Page 20 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

JACK

I ’d barely taken two steps in from the garage when I heard the familiar click of claws on hardwood.

“Hey, boy.” My voice softened automatically as I dropped my briefcase and bent to scratch behind his ears. “You would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Pickles pushed his head against my hand, dark eyes watching me with what seemed like genuine curiosity. I sometimes wondered if he understood more than he let on.

“I did something incredibly stupid,” I told him, straightening up and heading toward the kitchen with Pickles following. “Something that I may never recover from.”

I pulled open the refrigerator, staring at the contents without really seeing them. My mind was still stuck in that moment in my office, when Mia had looked up at me with those wide gray eyes and said she wanted to test our chemistry.

The memory of her lips on mine sent heat rushing through my veins all over again. Soft and warm and yielding, opening beneath mine so sweetly I’d nearly lost my mind right there and then. The little sound she’d made in the back of her throat had nearly undone me completely.

“Fuck.” I grabbed a beer and twisted off the cap, taking a long pull before looking down at Pickles, who had settled onto his haunches beside me. “What the hell was I thinking?”

He tilted his head to one side, clearly judging me.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I moved to the living room and dropped onto the couch, resting my feet on the coffee table. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see her.”

Pickles hopped up next to me without waiting for permission. He rested his big head on my thigh, a solid warm weight that grounded me as my thoughts raced.

What had possessed me to offer to be her fake boyfriend? And then to kiss her like that in my office, in the middle of a workday, with the door unlocked. Anyone could have walked in. It was reckless. Unprofessional. Completely out of character for me.

But god, it had felt good. Right, even. The way she’d melted against me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. How her hands had pressed against my chest, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer, just holding on as if she needed something to anchor her.

I took another drink of my beer, letting my free hand scratch absently between Pickles’ ears.

The memory of finding her in the server room, huddled and frightened, flashed through my mind for the hundredth time this week.

The thought of Mia facing that alone, especially after seeing how it affected her, twisted something in my chest.

So no, I didn’t regret offering. But that kiss had complicated things beyond what I’d anticipated. Now I knew what she tasted like, how she felt in my arms, how I reacted to her. Information I had no business knowing.

Pickles nudged my hand with his nose, demanding more attention. I obliged, smiling slightly at his persistence.

“You’re right,” I told him. “I made the offer. She accepted. Now I need to follow through without making it weird. Totally doable, right?”

Pickles looked skeptical.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I am a grown man, you know, not some teenage boy overcome with hormones.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts. I fished it out, my pulse picking up when I saw Mia’s name on the screen. So much for being a grown man.

So, about Saturday. We should probably have a backstory? Like, how long we’ve been dating, that sort of thing. Unless you think we should stick closer to the truth?

I stared at the message, picturing her typing it, maybe biting her lower lip the way she did when she was concentrating. I had to get a grip.

“Here we go,”

I glanced at Pickles, who was watching me closely.

“Sure, now you’re interested.”

My thumbs hovered over the screen as I considered my response. Professional. Keep it professional.

I think closer to the truth is better. Harder to slip up that way. We could say we’ve been seeing each other outside of work for a few weeks. Recent enough that you haven’t mentioned it yet, but not so new that it seems implausible.

I hit send before I could overthink it. Pickles huffed beside me, as if offering an opinion on my text.

“What? It’s logical,” I defended myself to the dog, who just blinked slowly in response.

My phone buzzed again almost immediately.

That makes sense. And I guess our first date could have been dinner after work? Unless you have a better idea.

I smiled despite myself, imagining us on an actual first date. Would I have taken her somewhere fancy, or would she prefer something more casual? Would she laugh more openly outside the office, her eyes bright in the dim restaurant lighting? Jesus Christ, man, get a grip.

Dinner works. At that Italian place in town.

I hit send, then immediately followed with another text.

How are you feeling about Saturday?

Three dots appeared instantly, then disappeared, then appeared again. Finally, her response came through.

Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Grateful. All of the above?

Something warm curled around my heart at her honesty.

Don’t be nervous. I’ve got you.

The moment I sent it, I realized how it might sound. Too intimate. Too personal. I quickly followed with something more neutral.

What time should I pick you up?

Three dots bounced for a few seconds.

Around noon? It’s a half hour drive to New Bern. That’s not too early, is it?

Not at all. I’ll be there at noon.

I set my phone down on the coffee table, aware that I was smiling like an idiot at a simple text exchange. Pickles nudged my hand again, demanding more ear scratches.

“What am I getting myself into?” I asked him quietly, even as I imagined seeing Mia on Saturday, away from the office, in a place where I could hold her hand and touch her back and maybe even kiss her again without worrying about professional boundaries.

Pickles had no answer, but his dark eyes seemed knowing as he gazed at me.

I finished my beer and leaned back, my mind still full of gray eyes and soft lips and the memory of a body that fit against mine as if it belonged there. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.