The F-Word

I push back my chair and rise to my feet. “No problem. I’ll leave the pullout sofa open. The chambermaid will realize we’re not sharing the bed.”

“Yes. I thought of that. But if we do—if we do that, she’ll spread the word that we’re not actually a couple. And we’re supposed to be a couple.”

“Okay. I’ll close the sofa each morning. How’s that?”

Not good either. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me. She inhales. Exhales. Then she says, “The thing is, I’ve never—I’ve never shared a room with a man before.”

“Well, that’s no prob…” Wait. What does that mean? That she’s never shared a room with a man? Or she’s never shared a bed? She can’t be talking about sex. No way. Never having had a boyfriend doesn’t mean she’s never had sex.

The possibility flashes through me like a shot of electricity, but I simply nod my head.

“Well,” I say solemnly, “there are benefits. To sharing with a guy, I mean. For instance, you won’t have to worry about me hogging the bathroom so I can put on my makeup.”

She blinks. And gives me a tiny, barely there smile. I smile in return.

“It’ll be fine,” I tell her. “And Venal Violet—” Bailey laughs, which is even better than that quick smile. “Venal Vi will never torment you again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, and I come around the desk and clasp her shoulders. I give them a reassuring squeeze. What I want to do is nuzzle her hair aside and drop a kiss on her neck. Nothing major. Just a little kiss, but I don’t because there’s no reason for it.

Well, yeah. There is.

The reason is that I want to taste her, breathe her in. And that’s out of the question. I mean, how can I promise her that everything will be cool when we share a bedroom if I can’t keep from wanting to kiss her when we’re just standing here in my office?

So I turn the shoulder squeeze into the kind of casual thing a guy would give his sister and then I move away.

“Okay,” I say briskly. “What else do we have to do?”

“We’ll need a gift. I’ll pick up something when I go to the mall during my lunch hour.”

“Forget that. Just phone Tiffany’s and send the happy couple something big and expensive and, if we’re lucky, ostentatious.”

Bailey hesitates. “I don’t think I can really afford—”

“It’s on me. Hey, I haven’t had this much fun since the day I stole Mindy Cassini’s gym shorts and ran ’em up the school flagpole.”

This time, Bailey giggles. “You stole some girl’s gym shorts?”

“It was a long time ago,” I say, and I wonder why I’d think back to something that happened all those years before. “So. What else?”

“Nothing else.” She hesitates. “Well, there’s maybe one little thing…”

“Yes?”

“Is it all right if I take lunch little early? Or maybe skip my lunch break and leave at four instead of five?”

The only other time she asked to leave early was a couple of years ago when it turned out she’d come down with the flu. I frown and check her out. She looks fine. Or, yeah, maybe she looks a little flushed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“I am positive,” she says in a no-nonsense tone, but she’s definitely flushed.

“Listen, if you’re feeling sick—”

“I have to go shopping! Shopping, Mr. O’Malley! Must I explain everything to you?”