“Awkward? Weird? Annoying as hell?” I interjected before he could finish.
Damien lifted his shoulders in a shrug and his smile was strangely more relaxed. As though my snarkiness was something he could deal with. As opposed to the giant pile of sad I had been before.
“Exactly,” he said softly, staring at me in that way of his that at one time made me weak in the knees. He stepped closer, his hand resting on my arm meaning to be comforting. Really it just made me feel icky. Like I wanted to scrub myself clean after he touched me. Who the hell did he think he was talking and touching me like this? I was torn between self-righteous anger and total dumbfoundeness.
“Ah, so this is where the coffee is,” I jerked back as though doused in ice water. Garrett moved purposefully into the room. I blinked in surprise as he walked between Damien and me. Damien stumbled backwards. Did Garrett really just shoulder check Damien?
Damien frowned at Garrett and I knew he was irritated by the interruption. “Let’s get back to our desks, Ri,” Damien said trying to meet my eyes again.
Garrett poured his coffee into a thermos and screwed on the lid. “Actually, can I talk to you for a sec, Ri,” Garrett sneered, turning around to look at me. His expression dared me to refuse. To ignore him and walk away.
“Yeah, sure,” I said defiantly. Damien’s frown deepened as he looked between Garrett and me as though trying to decipher the mysterious vibe that was most certainly humming between us.
Garrett glanced at Damien. “This isn’t a group conversation.” I had to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t chuckle out loud. Damien’s face flushed in indignation and I maliciously enjoyed my ex’s discomfort. Without another word, Damien left, though he looked anything but happy about it.
“Rude much?” I asked testily, swallowing the enjoyment I felt at Garrett’s posturing and intimidation of Damien. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leveled him with my best you are wasting my time look. Garrett took a drink of his coffee and shoved his other hand in his jean pocket. He had a smudge of dirt across his cheek and I had to stop myself from wiping it off. Not because I wanted to touch him or anything. It was just seriously messing with my OCD.
“If I thought you actually cared about me being rude to that douche bag, I might actually apologize,” Garrett said, his mouth twitching in an effort not to smile. Well I’m glad I amused him so freaking much. That’s me, Riley Walker, three ring circus.
I started to tap my foot to indicate my impatience. Garrett took another drink. “Now who’s being rude,” he commented lazily as though he had all the time in the world to taunt me.
“Don’t you have a job to do? Because I sure as hell do,” I bit out, feeling irrationally frustrated with the whole situation.
“You’re such a prickly little pear, aren’t you?” he mused, causing me to grit my teeth. I didn’t respond, knowing that’s exactly what he wanted. And I was feeling very oppositional. Garrett put his thermos down on the table, and mirrored my stance by folding his rather muscular arms (come on, they were practically on display in his too tight wife beater) over his chest.
“So we’re playing like it didn’t happen,” he stated rather than asked. He looked at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t tell whether this is how he wanted it to be or rather it bothered him. Garrett Bellows was apparently a guy with few emotions. His expression was bland and unconcerned as though we were talking about the latest football stats as opposed to our round of naked twister.
“Like what didn’t happen?” I asked pointedly, narrowing my eyes, waiting for him to say something else to piss me off.