As her taillights get farther away, a sense of loneliness begins to filter my way. There’s no longer the smell of lavender, the sound of her making fun of me, or the twinkle in her eye that makes me want to ask her a question so she’ll talk to me.
Tension stretches across my shoulders, tugging my muscles tight. With the stiffness comes a pulsing sensation behind my left eye, indicating that I’m on the cusp of one hell of a headache.
Everything is out of order. The pieces of my life are strewn around worse than the contents on her floorboard, and I can’t shuffle them back in place fast enough. My desk is still loaded with papers, Lincoln’s refusal to be sane, and Ford’s security company to deal with. Typically, I wait for this moment—everyone gone, everything quiet, and I can really dig in. Now I can’t because I have another, potentially worse issue at hand: I need Mallory around as badly as I need to put distance between us.
The pull coming harder in my temple, I head to the elevator and press the button. While I wait, I type out a text.
Me: Thank you for asking me to be your best man in such a brotherly way.
Lincoln: Don’t kid either of us. You love that I picked you over Barrett and Ford.
Me: Well, it only makes sense to pick me.
Lincoln: How do you figure?
Me: I’m the one settling in to spend the evening getting a plan together to save your ass in case everything goes south.
Lincoln: Do me a favor?
Me: What, Linc?
Lincoln: Get a drink. Because as wound up as you get, you’ll be dead before I’d need you to implement that plan and then I’d really be fucked.
Me: Always about you, isn’t it?
Lincoln: Hell, yeah. Oh—Ford said you got it on in the middle of a meeting today. Can I say I’m super proud of you?
Me: Talk to you later.
Lincoln: Wait! You can’t jump my ass and then ignore me. This is the day Graham proves he’s human. Let’s discuss. Should I grab some pizza and meet you at the office?
Laughing, I turn my phone off and slip it in my jacket. I step in the elevator and head to my office, hopefully to work and not to think about Mallory.
Mallory
“There you are!” Joy chirps.
I hurry inside the yoga studio and toss my things against the wall. Tonight’s class, thankfully, is one of the smaller ones and no one is early.
“I was thinking you weren’t coming,” Joy remarks. “You said you were on your way forty minutes ago.”
“I . . .” I plop on the mat and look at my friend. “Does it really matter what made me late?”
“Nope. It’s how you roll. I take that back,” she snickers, “it’s unless you were getting all hot and sweaty with Bossman. In that case, I want every detail. Do not leave anything out.”
Rolling onto my mat face-first, I pretend to stretch out my lower back. It does feel good, but it actually gives me time to figure out how to keep my face blank around Joy.
I could tell her about Graham. If it were anyone else, no doubt I would. I always have. But this time, I want to keep it for me. This time, it feels . . . different.
I’m not sure what it is, although it certainly doesn’t feel like just sex. Not quite. Sex is insertion. An act and then it’s done. It’s not walks to my car. He could have me without the little looks during the day, without taking the trash out of my floorboard. But what does that mean? I have no idea.
“How did things go today?” she asks. She’s prodding for information, the tone in her voice giving her away. “Anything new with Graham?”
“No, nothing’s new with Graham,” I sigh. “He’s my boss, Joy.”
“So something did happen!”
“What on Earth are you talking about?”
“You’re defensive. The last time we talked about this, you were all, ‘He’s so hot!’ Now you’re acting like I’m ridiculous for bringing it up. That means you’re deflecting.”
Heaving a breath, I roll onto my back and look at the spackled ceiling in desperate need of a paint job. “Things haven’t been purely professional,” I admit.
“I knew it!” she shrieks. “My God. Is he as good as I think he is? He is, isn’t he?”
“Joy . . .” I almost whine. I feel like she’s forcing me to talk and I hate that. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Why?”
Struggling to sit up, I try to come up with an explanation that she can understand. That I can understand. “Have you ever not wanted to talk about something until you can get your head wrapped around it?”
“No,” she mutters. “I always call you and have you help me figure it out.”
I toss her a pathetic smile. “I know. I do you too. But I don’t know what to make of this and I’m really afraid getting your input is going to make it harder.”
“I give good advice.”
“You do,” I laugh. “But everything when it comes to him is pro-Graham. I don’t fault you for it. Look at him,” I shrug. “But I need to make sure I’m looking at this pro-Mallory. Does that make sense?”
Joy grabs her water bottle and squeezes some in her mouth. “It does. But you know I’m pro-Mallory, right?”
“Always.” I stand and stretch my arms over my head. “I’m going to the bathroom before everyone gets here.”
Jogging across the mats and through the doors to a vacant hallway, I stand with my back against the cool brick. My mind goes to Graham, like it does anytime I’m not specifically thinking of something else.
I like him. I like him way more than I want to admit. Even more problematic, the more time I spend with him, the more time I want to spend with him.
But am I getting jaded by the TDH—tall, dark, and handsome? Am I wrapped up in the Landry spell and not seeing things like a logical human being?
He’s my boss. A CEO. I’m a drop-out with no plan. What could possibly come of this long-term? Not much. Besides orgasms.
There’s nothing wrong with having fun with Graham. We’re two consenting adults. But I need to remember that no matter how easy it is to become infatuated with him, I have to keep my head clear. I can’t get wrapped up in this and then be gobsmacked when it doesn’t work out. There’s nothing to work out. This is fun. Just fun.
“What are you doing out here?”
I look up to see Sienna propping the door open with her hip. “Hey,” I say, shoving off the wall. “I was just taking a couple of minutes to regroup. Joy can be kind of overwhelming.”
“She really can. I love her to absolute pieces, but she just attacks!” she laughs. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was just thinking,” I say, going through the open door and leading Sienna to our mats. “After I figure everything out, I think I want to start my own yoga studio.”
“I think that could be cool,” Sienna says. “It’s a big thing in LA. You know, you could always head West and come live with me. Free rent. Free food because my mom orders groceries to be delivered to my house. Is that not crazy?”