I turn away from her and take a breath, schooling my features, willing the raw need to leave my eyes. Had she seen it? How badly I want her? Of course she had. Touching her? What the fuck was I thinking?
It had been the news of her date that had broken my restraint, the way she had bounded inside, full of stories and smiles, as if this guy was a possibility, as if he could, in any way, make her happy. I had seen hope in her eyes, and a panic switch in my heart had tripped.
Stop, she’d said. I turn back to her and attempt the playful tone that has gotten me out of a hundred situations. “And you say I don’t follow directions.”
She faces the island, the contracts spread out before her, and I know what I will see when I step beside her—control. My beautiful girl loves it, the hiding of emotion, so many interactions a game where her words don’t match her features, and her meanings are never easily deciphered.
“Why did you care what I was wearing under my suit?” Her head doesn’t turn to me, it stays tilted down, over the contract, her fingers busy, pulling off and reaffixing SIGN HERE stickers that aren’t needed.
“I wanted to know if you were at least giving the guy some sort of effort.”
That causes her head to turn, and she looks at me as if I am mental. “It was our first date. A coffee date. He wasn’t going to see anything under my suit.”
“Because … you told him you were a serial killer?” I feign confusion, furrowing my brow and earning a smile from her.
“Because it was a FIRST DATE,” she intones. “We didn’t even kiss.” She taps the top of a page. “Come sign.”
“He didn’t kiss you?” This is alarming, and I sit, pulling the first page toward me and scrawling my signature across the bottom.
“No. Which kind of surprised me.” She tilts her head, watching me sign the second page, a slow smile spreading over her lips. “It was kind of nice, actually. He was such a gentleman about it.”
This I don’t need. Her gushing, her starry eyes, her fucking “gentleman.” What was the point of having IT hack into her eHarmony profile if it ended up matching her with comparable men? They were supposed to make her profile such a train wreck that she was only paired with losers. “What does he do? This gentleman of yours?”
“He’s a dentist,” she tosses out, pushing another page in my direction. “Or a tooth surgeon. Whatever that’s called.”
“An oral surgeon?” I ask, my hand tightening on my pen.
“Yes!” She snaps. “That’s it. Thanks.” Any effect that my hands had had on her has apparently disappeared. She now seems a hundred percent focused on this stupid contract and this dumb date of hers.
“Did you like him?” I ask the question as casually as I can, my pen biting into the soft paper, my scrawl rougher than usual.
“I think so. He’s a lot better than the other guys. And I’m pretty tired of looking.”
“That sounds like the recipe for success. A guy who’s better than a pile of idiots, and a woman tired of looking.” I shove the final page toward her and stand. “Does love have any piece of that equation?”
“It was our first date, Trey,” she calls out. “Give it a few more dates.”
The next question I shouldn’t ask; it’s not any of my business, not appropriate among coworkers, and not even among friends. I stalk my way to the fridge, fighting it. Still, right before I find and crack a beer open, it comes. “When are you planning on fucking him?”
She is standing, gathering the papers, a paperclip in hand, when the question hits. She doesn’t look at me. “That’s none of your business.”
“I just don’t want you to rush into it. It’s only been … what? Nine months since you and Craig—”
“Shut up.” She turns toward me, her hands reaching back to the counter and she hoists herself onto the marble as if she was fifteen. “If I wanted you to, you’d fuck me right now.” She pulls up her skirt, working it over her thighs, and spreads her knees far enough apart that I can see the pale pink of her panties, a match to the garter straps. A year ago, we’d argued over the name of its color. A year ago, I’d stared at a sample set and envisioned them on her. “So don’t lecture me about my virtue or if I’m ready. I think you just don’t want me to fuck anyone else.”
I try to keep my eyes on her face, but it is difficult when her legs are open, her words challenging me, and I am almost in reach of her. “Don’t tempt me, Kate.”
“Am I right, Trey?” She drags my name along her tongue and it has never sounded so sexy in its life.
“You’re my best friend. I’m trying to watch out for you.”