The Hating Game - Page 19
I wink. “Don’t want it kissing off, now do I?”
“Who is this date with, exactly? What’s his name?”
“A guy. You’re changing the subject, but that’s okay. Sorry for boring you.” I sit down and click the mouse until my computer whirs to life.
“No, no,” Joshua says faintly, like he is completely out of air. “I’m not bored.”
“Okay, so I’m in the garden, and it’s . . . all reflective. Like it’s covered in mirrors.”
He nods, elbow sliding forward on the desk, chin in hand. He is inching his chair back.
“And I . . .” I pause, and glance at him. “Never mind.”
“What?” He barks it so loud I bounce an inch out of my seat.
“I say, Who are you? Why do you want me so badly? And when he tells me his name, I was so shocked . . .”
Joshua dangles from the end of my fishing line, a glossy fish, flipping and irrevocably hooked. I can feel the expanse of air between us vibrating with tension.
“Come over here, I need to whisper it,” I murmur, glancing left and right although we both know there’s nobody for miles.
Joshua shakes his head reflexively and I look at his lap. He’s not the only one who can stare underneath the desk.
“Oh,” I say to be a smartass, but to my astonishment color begins to burn on Joshua’s cheekbones. Joshua Templeman is turned on in my presence. Why does it make me want to tease him even more?
“I’ll come over and tell you.” I lock my computer screen.
“I’m fine.”
“I have to share it.” I walk over slowly and put my hands on the edge of his desk. He looks at my fishnet legs with such a tormented expression I almost feel sorry for him.
“This is unprofessional.” He glances at the ceiling for inspiration before finding it. “HR.”
“Is that our safe word? Okay.” In this fluorescent lighting he looks irritatingly healthy and gold, his skin even and unblemished. But there’s a faint sheen on his face.
“You’re a little sweaty.” I take the Post-its from his desk and plant a big, slow kiss on top. I peel it off and stick it in the middle of his computer screen.
“I hope you’re not coming down with something.” I walk away toward the kitchen. I hear the wheels on his chair make a faint wheeze.
LIVE A LITTLE.
Danny’s cubicle is stripped down and a little chaotic. Packing boxes and stacks of paper and files are everywhere.
“Hi!”
He jolts and makes a jagged gray smudge on the author photograph he was Photoshopping. Real smooth, Lucy.
“Sorry. I should wear a bell.”
“No, it’s okay. Hi.” He hits Undo, Save, and then swivels, his eyes sliding up and down me as fast as lightning, before getting snagged on the hemline of my dress for an extra few seconds.
“Hi. I was wondering if you’d come up with any inventions for us to get started on?”
I can’t believe how forward I’m being, but I’m in a desperate situation. My pride is at stake here. I need someone sitting next to me tonight on a barstool or Joshua will laugh his ass off.
A sm
ile spreads across his face. “I’ve got a half-finished time machine I could get you to take a look at.”
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