Tabatha kissed my neck while Cary slid her hand up my thigh. We were at brunch.
When Cary’s fingers grazed me, I had no choice but to either let her take it further or shove her away and tell her I was feeling . . . sick.
Tabatha kept kissing.
What the hell type of dude told two girls to stop while he was getting this kind of attention during mealtime?
“Lucas Thorn,” Cary breathed in my right ear while Tabatha kissed the other, her hands staying firmly planted at her sides while her roommate and best friend continued trying her best to get me off under the table.
A vision of Avery flashed through my mind.
Her eyes mostly.
Not even her body.
Her eyes, that was what did it. They had me jerking away from both girls like they had the plague.
“Whoa.” Cary stifled a laugh. “I didn’t pinch that hard.”
She pinched my business? Seriously? Who did that?
Tabatha’s tongue grazed my ear again.
“You know what?” I tossed down a few twenties and stood. “I have a meeting in a few.” When I turned, they were both flushed and ready, yet there I was, staring at them like a moron rather than taking them into the bathroom and allowing myself to get made into a Lucas Thorn sandwich. Damn it. Was I broken?
Tabatha shrugged. “That’s okay. We should probably get going anyways. Next week at the regular time? Cary’s working. You can come over—I’ll make your favorite homemade macaroni.”
I groaned and patted my stomach. “Sounds amazing.”
“Why do I get the feeling that sometimes you’d choose my macaroni over sex?” Her eyebrows arched up.
“Probably because you’ve never had bad macaroni, which means you don’t know how to appreciate the good kind.”
“Hmm . . .” She stood and kissed me on the cheek while Cary kissed the other and swatted my ass.
“Later, sexy,” Cary cackled, and both of them walked out, in matching uniforms, arms linked.
Shaking, I ran my hands through my hair and was about ready to have a nervous breakdown when my phone rang.
“Yeah?” I grabbed my coat and headed out of the restaurant.
“She’s a clinger.” That’s all Thatch had to say before I burst out laughing. “She asked for my phone number.”
“How else is she supposed to have another booty call with the good doctor?” I grinned like a smug bastard, enjoying his panic, and then I warned him to stay away. “You know this is your fault, right? You know that inviting a woman to your apartment usually means that she’ll start envisioning her shit all over the place—and next thing you know, she’s about to have your baby.”
“SHE’S NOT PREGNANT!” He started cursing again. “Look, you know I have commitment issues.”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Shocker.”
“Like you should talk, you selfish bastard.” Thatch sighed loudly. “Break up with her for me?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“But—”
“Nope.”
“Lucas Thorn.”
“Maybe if you had tits, and even then, that just makes shit weird, Thatch.”
I hit the elevator button and waited while Thatch started complaining about why sex can’t just be sex.
“You’re telling me.” I snorted into the phone. “Look, I gotta go. Just remember Austin and Avery are best friends, meaning, you screw her, her friend is most likely going to try to find a way to screw me. Girls go to the bathroom together. If they do the nonserious stuff in teams, you bet your ass they’re going to treat a breakup the same way.”
“That really wasn’t helpful, not at all, Lucas.”
“Or”—I shrugged and hit the button for my floor—“you could just make the sex really, really bad next time, say, finishing in like thirty seconds and screaming ‘Porcupine!’ or something.”
He was quiet, then said, “I can’t decide if that’s genius or stupid.”
“You never know until you try. Think of Christopher Columbus. Everyone thought he was stupid for sailing toward the New World, and look! He proved them wrong. The earth was in fact round, my friend.”
“Did you just compare yourself to someone who discovered an actual continent? Because it seems like you did, and this is after you told me to yell ‘Porcupine!’ when I orgasm.”
“Well, when you repeat it back like that . . .” I grumbled as the elevator doors opened to my floor. “Look, I gotta go. Leave me out of it though.”
“No promises,” he said just as I ended the conversation and greedily searched for Avery.
She wasn’t behind her desk.
Nor was she under it—I had to check because hiding and pouncing was exactly the kind of thing I could imagine her doing, just so she could scare the shit out of me and get it on camera or something. Then again, she wasn’t seventeen anymore, but this was still Avery we were talking about. Ergo, I still looked.
Frowning, I turned around in an effort to casually strut into my office and slammed right into Avery, knocking her backward onto her ass.
Folders went everywhere.
Papers scattered across the floor.
And her wedged heels somehow managed to fall from her feet, though they still dangled around her ankles.
“Are you okay?” I leaned down to grab her hand, but she didn’t take mine.
“Yeah.” Her cheeks reddened. “Sorry, I was just dropping off some files, and then I saw that these were addressed to another department and thought I could drop them off and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she flashed me a worried look, like I was going to fire her any minute.
Instantly feeling like an ass, I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air. “I’m not going to fire you.”
“Okay,” she huffed, tears welling in her eyes.
“Shit, Avery.” Earlier I’d been taking out my frustration with my family on her. Apparently, the distance and years hadn’t changed this aspect of our relationship, because this was a familiar pattern. I made her feel bad or guilty about something that wasn’t her fault—something she had no control over.
Especially the fact that I was extremely attracted to her—and knew it was wrong then, just like it was wrong now.
I jerked my hands away; they felt too comfortable around her waist. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“Yes.” She nodded and took a step back, then bent over right in front of me to grab the papers she’d dropped.
I gaped at her, and my mouth instantly went dry at the sight of her ass in the air; my fingers were inches from grabbing her waist and tugging her against me, unzipping my pants and—
Well, there it was.
Lucas Thorn? Complete asshole.
We were at work—at work!
A small, guilty voice reminded me that I’d done several girls at work before, but it was never sex, only kissing, some heavy petting, hand jobs, and occasional blow jobs—nothing that would take too long or look overly suspicious. So why the hell was I daydreaming about a girl who would be more likely to shank me in my sleep than kiss me?
And she was . . . Hell, did she need to move her ass back and forth while picking up all the folders?