Her brows furrow. She’s assessing me, trying to read what I mean. I know better than to turn her away from the subject matter. This is really about Bram, not me.
We talk a bit more about the next steps needed in the development, my rugby career, and some things about Scotland. To her credit, she manages to keep the questions at a shallow level, even though after a while I want to flip the tables on her and start asking her questions. Not to even the score—just because I’m getting curious. I hate to admit it, but I want to know more about her—this crazy, flirtatious, ballsy, ambitious, yet sensitive girl. From the things I’ve heard from Bram compared to the things I’ve seen, I’m starting to think she’s a bit misunderstood too.
But I don’t ask her. Because that’s not why I’m here and that’s not why she’s here, no matter how I catch her glancing at me from time to time. Funny how it annoys me when Justine casts a sly glance, but when Kayla does it…it’s flattering.
That’s just my ego talking though. Sometimes it can be as big as the moon. Other days it’s not much more than a seed.
When we’re all done, I get up from my chair and say, “That went well. I hope you got everything you need.”
She stares at me for a moment, then says, “Oh,” and gets to her feet and starts shoving her stuff in her purse. “Yes, thank you. That should be it. I think I already have the angle and everything.”
“Good,” I say, feeling strangely awkward. “If you need anything else, just ask.” I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much in a long time, and even though saying goodbye should be simple, somehow it’s not coming across that way.
I watch as she slides her shoes on her feet. I suppress a grin from the sight of her in my baggy workout clothes and leopard print heels.
She looks up and catches my eye, flashing me a playful smile. “Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend.”
“You can pull it off,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest.
Her eyes rest briefly on my forearms, then she looks away, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading for the door.
“Oh, wait,” I tell her. I go into the kitchen and pull out a plastic bag, then take her wet jeans, shirt, and a tiny pair of pink underwear that were drying near the sink and shove them inside. I walk over to her and hand her the bag. “Don’t forget your clothes.”
She tugs at the t-shirt she’s wearing. “And what about your clothes? Will I see you before you leave?”
I shrug. “Maybe. If you don’t, keep them.”
She frowns for a moment, then raises her chin. “I’m sure I’ll get them to Bram soon. Well…thanks again for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Thanks for being a good sport.”
“Ha,” she says, opening the door. “I have a feeling I’ll be cursing you tomorrow when I can’t feel my calves.”
She wiggles her fingers at me and leaves. I stand there for a moment, watching her sashay off, her perky little arse eclipsed by my shorts.
I go back into my flat and close the door. I lean back against it, close my eyes, and exhale. I can still see her walking away in my mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kayla
I’m such an idiot.
Seriously. I really thought that if I conveniently forgot my wet clothes behind at his place, it would give me an excuse to go back and get them. But fuck, this dude is not like the others. It’s like flirting with a block of ice. And yeah, I could see it slowly melting over time—I mean, I’m still convinced he had an erection when he was pinning me to the ground—but Lachlan doesn’t have much time here. Which means I don’t have a lot of time to try.