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I can see her sitting at her desk, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder while she works on the computer. I wait for her to hang up the phone before I walk in. As soon as I do, her head comes up. Seeing me, she offers me a shy smile. Yup, she definitely knows what I was doing in the shower this morning. “What are you—”
Not sure I can manage actual words, I hold her lunch bag up.
“Shit,” she says, the smile on her face edged with exasperation as she stands to round the desk I’m waiting in front of. “I’m so sorry—I was running late because…” Her voice catches, a flush rushing across the exposed part of her chest. “I really shouldn’t paint before work,” she says, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “I lose all track of time.”
Seeing my opening, I kamikaze my way through it. “Look—Cari…” I run a hand over the top of my head, trying like hell to pretend I’m totally cool with the fact that she walked in on me jerking off, that it’s no big deal, but before I get the words out, she’s talking over me.
“I’m sorry, Patrick.” She shakes her head. “It was inconsiderate of me to barge in like that. It won’t happen again.”
I stand there for a second, not sure what to say. She’s acting like all of this is her fault. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like—”
“Cari, call Hector and tell him I need him to deliver the Randell watercolor to the Fletchers by—Patrick,” I look over Cari’s shoulder to see her boss standing a few feet away. “It’s nice to see you again.” Behind her is a man I’ve never seen before. Taking in his paint splattered boots and expensive jeans I peg him for an artist. A rich one.
I ignore the way she’s looking at me, like she wants to eat me for breakfast. I think about Conner’s offer a few months ago to fuck a payroll advance out of her for Cari and I have to clench my jaw for a minute to keep myself from laughing. Having gotten to know Cari’s boss a bit, I have a feeling even Con wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. “Morning, Miranda.” I hold the paper bag I’m still holding up like a shield. “Sorry to interrupt, Cari forgot her lunch. Again,” I say, teasing her just a bit because I like to watch the flush of heat creep across her chest to collect beneath her collarbone.
“Nonsense,” Miranda says, shooing away my apology like it annoyed her. “You know you’re welcome anytime.” The way she says it, and the way she’s looking at me heat the back of my neck. “Where are my manners?” She breaks eye contact with me and turns. “Patrick, this is my friend, Everett Chase—Chase, this is Cari’s roommate, Patrick Gilroy.”
I step forward, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I say. The name is familiar. Probably one of the painters Cari talks about when she tells me about her work day.
“Patrick Gilroy?” Chase says, giving me a firm handshake before breaking contact. “The architect?”
I shoot Cari a quick look, wondering if she’s been talking about me. “That’s me.”
Chase nods his head and smiles. “You do beautiful work—ever think about branching out into commercial design?”
It’s not the first time someone has recognized my name and my work but for some reason, it catches me by surprise. “Eventually,” I say, taking a step back. “My partner and I are really buried right now with residential projects.” I offer him a quick smile before re-directing my attention to Cari. “Speaking of which, I’ve gotta run.” I extend the bag to her and she takes it. “Pizza night?” We usually order pizza on Friday nights and clear the DVR which means watching reality television until my brain starts oozing out of my ears. After this morning, it’s the last thing I want to do but in the interest of putting my embarrassment behind me, I’m going to try.
Cari takes the bag, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ve got a date,” she says, shaking her head, watching from the corner of her eye as Miranda and her pet painter wander into the gallery and start talking about lighting and space. “Trevor is taking me to dinner.”
“Cool,” I say, even though it’s anything but. I hate Trevor almost as much as I hated that douchey lawyer she was dating before she moved in. The one she caught banging his intern. To be fair though, I’ve hated every single one of her boyfriends. Because none of them are me. “I guess that means I don’t have to watch Reality Rapper Bachelor Housewives until brain damage sets in.”
She swats me with her lunch bag and laughs. “You love it, you’re just afraid to admit.” As soon as her boss is out of earshot she takes a step closer. So close I can smell the gardenia scented hair products she uses. The same hair products I used to jerk off this morning. Despite the mortification currently making me want to disappear, I’m rock fucking hard before I have time to blink, the bulk of it pushing against the zipper of my jeans.
Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down...
“Look, are we okay?” she says, looking up at me. “Because I really am sorry about this morning and I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us. You’re my—”
I smile. “No weirdness.” If I have to hear her tell me I’m her best friend one more fucking time I’m going to put my head through the goddamned window. “But if I don’t leave now,” I say, backing myself out the door. “I’m going to be late for the Beemans and then Declan will probably murder me.”
“Okay.” She gives me a smile that looks relieved. Relieved that I’m not making this weird. That it’s behind us. That I’m still good guy Patrick and I’m still her friend. “See you at home?”
“See you at home,” I say, turning to let myself out. Jogging down the steps, I risk a look up. Cari’s standing in the glass box of the gallery, paper bag clutched in her hand.
She’s watching me walk away.