Determined not to retreat, Taylor turned toward the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of filtered water. When she turned back around, Nick was still standing there, watching her.
She gave him a derisive once-over before reaching up to get a glass from the cabinet. “Don’t you want to change out of the penguin suit?”
When she looked around she saw he was moving slowly toward her, and Taylor was more than a little pissed off to realize that her heartbeat had picked up a little.
The memory of him grabbing her face the other night popped unbidden into her mind, as it had a hundred times since it happened.
It hadn’t been the first time Nick Ballantine had touched her.
It was just the first time he’d touched her when neither of them was seeing someone else.
The distinction was…crucial.
And terrifying.
Somehow she’d managed to mostly forget about that time she’d asked him out. And the time he’d asked her out.
She’d let herself believe that their bad timing was a sign—fate warning them that they weren’t meant to be anything more than bickering frenemies.
But the other night when he’d touched her, she’d…wondered.
Wanted.
Nick stopped a few inches in front of her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.
His hand slowly lifted and her mouth went dry, wondering if he would touch her again. Where he would touch her.
It wasn’t until she heard the faint thud of the cabinet closing that she realized he was merely reaching for his own glass.
Wordlessly he pried the pitcher out of her hands, filling his glass, then hers.
You idiot.
When she lifted her eyes to his face again, he was giving her a knowing smirk, and it was exactly what she needed to snap her out of her haze of…whatever that had been.
She sidestepped, putting distance between them, glaring at him all the while.
“So Brit doesn’t like Calloway either, huh?” he asked, finishing his glass of water in three gulps and then refilling.
Taylor took a small sip of her water. “Apparently not. Doesn’t matter. It’s not for my best friend or my worst enemy to decide who I care for.”
Nick looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said, then turned away and headed toward his room.
It was exactly what she wanted. For him to back down and stay the hell out of her life—especially her love life.
But instead of his easy acquiescence providing relief, she felt oddly disappointed. She didn’t need him to approve of Bradley, she just wanted…
“I’m not pathetic, you know,” she called after him.
“Never said you were,” he said, turning around, but not coming back toward her.
“He’s a good guy,” she insisted.
Nick shrugged again. “You know him better than me.”
“Are you going to write?” she blurted out when he turned away again.
Nick sighed and looked back at her. “What do you want, Taylor? You haven’t said a word to me all week, and now you’re itching for small talk?”
“I was just being polite,” she muttered into her glass.
“Nosy, you mean.” But he smiled a little as he said it.
She watched him over the top of her water glass as she took another sip. “How was work?”
He rolled his eyes and spread his hands to the side. “Fine. We’ll do this. Work was fine. And yes, I’m going to go write. Anything else you want? You still want to hit me like you told Brit right when I walked in? Do it. Get it over with if it’ll mean you’ll stop sulking and leave me alone.”
Without realizing what she was doing, Taylor’s gaze drifted downward over the strong chin she’d wanted to punch.
Except she wasn’t so sure she wanted to punch it right now. She wanted to lay her palm against it, wanted to know if the ever-present bristles would be soft or scratchy. Wanted to know what it would feel like against her skin, between her— Whoa.
Taylor’s thoughts skidded to a halt as she frantically hauled her dirty mind out of the gutter.
“I’m going to bed,” she muttered, finishing the rest of her water and placing the glass in the sink to be dealt with later.
“Sure you don’t want a cold shower first?” he called after her.
Taylor slammed the door shut on him, then leaned against it, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to ignore the fact that every part of her body was tingling.
For reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with Bradley Calloway.
Chapter 10
Nick had just finished making a second round of martinis for the fortysomething cougars at the far side of the bar when he heard familiar voices.
He turned just in time to see three of Oxford’s guys approach the bar, and he grinned in welcome.
“Hey, guys,” Nick said, placing three white cocktail napkins on the bar as they shrugged out of winter coats. “What brings you my way at barely four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon?”
“I walked in on Cassidy making out with his wife in his office,” Hunter Cross said, dropping onto the barstool. “Needed alcohol pronto to erase the visual, and these two kindly obliged.”
Nick nodded in understanding. Their boss getting it on with his hot wife in his office was hardly an unusual occurrence. It also explained how the slightly atypical grouping in front of him had come to be.
Hunter Cross was accompanied by Lincoln Mathis and Jackson Burke, and while all three were good guys, they didn’t usually run in the same Oxford crowd. Lincoln and Jackson were part of the close-knit editorial team, whereas Hunter was a VP on the digital marketing side of the house. All the guys were friendly, but Nick wasn’t used to seeing the two groups together.
He himself was in the unusual situation of knowing both equally well. As a writer, he mostly partnered with the editorial guys—he’d actually taken over Lincoln’s job on a short-term basis when the other guy had taken a personal leave last year.
But since then, whenever Nick had taken on a short-term gig, his desk had been on the other side of the building with the marketing/advertising guys, due to space limitations. It was how Nick had gotten to know Hunter.
For that matter, it was also how he’d gotten to know Taylor as well as he had, but he wasn’t in the mood to think about that hot mess.
“What can I get you guys?”
“Whatever you’re making,” Jackson Burke said. “Cole said you won some custom cocktail competition lately? Make us that.”
“I’ll make you two that,” Nick said, nodding at Hunter and Jackson as he got down the proper stemware. “But you…” He pointed the cocktail glass at Lincoln Mathis. “You going to bust my balls if it’s not pink, frothy, or has a sugar rim?”
Lincoln grinned. “My reputation precedes me. I’ve never even been in here, and you know my drink preferences.”
“Word’s gotten around,” Nick said, choosing his words carefully.
Lincoln merely grinned wider as he leaned across the bar. “Daisy?”
“If you’re asking me if your girl was in here bashing your manhood, telling me I was the much better guy for her…maybe.”
Lincoln laughed at Nick’s sarcasm. “Bastard. Make me whatever you’re making them. I can handle it.”