How did he look at me? I want to ask, but it’s a dangerous question. I’m standing on the border of truth and fantasy, and it could be so easy to interpret the answer wrong and start living in a dreamland.
I’ve already messed everything up by pretending with him, because it was the tiniest glimpse into what a relationship with him could be, and now I know. I know that I like the feeling of being with him. Now that I’ve tasted what it could be like, I know I’ll always want more.
“Dinner or dinner?” I say instead of asking Molly anything more about Locke. I hurry down the street without saying another word about him.
I’m a coward, but I’m also not a fool.
10
Locke
I know, by now, that Greer is habitually late, but she’s on the cusp of call-in-sick territory on Thursday morning when I hear the clomp of shoes on the tile hallway outside the open office. My eyes are trained on my computer, skimming through my morning emails, but my heart still lurches in my chest at the noise. It’s been too long since I really looked at her, and my body aches like an addict begging for a fix.
These last few days of trying to keep my heart in line have gotten me nowhere, and even by staying away from her, I can’t focus on work. If I keep this up, David and Curt will probably withdraw the job offer, anyway. So I give in. I lift my eyes as the carpet in our office dampens the sound of Greer’s footsteps and then do the fucking double take of my life.
Those clomping shoes are black leather booties with four-inch heels, and they make Greer’s legs look a million miles long. Not to mention they do something gorgeous to her ass, which curves under a simple, black, fit-and-flare dress. The dark fabric offsets her golden hair, which waves around her shoulders and wafts the faintest traces of shampoo and perfume.
My mouth goes dry.
What the hell was I thinking before? The only thing this trial run of absence did was show me what I already knew—my life without Greer in it is flat and dull.
I’ve missed her.
Greer pulls her laptop out of her shoulder bag and arranges it on her desk, then takes a seat across from me.
Say something, Locke.
“You’re looking…” Sexy. Edible. I start again. “You’re looking formal today.”
She looks almost startled by my voice, and I realize I’ve done too good a job of staying away from her.
“Formal. Yeah.” Greer’s cheeks go pink and she doesn’t meet my eye. “I’ve got a presentation with Damien and Curt today.”
“On the bot project? The milestone review for Wanda?”
She finally meets my eye. “You remembered?” Soft, peachy eyeshadow highlights her blue eyes, and mascara makes them look wide and deep. Like something to fall into.
“Of course I did.”
For the first time, she smiles. It’s a tentative smile, but it makes me feel hopeful. Maybe I didn’t damage us after all.
“Truth be told, I’m in great shape,” Greer says. “Our data’s great, and I’ve gone over this damn speech about a hundred times. I’m just feeling a little pukey about it. There’s a reason I wrote screenplays instead of acting in them.”
I wince. “What time’s the meeting?”
“Eleven.”
I nod. I can clear my schedule for eleven. I open my mouth and offer without thinking. “Want another friendly face to sit in on the presentation? For good luck?”
Greer’s mouth parts, and her eyes fill with gratitude. “You’d do that?” she whispers.
“Yeah, Greer, I’d do that. And then I’ll take you to lunch afterward to celebrate how awesome you’ve done.”
She rolls her eyes, but this time her smile is real. “Are you buying?” she teases.
“I think it’s only fair.”
Her cheeks flush, and she nods. “Then I accept.”
“Speaking of which.” I rustle around in my desk and produce a white cardboard box, which I hand across the table to her.
“What’s this?”
“A souvenir from San Francisco. Forgot to give it to you earlier.”
I hold my breath as she bites her bottom lip and opens the cardboard box carefully. The business card holder falls into her hands, a Golden Gate Bridge that pins a few cards in the grip of its trademark rails.
“It’s a little silly,” I warn.
“No,” she breathes. “It’s perfect.” Her voice is light, and her eyes shine as she looks up at me. “You are definitely trying to distract me from my meeting.”
“Is it working?”
She grins in a way that makes me grin too. “It might be.”
Maybe, just maybe, I can get us back on track.
Greer wraps her lips around a forkful of pasta and closes her eyes with a contented hum of approval. She chews with a half smile on her mouth, and I can’t keep my eyes from her lips. Watching this girl eat is like watching a Carl’s junior commercial—so sexy it’s hard to look away.
When she finally swallows, she opens her eyes and smiles. “I know it’s not the popular opinion, but the food in the caf really isn’t half bad.”
We’re at the dining hall on the first floor of WanderWell’s headquarters, and the prospect of my salad bar salad pales in comparison to how much she’s enjoying her pasta.
“Well, I’m glad it lives up to your exacting palate.”
“Only the best,” Greer agrees. “Thanks again for bringing me.”
“Well deserved. The presentation was great.”
She ducks her head. “I just wish Damien hadn’t started flapping his lips at the end.” She lowers her fork with a frown. “It was like he had to ask me something just to ask me something, you know? To look like he was in charge.”
I lean forward, and my knees knock into hers under the table. “You know the only reason a guy does that kind of posturing?” I ask. “Because he feels threatened.”
She giggles, and the
