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Usually when I got to feeling like this, I’d go through my phone, find someone to come over and meet the need humming through my veins. But that felt wrong, knowing I’d be thinking of Della’s breasts pressed to my back the entire time.
So I walked my happy ass to my room and took care of myself, dangerously thinking it would be better with Della instead.
12
DELLA
I clenched my desk as another memory of last night’s dream flashed through my mind.
Hayes Madigan, bending me over his motorcycle, gently knocking my legs apart with the toe of his boot. Running his hand over the exposed skin of my ass.
I blinked, hard, like that could erase the memory.
Never mind the fact that my heart was pounding, my breath ragged, and an ache pulsed between my thighs.
So I forced myself to remember reality.
In reality, I knew it would never work. He was a serial womanizer, didn’t believe in love or romance, and was grumpy more often than not. I should not be thinking about that torrid dream, especially while I was on the clock.
I was just reacting strongly to riding on the back of his motorcycle. My mind must be trying to process the adrenaline rush. Or possibly distract me from that date gone wrong with Matteo. Or better yet, make me forget altogether that when I invited Hayes into my house, he emphatically said no.
I tried not to let the rejection sting. But knowing he had a continuous parade of women in and out of his house didn’t help my confidence.
Another heavy sigh.
I wasn’t getting any work done with my mind spinning like this.
I got up from my desk and went to my boss’s office. She had Dolly Parton playing softly from her speakers and was bobbing her head side to side.
My lips pressed into a smile. I’d miss this in Dallas.
So I didn’t scare her, I knocked softly on the door. And when she looked up at me through her thick glasses, I said, “Hey, Edna, I’m running to get lunch from the diner. Want anything?”
She looked up from her computer, still typing on the keypad. “How about a Cobb salad?”
“Of course,” I said. That’s what she always ordered at the beginning of the week. Toward the end, there were more fried foods involved. “Anything to drink?”
She held up a giant jug of water that had times listed down the side with motivational quotes. “Got it covered.”
“Sure thing,” I replied, then gave her a wave and walked outside.
Spring was in full swing—sunny and warm. The trees were budding, and I couldn’t wait for all the flowering dogwoods along Main Street to start blooming. They added the most beautiful pop of color to our little town.
The fresh air and sunshine were already helping ease the tension in my shoulders. Going to the diner had been a great idea. If I weren’t busy looking both ways and crossing the street, I’d pat myself on the back.
Inside the diner, the sound of sizzling grease and people talking filled the air like the smell of French fries. I couldn’t wait to take my sweet time eating lunch and get a fresh take on the day. If you asked me, it was never too late in the day or week or year to turn over a new leaf and make it better.
But my hopes were soon dashed when I realized there wasn’t a single place available for me to sit. Woody’s was slammed. I frowned, thinking I’d have to take my order to go.
“This seat’s open,” a warm voice said nearby.
I turned to follow the sound and saw Bennett Smith sitting on one side of a table. He was a big boy, so a booth wouldn’t have worked for him. As I thanked him and sat across from him, I felt a heat creeping up my neck, knowing his name was the last one listed on my board at home.
Despite technically being my last resort, he was a genuinely good guy. He had short curly hair sticking out from under a worn and weathered Smith Welding hat that shaded soft blue eyes and a warm smile framed by perpetually rosy cheeks.
But I’d always seen him as a friend, and he’d never indicated a romantic interest in me either.
“It’s been a while. How have things been lately?” I asked him, trying not to stress too much about my list.