He’d tapped on the screen, zooming in on what looked like a pink filigreed invitation straight out of a Jane Austen novel. She’d expected more commentary on the menu, some funny observation or rant about the prices, because she was sure a place like that would be expensive. She knew Asa well enough by now to know that humor was one way he dealt with stress, and sometimes the higher the stakes the more he joked his way through it.
He’d turned his head so he was looking at her, and for a moment there’d been something in his eyes that almost took her breath away. It had felt like . . . but she didn’t even want to put words to it, the way you weren’t supposed to speak a birthday wish aloud.
“I’m not ready,” he’d said finally. “I know it’s the time of year when you should reunite with family . . . I tear up at the end of Home Alone when the old man picks up his granddaughter, just like anyone else. But I’m not ready to do this yet.”
“Okay,” she’d said. “Then the scones can wait.”
From that conversation, Lauren knew that Asa’s usual Christmas tradition was to hang out with John and Kiki at home, since neither of them went home for the holidays, either, for reasons Lauren didn’t pry into. Elliot seemed to be the only one who had family relatively nearby and who was still on good terms with them, so Asa said that they were usually around before or after but not on the actual day.
He hadn’t expressly invited her to join them, and even though Lauren knew she was probably welcome, she hated the idea of being the needy, friendless person who hitched onto someone else’s plans. Maybe it would be better if she disinvited herself before the topic even came up.
“I’m actually going out of town,” she said finally, grabbing a stirrer for her coffee to avoid having to make eye contact with either Sonia or Asa.
“You are?” Asa’s voice was pitched a little higher than mere interest, sounding closer to surprise, and Lauren glanced at Sonia to see if she’d noticed. The woman had set aside her romance novel, her focus completely on the conversation, and Lauren wished she could tell her she needn’t bother. The sooner she was out of this situation, the better.
“Where to?” Sonia asked.
Lauren had never been a good liar. And she didn’t particularly want to lie, so the idea of seeing this through to making up a location and a fake itinerary seemed exhausting. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. This time she couldn’t help but look over at Asa, whose gray eyes slid over her face, then down to where she was frantically stirring her black coffee, then away.
“Oh, to be young and single and free,” Sonia said with a sigh. “My in-laws have been staying with us for the past week, so I get the impulse to split town, for sure. What about you, Asa?”
“Not sure yet,” he said. “My plans keep shifting.”
This time she willed him to look at her, but he was staring down into his coffee mug like it held some kind of answer, so she muttered her excuses and headed back to her office. She wasn’t really surprised when Asa followed her, shutting the door behind him.
“People are going to think—”
“So let them,” Asa said. “What was that back there? Was that for Sonia’s benefit, or are you really planning to spend Christmas out of town?”
She shrugged, the movement stiff and unconvincing. “I might,” she said. “It’s a long weekend. Why not?”
She’d meant the question to sound casual, carefree, like December 25 was any other day and it shouldn’t matter one way or another what she did. But it came out all wrong, more like What other reason could I possibly have to stay, and she only realized how hurtful that implication was when she heard the words echoing in the silence that followed.
Lauren took a deep breath. “I only meant that I’m not really a Christmas person. You know that.”
She sat down at her desk, rummaging through a stack of papers until she pulled out the blue folder of yesterday’s Z reports. The numbers swam in front of her eyes, but she tried to look like she was studying them carefully, running her pencil down the margin. Jesus, sometimes pretending to work took more energy than actually working.
She heard the click of the lock before Asa knelt on the carpet in front of her, spinning her chair until he was between her knees.
“Lauren,” he said, grabbing the armrests so she couldn’t move the chair. “Is this the beach all over again?”
“What?” She wasn’t being purposely dense—it was legitimately difficult for her to follow the shift this conversation had taken when he was so close, when she could feel his body heat against her inner thighs.
He smiled, an almost private expression of amusement, like he was thinking back to some inside joke. “You told me you couldn’t come out because you had to clean your closet.”
“Which I did—”
“And then you drove all the way out there because Kiki wanted taco backup.” He ran his hands up her calves, his palms rasping slightly against the silky layer of her tights.
“Tacos are important.”
“Except you didn’t even stay,” he said, his hands flirting now with the hem of her skirt. She had two equally strong urges—one to clench her thighs together, the other to spread her knees farther apart—but instead she held herself so still she felt her muscles tremble with the effort.
“You’ve seen my closet,” she said, her voice coming out breathless. “You have to admit, it’s very neat.”
“You are a paragon of organization.” He pressed one thumb against the back of her knee, some pressure point she’d never been aware of before, but now she felt in her very core. “I was really disappointed that I didn’t get to see you in your green bikini.”
“How’d you even know it was a bikini?” She was only half-conscious of what she was saying, already slipping into the fuzzy edges she got when he touched her.
“I could see the lump under your tank top, where it was tied around your back.” He was still only touching her with that one thumb, but the pressure was so exquisite that she felt a tingling through her whole body, similar to when you’d sat on your limbs too long and felt them static back to full use. “And also the place where you’d tied it around your neck. I could draw you a diagram of that knot.”
“Asa . . .” she said, pushing against his shoulders, but the effort was halfhearted and they both knew it. “You have to get to work.”
“I’m early. Don’t need to clock in for another hour at least.”
“I have to get to work.”
He grinned, squeezing her knees before rising to lean against her desk. “You’re incorruptible, which I respect. Although for the record, I would still respect you if you let yourself be corrupted.”
Lauren would’ve never considered herself the type of person to have sex at work. Fooling around with Asa that night they’d been locked in had pushed every boundary, but at least then she had the plausible deniability of it being after hours. But she was surprised at how strongly she wanted to, how tempted she was, how disappointed that he didn’t push it further even though she knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Especially when she was the one preaching secrecy and discretion.
Which, a closed door to her office probably wouldn’t help with. It occurred to her that she still didn’t know how they’d gotten to talking about the beach in the first place. “What did you mean, Is this the beach all over again?”
He blinked, as if rewinding the conversation in his head. “You wanted to hang out,” he said. “But you were scared. That’s why you almost didn’t come, and why you left early.”
Scared of what? she almost asked, defensiveness a knee-jerk reaction. But she knew he was right, and it would be pointless to pretend otherwise. She’d spent so long feeling practically invisible that it still shocked her sometimes, moments like this that made her realize how well he’d seen her all along.
He hooked his foot in her desk chair, pulling her closer to him. “We would love to have you over for Christmas,” he said, looking suddenly serious. “If that’s what this is about. And I’m not just speaking for myself—John specifically asked if you were coming. If you’d truly rather spend it alone at a Holiday Inn, hey, that’s your call. Just promise me that you won’t make that kind of decision out of some notion that we don’t want you there or you don’t deserve to be there or whatever other outrageously wrong idea you might have. Okay?”