning toward the front door of my building. I dig out my security badge as he drives away.

Minutes later, I’m settling into my cube, my mind pulled in two directions, although, unfortunately, neither is the presentation that I have to give in forty minutes.

Instead, I’m torn between contemplating the logistics of sex in the gym and wanting to wallow in the fact that I’m in my second day of singledom, and not of my own doing.

A tall, thin blonde appears at the entrance of my cube and holds out a paper cup. “Coffee. My treat.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I say, gratefully accepting the cup of completely mediocre coffee that’s free to all employees. I hold out a hand, and she drops two creamers and a sugar packet into my palm.

“You’re good people, Bowman,” I say, adding the creamer and sugar to the cute polka-dot Kate Spade mug Lance got me when I first landed this job. For a second, I debate throwing the mug in the trash, but even getting dumped isn’t a good enough reason to defile Kate Spade.

I pour the coffee on top of the creamer before finally turning to face my friend, who’s flipping through something on her phone, too used to my morning coffee routine to bother watching it.

Lori Bowman is my best work friend, but not in the We’re only friends because we work together kind of way. The girl is legit. Snarky as hell, but also the first person to give you a hug when you realize after you’ve come out of a meeting with your boss’s boss that you have major pit stains.

“Huh. I just now realized I have a lot of armpit problems,” I say to her, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Huh?” she says, glancing up.

I point to my shirt. “Deodorant.”

“You should get the invisible kind.”

“I did get the invisible kind. Although it apparently doesn’t work because remember last week when I had big old wet spots under my arms like a homeless person?”

“Maybe you just forgot to put deodorant on that day,” she said.

I point at her. “See? That’s what I mean. My deodorant is either on my shirt, not working, or, apparently, not even applied at all. Armpit problems.”

Lori watches me, taking a sip of her own coffee, which she’s drinking from the provided paper cup because she’s not a weirdo about having it in her own mug like me.

“Help me out here, Parks, because it’s Monday morning, and I had a Sunday Fun-Day yesterday with too many mimosas, and I’m having a hard time following…. When you say armpit problems, are you really talking about armpits? Or is it a code word for something else?”

Just like that, I deflate. “Lance and I broke up.”

Her eyes bug out. “No. You guy

s were like…or you used to be like…no.”

“Yup.”

“Sweetie.” She makes a pained sound and reaches out to stroke my head like I’m a dog, but it’s actually kind of nice. No wonder dogs like it.