It didn’t make any sense. She didn’t even know Garrett. He’d made that painfully clear with his comment about why he was late. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
After towel drying her hair, Jessa dressed in her favorite worn-out T-shirt and shorts. Her suite had a bar — and not of the mini variety — but she chose a bottle of water from the refrigerator instead. She grabbed her laptop and settled on the couch to go over the day’s results. If she was going to keep thinking about Garrett, it was best she keep it professional. She’d met her quota of cold showers for the day.
She’d finished going over the numbers when a soft knock sounded on her door. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was almost eight o’clock.
Her face heated when she glanced through the peephole to see Garrett — a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack dangling from the other. She took a step back. What the …?
Of course she’d have to see him eventually, but the memory of her shower and the wicked things she’d imagined were still fresh in her mind. And now he was here. In the flesh.
He knocked again.
She laid her forehead against the door and took a few steadying breaths. She could do this. He was her job, nothing more. She smoothed her hands over her hair and opened the door.
“You had dinner?” His lazy grin was infectious.
She shook her head. How could she turn him down when he looked at her like that? “I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten.” She stepped out of the way and motioned him in. He went straight for the bar and tossed the pizza on the counter.
“Nice suite. It got plates?” He pulled open door after door, searching the cabinets.
“Have a seat.” She came around and nudged him out of the way, relieved at the lack of awkwardness between them. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Thought maybe we should start over. You know, get to know each other better.”
“You think we’re going to bond over pepperoni?”
“You know what they say. Nothing brings people together like a little Italian meat.” He wagged his eyebrows.
“If you’re about to say you’re Italian, get out.” She crooked a thumb at the door, but relaxed at his teasing.
“Not me, I’m just a small-town farm boy from Mississippi.” He winked at her. “And I’m not little.” He waggled his fingers at her. “See? Large hands,” he teased.
Sweet Jesus, her imagination was active enough. Comments like that didn’t help. “Right.” She laughed and pulled two plates from the cabinet. She set one in front of him along with one of the beers he’d brought. She put the other cans in the fridge and took another bottle of water for herself.
He eyed her curiously. “You don’t drink?” He helped himself to the pizza, tossing half the pie on his plate before he moved to the sofa.
She took two pieces and joined him. She settled in the corner, cross-legged with her plate resting on her lap. “Not really. I never got the point.”
“You’re what? Twenty-two?”
She rolled her eyes, darting her foot out to push at his leg. “Twenty-four. Same age as you.”
“Right. Twenty-four.” His gaze narrowed. “You a goodie-two-shoes or something?”
Jessa straightened her spine. She leaned over and wrapped her hand around his beer can. Keeping her gaze on his, she put the can to her lips and drank. The vile liquid made her shudder, but she didn’t stop until the can was empty. She wrinkled her nose at him. “I didn’t say I didn’t drink. I said I don’t see the point.”
Garrett put a hand over his heart. “I think I’m in love.”
She tossed the can at him — which he caught with a laugh — and she rose to get him another.
“Come on, you’ve never let loose? Let your hair down? Shook your moneymaker?” He made an obscene movement that made her jealous of the couch.
“If you mean do I go out and get drunk off my ass and act like an idiot … then the answer is no. I prefer to keep a low profile, you know, for my dad.”