“Things between us are too complicated for me to keep coming in here every day. I mean, you . . . I . . . we . . .” She looks at me through her thick lashes, begging me to help.
“I understand.” The air moves between us, as heavy as the dismay I feel, and I want to reach for her, but that’s the problem in and of itself. “I don’t want you to go. Can I say that?”
“You can. And I don’t want to go, for the record,” she sighs. “It’s too hard to come here, and I’m not even making a pun this time,” she smiles weakly. “I never should’ve crossed the line with you because we work together so well. But I did.”
I think back to all the times we crossed the line and realize the most serious ones weren’t the times I was inside her body. They were the times I was inside her mind. When she was burrowing herself inside my heart.
That’s what got us to this point. It’s why this conversation feels like I’m being suffocated. If it were only a physical thing between us, I’d manage. It’s not. It’s becoming so much deeper than that.
“I did too,” I admit.
She nods. “I know a girl, actually, that might be a good fit. I can get her resume, if you’d like.”
But she won’t be you.
This is for the best. I know it, even though I can’t help but hear the scream inside my brain, yelling at me to talk her out of it.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you getting yourself in a situation because you leave your job. I can transfer you. You suggested that before, remember?”
“Yeah. But I really think I just need a clean break from you, Graham. You’re kind of like crack and I need to go cold turkey.”
I grin at her analogy, but there’s no happiness in my smile. “I’ll write you a shining recommendation,” I promise. “I could even help you find another job. You’d be an asset to anyone that would be smart enough to hire you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I force a swallow. “So, my favor?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
I can hear nothing but white noise as I fill my lungs with air. “Lincoln is getting married this weekend. It’s at the Farm.” I watch her eyes widen, anticipation written all over her pretty face. “Would you do me the honor of being my date?”
“Graham . . .” she says warily.
“You’re going to leave here soon, and let’s be honest, I probably won’t see you again.” My jaw clenches as I say it, but I press forward. “You’ll go live some other life, and I wish you the best with it. But since we’re stuck together for a little while longer, let’s make the best of it. What could it hurt?”
I know the answer. It’s only going to make it hurt worse in the end, but I’m willing, for the second time in my life, to take the hedonistic approach.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “It’s your family, and a wedding at that, and I . . .”
“What?”
She shrugs.
“And you’d be my date and I’d be honored to have you on my arm.” When she doesn’t agree, I lean forward. “Don’t make me go alone. My brothers won’t let me live it down.”
Slowly, inch by inch, her face gets a glow of that sunshine I miss. “When you put it like that, I suppose I could help you out.”
“There’s one more part.” There isn’t. That was it. Just the wedding. But seeing how easily she agreed, now I’m going to press my luck. “There’s a golf outing with my brothers the day before. We’re all going. It’ll be a nightmare, but it’s what Lincoln wanted to do. The girls of my family are going to the clubhouse and having a shower for Danielle. I thought maybe you’d like to go on my behalf.”
“What? On your behalf? That makes no sense, Graham.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking on my feet. “My mother will be there, both my sisters. Alison and Danielle and a couple of her friends. I thought it would be nice if you went. I know it would mean a lot to Lincoln too.”
That last bit is a stretch. Lincoln won’t care. He’s only worried about Danielle and making her happy. Bingo!
“Dani isn’t from here,” I say, laying it on thick. “She doesn’t have a lot of friends here and I know Lincoln really wants us all to come out and support her.”
“I don’t even know her,” she points out.
“Yeah, but she’s heard us all talking about you.” I gulp and prepare to wind a little more truth to this. “It would mean a lot to me.”
She sucks in a breath, warring over her decision.
“Please?”
“Fine,” she exhales. “I’ll do it.”
“Great! I’ll—”
“Not so fast,” she says, waving a finger at me. “I’ll go on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You go to yoga with me tonight.”
“Mallory,” I groan. “Be reasonable.”
“I think this is very reasonable. I’m considering accompanying you to a wedding and a bridal shower for someone I don’t even know. That’s a lot I’m giving you, Graham. You can certainly give me an hour of yoga.”
“I don’t yoga.”
“You’ll yoga just fine.” She stands, nestling her hand in the crook of her hip. She knows what she’s doing because she smirks. “You’ll need to be at the studio by six.” Like the decision has been decided, she takes the insurance papers and bounces to the door. “Oh, and Graham?”
She looks coyly at me.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Don’t be late.”
Mallory
I have no idea why I do this to myself. Laughing out loud, I correct my inner monologue. I do know why I do this to myself. At least this time.
I want to see Graham Landry relaxed. He’s been going so full-tilt with all the things on his plate that I want to give him a few minutes away from the office. Just a piece of time where there’s nothing to do but be. Factoring in that I might see some muscle, and if I’m lucky, some sweat, doesn’t hurt either.
Stretching out for the last thirty minutes, I feel nice and limber. Everything is tingly, but that probably has nothing to do with the moves I’ve been holding and more to do with the headlights suddenly shining in the front window of the studio.
I’m aware I’m an addict and I measure my drugs in Grahams. Just like anyone that has an insatiable craving for something, I want to horde the remaining moments I have with him because once it’s over, it’s over. It has to be. I can’t take a gratuitous huff of his stick from time to time.
My breath catches as he walks in the studio. Dressed in a pair of black workout pants that, as opposed to most men, fit him semi-snugly. Like his suit pants, only not. Only, quite possibly, better. A sleeveless black shirt covers his torso, his arms on display for my gratification.
He glances around, biting his bottom lip. “So this is a yoga studio?”
“It is.” I pop up on my bare feet. “Ever think you’d be in one?”
“Nope.” He gives me a mega-watt grin, tossing a grey duffle bag on the floor. “Shoes off?”
“Please.” I watch as he casts off his shoes and socks and then pads across the floor and to the mat I have laid out for him next to mine. “I hope you’re happy,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “I left a stack of papers unsigned to be here.”
“You must really want me to go to that wedding,” I tease.