And his answer makes everything ache a little more.
Good, because I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
Enduring a two-hour brunch with the Wallers after politely explaining, again, that Nathan and I are only friends and colleagues goes well enough. One, because Nate talks enough for both of us. Two, Gwen doesn’t seem to care we’re not dating. She keeps telling us we’d make a cute couple and should “give it a go,” at which point Nate pulls me in for this weird side hug where he squishes me against him. And three, Malcolm only cares about making his wife happy, so he nods at appropriate times, eats, and shoots the shit with Nathan.
Me? I smile politely, eat my strawberry crepes—holy hell, they’re good—and count the minutes until I can leave.
Sometime during our after-brunch coffee, my phone buzzes against my right butt cheek with a text. When I escape to the bathroom to check my messages, I’m wildly delighted when I see it’s Josh.
If he touches you inappropriately, let me know, and I’ll break his hands.
I laugh. This man is making me crazy, but something about his text calms the torment that’s been brewing in my heart since I saw him earlier this week in my office.
All I got was a weird hug. No breaking of bones is necessary. Besides, I can’t represent you in a criminal case, so it’s best that you not go to jail.
Good point. I’m kidding about hurting this guy. Mostly. I just hate that you’re out with him.
I’m so sorry! It’s almost over. I’ll be home soon! Then you can help me decide if I should binge on Game of Thrones or Walking Dead.
You should let me help you with this Netflix-and-chill scenario.
A little shiver runs through me when I consider inviting him over later, but the reasons we’re not dating haven’t changed. I need to rep him without any conflicts.
You’re too tempting for your own good. I’ll text when I’m done here.
I drop my phone into the bottom of my purse so I can’t feel it buzz if he responds. Before I do something stupid, like invite him over tonight.
As our brunch finally comes to an end, Nathan and I thank Gwen for her hospitality, and much to my annoyance, he drapes his arm over my shoulders, which makes Gwen smile like we’re a done deal. Thankfully, we came in separate cars, so I break away from him as we head out, but he makes a point to walk me to my car.
When we reach my Honda, he nudges me. “That wasn’t so bad. We got to schmooze the boss’s wife, which is always good, and I had a great lunch with a beautiful date.”
“It was fun, Nathan. Sorry for any awkwardness. I don’t know how we became her pet project, but the last thing I want to do is piss her off.”
Nathan tucks his hands into his khakis and smiles.
“She’s right, though. We should give this a shot.”
I clear my throat. “You’re a great guy, Nate, but—”
“No. No.” He holds up his hands. “Not the ‘you’re a great guy’ letdown. Ouch.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Okay, you want the truth?” I wait for him to see that I’m serious, and he nods. “Had you asked me out a month ago or last year, I would’ve been all over it. But I met someone recently, and I’m still kind of hung up on him.”
“Are you still seeing this guy?”
“No, but it’s complicated.” My lips twist. “He’s a really good friend of mine, and I’m not ready to dive into another relationship. Does that make sense?” I hope it makes sense to him because it doesn’t make sense to me. I have the attorney I’ve crushed on for months asking me out, but all I want to do is curl up on my couch with Josh and watch This Old House reruns.
“Damn. That blows, Evie.” Nate runs his hands through his blond hair and sighs. “I kinda thought you had a thing for me.” He gives me a wink.
Who would’ve thought a wink could look so fucking stupid?
“Well, yes, I did have a crush on you for a while, but things change.” Do we even have anything in common outside of work? Our caseloads and clients have always dominated one hundred percent of our conversations. If we had met outside of work, would anything beyond his handsome exterior have intrigued me? Nathan’s a great attorney, but is he the kind of guy who would want to go antique shopping with me? And when we’ve been in social situations, all he does is unabashedly hunt for clients.
I force a smile as I unlock my car. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Nate. I hope we can still be friends.”
“Of course, babe.”
Ugh. Not sure when I became “babe.” Or when he started to annoy the hell out of me. I give him a quick hug, the kind you give strangers at church, and dive into my car before he can pull me closer.
When I get home, I kick off my boots, down a huge glass of wine, and flop on my bed. Who knew brunch could be so exhausting? I’m ready to drown in the rest of my Two Buck Chuck when my purse starts vibrating on the floor.
Everything seems better when I see Josh’s name on my caller ID.
“Stop stalking me,” I joke when I answer.
“I’m going to reserve the inquisition about your date for later. I actually have a bit of a problem.”
“What’s up?”
He chuckles. “Funny you put it that way.” I hear him reposition the phone, and then he sighs. “While you were out, I needed something to occupy my time before I stormed the Wallers’ compound and dragged you out.”
I laugh and stretch out on my bed. “So what kind of trouble did you get yourself into?”
He’s quiet. “This, uh, this is a little embarrassing.”
“The king of the dick pic is embarrassed? What’s going on, sugar plum?” He mumbles under his breath, and I can’t understand a word he just said. “What?”
“I’m having trouble with my Clone-A-Cock.”
I laugh—I can’t help it. “I don’t think any man has ever said that to me before.”
“We’re both Clone-A-Cock virgins here, I suppose. Let’s just say the directions make this seem really simple, but it’s not. The company sent me five kits, and I’ve already fucked up two. I’m sitting here in my bathroom, half naked, covered in this molding compound, and I don’t think I’ve done this right.”
“So you’re having a Clone-A-Cock emergency?” I snort.
“This is not typically something I would call my attorney for, but the only other person who knows what I’m doing is Drew, and I’d rather have my balls sawed off than ask him to come over and help me.” His laugh turns into a groan. “I think I just need another pair of hands.”
A stretch of silence fills the line. “Are, uh, you saying you need a fluffer?”
“No, God, no. Fuck. I, um, I was thinking I need someone to mix the compound while I prep the goods. You only have two minutes to mix, pour and… insert.”
I choke back a laugh that turns into a hiccup. “A dire situation indeed.” I lean over my bed and slip my boots back on. “Text me your address. I’ll be over in ten.”
My glass of wine gives me the bravado to think I can do this, be friends with him. Like when he took me to find my sink.