Page 22 of Love.V2 (Occupational Hazards #2)

Tess

Dylan appropriately ooh-ed and ahh-ed when I presented him with my mug.

It may have seemed silly, but the second the instructor had placed it on the rack to go into the kiln, I’d desperately wanted it to fire correctly.

I needed tangible, physical proof that I had done something difficult.

I could change, shift, like the glaze on a mug.

“Do I get to keep it?” Dylan asked, tracing the lines of the feathers where they criss-crossed the surface of the ceramic.

“It’s a girly mug,” I warned him, as if he couldn’t see the neon peacock feathers for himself. “I mostly blame Meery for that. She’s glaze-happy.”

I would have been more restrained with the color palette, but I had to admit, the Lisa Frank/paint rave thing it had going on was fun. Plus, it made me think about giggling with Meery and talking about her first meeting with the social team. The mug wasn’t perfect, but I was proud of it.

“It reminds me of your watercolors,” Dylan murmured, tracing over the splotched handle, an echo of longing in his voice.

“Then you should keep it.” Our eyes met across the table. “I signed up for a studio class membership, so there will be plenty more where that came from. Besides, it takes a man truly secure in his masculinity to rock a pink and purple peacock mug.”

There was a part of me that wanted to keep it. But an equally powerful part remembered a time when all my mugs had lived in a cabinet beside his. Maybe I’d see it again.

“Thank you.” His face lit up, like I’d given him a precious gift. He carefully tucked it back into the tissue paper I’d wrapped it in when I’d picked it up earlier today.

“What about you? How did you do on your assignment this week?”

“Very well, actually.”

“Do tell.” We’d been texting sporadically, and by a weird unspoken agreement, had avoided discussing almost anything about our list.

I got the feeling Dylan didn’t want to invade my phone too quickly, and most of our conversations were succinct and to the point.

But yesterday, he’d texted to let me know the coffee shop was out of lavender syrup, which led to an intense Q&A about my coffee preferences, if they’d changed, my stance on non-dairy milks, and if I thought American coffee culture was contributing to overconsumption and pollution.

I’d spent the whole morning glancing at my phone, giddy and waiting for his responses, my stomach a riot of butterflies.

We were just talking about coffee, but his questions had a way of making me curious about him, too.

What was his stance on alternative milks and, like me, did he not care what anyone else drank, as long as I had good ‘ole cow’s milk in my cup?

Had his preferences changed? Not just with coffee, but with anything?

Did he still hate cottage cheese, or now that everyone was hyperfixating on protein, had he come around ?

I wanted to know it all and more and couldn’t be happier for the opportunity to ask.

“Well, you got me thinking last week about clubs. I did a little digging, and I found a silent book club I went to on Wednesday.”

“A what?” I couldn’t even begin to think what a silent book club entailed.

He laughed and leaned back so our server could place our pasta in front of us. “It’s a club where we meet up somewhere like a coffee shop or a bar for an hour and all read quietly, then there’s optional social time afterwards.”

A club where I didn’t have to actually talk to anyone? I perked up.

“Thought you’d be interested in that. It was fun. You should come with me to the next one.”

“Would I like what the club is reading?”

“That’s the beauty. It’s silent, so you can read any book you want. I started a new sci-fi I’d had my eye on.”

“I can only remember you reading business stuff.” I was visualizing his bookshelf back in Nashville, filled with titles like, Who Moved My Cheese? and The Power of Persuasion.

“I read fantasy when I was a kid. Since then, I only read because I felt like I had to. It was nice to do something just for myself, without it feeling like an assignment.”

He gestured, animated, as he told me about his new book. Our conversation meandered while we picked apart the food on our plates and chatted about anything we wanted, just for the fun of it. I realized how much that critical element had been missing from our relationship .

Fun. The simple pleasure of doing something just because you wanted to, not because you had to.

“I think the list is magic,” I admitted later. He shook his head, grinning.

“And this is just week one. Imagine what next week will bring.”

“Oh, trust me. Meery’s already insisting we go do something she’s good at. She’s dragging me to a karaoke bar.”

Dylan winced in sympathy, intrinsically understanding that a loud bar where I was expected to get on stage in front of people was the most cringe-inducing scenario I could imagine.

It ranked up there with those horrifying dreams where you’re back in high school, then suddenly all your clothes are missing.

“Maybe I can come with you? I can sing a mean Elton John, if I have to.”

I nearly snorted water out of my nose. “I remember.” Who could forget the night he’d climbed onstage at that dueling pianos bar in Nashville?

He and Mac had been hungover for days. I paused, not sure if he’d be mad about the next part.

“I know we agreed not to tell anyone at work, but I told Meery about us. Really, she guessed, but she told me no one else suspects. I hope that’s okay. ”

He shrugged. “It makes sense for us to be careful about this for personal reasons, but I’m not keeping you a secret, Tess.”

My head bobbed. “Right. I know. Still, probably for the best if we don’t go shouting it from the rooftops.”

“You’re worried about Victoria?”

His shockingly quick and accurate assessment threw me off, pushing my shoulders back in my chair. “How did you know? ”

We hadn’t spoken once about Victoria. I didn’t enjoy thinking about her too much.

Plus, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know if he’d noticed her flirting with him.

She was beautiful and assertive, like him, not shy and awkward, like me.

I didn’t want him to notice her. It was safer to simply avoid any conversation about her.

Dylan also sat back in his chair. “Everyone at Jinx loves you. She’s the only one who would have something negative to say about our relationship. I don’t like the way she talks to you.”

“I know. She’s difficult.”

Dylan snorted, letting me know how much of an understatement he thought that was. A pressure eased from my shoulders. He wasn’t attracted to her. The thought made me feel generous.

“She’s actually good at her job when she’s not trying to one-up me or make me look bad.”

His eyebrow quirked, incredulous. “Is she?”

“I…” I stopped to consider the answer before I gave him a knee-jerk response. Yes, her designs leaned toward the safer side, but she worked well with clients, and I’d seen her create some seriously decent work. “I think she can be, if she focused on her job and not me.”

“You can always fire her,” Dylan offered, swirling his wine.

I watched it spin inside the delicate glass.

The thought had crossed my mind, but the concept of firing someone, being responsible for the loss of their livelihood…

I wasn’t the person who fired people. I couldn’t be, not when I couldn’t even correct a barista if they got my coffee order wrong .

“I want to give her a shot. She has potential, and maybe when I’ve been around for longer, she’ll move on and make everyone’s lives a little more bearable.”

“Some might say you’re too nice.”

Dylan slid the wineglass back on the table, leaning forward on his elbows. I mirrored his pose, only a few inches and a fake candle danced between us.

“Some might say that.” I swallowed, searching his face. “What do you say?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, lips pursing as he swept his gaze across my face and lower. Goosebumps erupted on my skin as he took in the curve of my bare shoulder. The dip in my throat. The vee of my top that gave him just a peek of cleavage.

“I say”—his eyes returned to mine, fire lighting in their depths—“perfect.”

***

Dylan insisted on parking on the street and walking me to my door. Very chivalrous. Very nerve-wracking.

On one hand, it reminded me of college, when he’d walk me as far into the girls’ dorm as he could, then wait on the sidewalk for me to wave out my window.

On the other hand, it made me think about how we’d crashed and collided up these same stairs last week with our mouths fused together.

“I don’t remember there being this many stairs,” Dylan said, running his fingers across the handrail like it had appeared there by magic .

“Third floor walkup,” I chimed, trying to sound light and breezy, when really I was thinking about how he’d ripped my tights open in the middle of the hallway.

“Yeah, well, I might have been distracted the last time I was here.”

We topped the stairs, and our eyes fell to the wall beside my door. The ripping sound of sheer nylon still floated around the landing.

I looked at Dylan as he glanced at me. A wicked grin tilted his lips up.

He’d shaved earlier today, but now the shadow across his face made me want to reach out and feel it. I didn’t mind if he was rough against me. My best memories with Dylan were the ones where he was a little unkempt. Relaxed and almost sloppy in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

Dylan took a step closer. “Tess.”

Every nerve in my body jumped at the sound of him saying my name. Like a question. Like an answer. I reminded myself again it was ridiculous to feel nervous. It wasn’t like this was actually our second date. Or like I hadn’t kissed him before.

Was he going to kiss me? Unbidden, my eyes darted to the wall again, like I had some sort of heat-seeking memory device in my brain that pinpointed the exact location of the last time I’d nearly combusted.

“You remember back in college?” I blurted, because my brain was desperately trying to reboot itself. “When you used to wait for me to wave at you when I got back to my dorm room?”

His face warmed, looking fond. “Of course.”

“I always wondered what you thought would happen to me in between the lobby and my room. ”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, taking another step closer. I backed away instinctively. After the nuclear detonation from the last time we’d stood here, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should I invite him in? Leave him in the hall and ask myself for the rest of the night if I regretted going in alone?

Wait. “Nothing? You didn’t ask me to wave at you because you wanted to make sure I got to my room safe?”

“Nah, it was a college dorm. Key card security.” He took another step closer. My shoulder blades touched the scuffed drywall beside my door.

“Then why?”

His mouth hooked to the side as he slid the back of his fingers across my cheek. I shivered at the touch. “I just wanted to see your face one last time. You usually blew me a kiss, and I liked that, too.”

His index finger traced my bottom lip, and it felt more intimate than when we were here the last time. My brain fried.

“I don’t know if I should invite you in or not.”

The pad of his thumb felt rough against my cheekbone, dragging. “On the second date? Scandalous.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know what the plan is here.

” My fingers wiggled in the inches between our bodies, as if that could encapsulate all the history and newness and familiarity swirling between us.

Some people liked the butterflies in the stomach feeling of a first kiss.

The ‘will they lean in?’ ‘Is it going to happen now?’

Not me. I was awkward and anxious enough without adding attraction into the mix.

“You could grab me and plant one on me like the first time. ”

“I did not grab you,” I argued, heat flushing my face.

It had been our second date, Dylan hadn’t kissed me yet, and we’d been walking across the parking lot after dinner.

I was freaking out about whether he was going to kiss me when I got in the car, or back at the dorm, or…

at all? I’d pulled him to a stop in the middle of the half-empty parking lot.

“We should kiss,” I’d told him. He’d agreed. After a few seconds of a small eternity, I’d realized he was waiting for me. I’d rolled up to my toes and, well, planted one on him.

We’d made out in his car for nearly an hour after.

“I know a lot of things have changed since college, but I don’t think I’m the sex on a second date kind of guy,” he offered, stroking a stray piece of hair back from my face.

The hum of anxiety quieted in my head at his admission.

“I like getting to know you again. Seems like we should…wait. Right?”

“Right,” I sighed, finally leaning into him. His arm wrapped around my waist, and my chin rested on his chest as my eyes slipped closed. “I like getting to know you again, too.”

His answering hum rumbled through my body. “I would take a kiss, though, if you’re willing to part with one.”

My eyes blinked open, catching him looking at my face with a tenderness that made it hard to breathe. “Air kiss? Like college?” I tried to tease, but I sounded wispy.

“Real, if it’s all the same to you.”

His lips brushed against mine, feather-light, stroking back and forth. At the last second, his tongue darted to swipe into my mouth. The quickest taste, like he couldn’t help himself .

A new sort of butterfly-tingling took over my body. It was a first kiss, but not. It was a millionth kiss, and in this moment, looking at him with new eyes, that made it feel like the only thing that mattered.