Page 33 of His Curvy Obsession

And now this.

I shouldn’t be so insecure. Men hate insecurity, don’t they? And clinginess. And desperation. And…

“Fuck,” I say under my breath. “Shake it off, Beck. He’s not even your boyfriend. He’s just your…”

My what?

I don’t even know. My booty call? My…boss-slash-booty-call?

Doubt creeps into my mind. Since the wedding, I thought maybe we were getting somewhere. Like maybe Eric and I were building something more than a booty call.

But I know what Eric wants. A wife. Children. All of the usual things. Things I’m not even sure I could provide for him, even if I wanted to. But I’m not sure I want to, if Eric can’t promise that he could love me – if not now, then some day in the future.

The worst thing of all is that I think I’m falling for him.Reallyfalling for him. It’s something I never expected, something happening so quickly that I’m hardly aware of it. Not until I get home from work at night, stripping off my work clothes and remembering the way that he touched me, the way that he looked at me that day.

It makes my heart skip a beat, gives my stomach butterflies, and I replay all of my favorite moments of the day every night when I get home. Like I’m in high school again with a new crush, holding my breath and waiting for the next time he looks at me, smiles at me, pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

It’s the most amazing feeling.

Until it’s not.

Until I begin doubting myself, doubtinghim, wondering what the hell I’m thinking. Sleeping with my boss? Eric Stone, the guy who looked right through me for seven years? Eric Stone, the alleged robotic man who could never feel love towards me or any other woman?

He did me a favor by going to that wedding with me. In his mind, he was trying to help, trying to get my mom off my back about dating and marriage.

But what’s his explanation now? If the point was to help me out so I didn’t show up empty handed to my sister’s wedding, why are we still doingthiswith the wedding behind us?

And why the hell am I staying late at the office on a Friday night re-organizing meeting notes that nobody will ever read?

Suddenly I hear the elevator doors on the other side of the room ding, opening up. Footsteps that sound hurried and heavy. In seconds, Eric Stone himself is standing in front of me, holding a thick, frayed book.

“Eric, what’s -”

THUD.

He drops the large book in front of me.

“What thefuck,”I begin, pushing the book away from me.

“Look,” he says, tapping his finger on the page it’s opened up to. “Read this.”

I tear my confused gaze from his face and look down at the weathered old book.

It’s a dictionary.

His finger jabs an entry halfway down the page.

“You want me to read the definition of love,” I say flatly, looking up at him. “Why? Is this some kind of weird test, Eric? Or you want to prove a point to me? You already told me. I know how you feel about it, and you know how I feel about it.”

“Just read it,” he says.

“I know what love is,” I reply.

He sighs impatiently and turns the book around to himself, reading aloud.

“Love,” he says. “Strong affection arising out of kinship.”

He takes a marker from the cup of pens in the corner of my desk, drawing a thick black check mark over the entry.

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