Page 147 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

Silas

I don’t accomplishshit for the rest of the afternoon, and not for lack of trying. It’s because every time I try to focus on the discovery documents for a water-rights case about orchards on a tributary of the Chillacouth river, after twenty seconds I’m thinking of Kat saying tell me what we’d do and it’s extremely unproductive.

It was a terrible idea. Her door wasn’t even closed. I could hear her coworkers right outside: typing, talking, laughing, walking. Anyone could’ve walked in. It was stupid and shortsighted and reckless and holy shit hot.

The way she asked for it like she did, sitting with perfect posture in her office chair, behind her desk. White button-up shirt with long sleeves and a high collar. Knee-length skirt. Glasses. There’s something about Kat looking impossibly prim and proper while I talk dirty to her that unravels my entire being. Something about her knowing a risk and taking it anyway because it turns her on that does me in.

I’m staring out the window of my office, watching the sun lower over Sprucevale, when my phone buzzes.

Wyatt:Anybody going up this weekend?

Gideon:I was thinking about it

Me:I can’t, I’ve got a work thing Saturday night

Wyatt:Who the hell has a work event the Saturday of Labor Day weekend?

Me:Law firms. It’s the annual Lawyering Awards

Wyatt:You up for Best Lawyer?

Me:No

Wyatt:Come up Sunday, then

Sunday I’ve got every intention of waking up with Kat in my bed, having a lazy Sunday morning, and then maybe doing something disgustingly cute like brunch. As much as I love Wildwood—it was my idea and my doing, after all—the twin bunks in my tiny cabin aren’t good for much besides sleeping.

Me:I’ll see

Wyatt:Fuck you, that means no

Wyatt:Javi, are you gonna be back from VA Beach?

Wyatt:JAVIIIIIIIIIIII

Wyatt:Did he throw his phone into the ocean again?

Before I can tell Wyatt to chill out, there’s a knock on my open door and Kat steps in, grinning from ear to ear, looking relieved and almost relaxed for once.

“I didn’t get fired,” she says.

“Can I say I told you so?” I ask, coming around my desk toward her.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then congrats on not getting fired,” I say, and give her a kiss. Right inside my office, the door open to everyone else who’s still here a little after six. I can hear someone typing, someone else talking on the phone. They could walk by. They could come in.

But Kat’s here and she’s kissing me in her excruciatingly proper outfit. She’s wearing heels so she’s taller than usual, the angles of us a little different, and I flick my tongue along her lower lip, not expecting anything. Just to see what happens.

What happens is Kat opens her mouth under mine and steps closer, one hand on my chest and the other around the back of my neck. What happens is I barely bite back a groan and push my hand into her hair, where it snags because she’s got it back in a knot and she bites my lower lip, laughing.

“Sorry,” I murmur, my lips moving against hers.

“You’re not.”

I swallow hard, my other hand on her lower back, fingers moving in slow circles. I take one more kiss and then force myself to pull away, clearing my throat because there are people. Coworkers. Come on.

“You got a minute?” I ask, as if I’m not half-hard right now.