Page 41 of The Puckable Playbook

Cleavage. Zaiah likes cleavage.

My fingers fly across the keyboard.

This isn’t about your brother!

Oh, right. Sure. Well, I think every guy likes cleavage.

I peer down at my shirt. There’s no way a pop of boob is going to come out of there, so that nixes that idea.

Then again, this guy sounds like the opposite of most guys. He probably wants you fully covered. Standoffish. Be cold. Ignore him.

I eye my phone screen. I don’t even think I said much about Clark. Clearly, she doesn’t know how to flirt either.

Playfulness it is.

With a deep breath, I pull open the door and walk toward the newsroom. I glance past the glass windows and find Clark there, his laptop open in front of him. He bites down on a pencil, and besides how unsanitary that is, he looks cute.

My heart springs into action, beating harder. Before he can see me watching him, I move to the door and open it. He glances up when I enter, smiling. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” I say. My brain fires, telling me to add a flirty nickname, so I quickly conjure up, “My super—”NO, NO, NO. ABORT!“My super…editor, you.”

His smile grows wider. “Not feeling it today, though. This layout has got me stumped.”

His gaze immediately tracks back down to the screen. Maybe I should’ve come in butt first? Zaiah did say my butt looks good in leggings.

My stomach flutters all over again, but I push that thought out of my mind. “I’m sure we can figure it out.”

I would normally set up across from him, but not this time. I stride to his side of the table, drop my stuff in an empty chair, and move in close. First, I just stare at him. Clark is the right amount of good looking. Perfectly cute. Though, his jaw isn’t as nice as Zaiah’s. His frame is smaller, too. Most guys our age are, so it’s not his fault. I’m one hundred percent sure Clark isn’t packing the six-pack Zaiah has. Or the—

My face flushes.

I need to get his dick out of my brain.

“Any thoughts?”

Clark still hasn’treallylooked at me yet. Had I worn a shirt for cleavage purposes, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

I sigh, finally looking down to see what he has. Clark has many talents as an editor, but layout isn’t one of them. One glaring error is that he has my clock tower article on the front page. “Oh, Clark, I’m not done with the clock tower piece. Maybe next issue.”

He peers over. “Really? You’re usually so much more prompt.”

A pang of pain hits me square in the chest. I search for the right words because I did tell him I’d have it done this upcoming week, but I didn’t mean Tuesday’s paper. “I don’t have enough right now, and I got another idea over the weekend that will take some time to put in place.”

He sighs. “Well, that ruins that idea.”

“Run the piece Murphy is working on,” I offer.

“He said he needs another week as well.”

“Hasn’t he been working on it for over a month?”

Clark shrugs, and I have to take a deep breath to calm myself.He’s sayingI’mnot prompt?“I’m sure someone has something worthy of front and center.”

“I’ll figure it out.” A quick, hard tap on the delete key cuts the placeholder title for my article from the doc. Guilt laces through me. I’ve really been working on that article when I can, pretty much all available hours, but it’s a bigger piece than I imagined when I pitched the idea.

I shake those thoughts away.He’s not mad at me,I tell myself.He’s overwhelmed by the layout.

“Of course you will.” Placing my hand tentatively on his shoulder, I rub my thumb over it. However, as soon as I do it, I stare at my hand in horror. It feels weird. Wrong, even. Heck, I touched Zaiah’s naked chest all night changing out his heating pad to ice every hour or so, yet this is so much more awkward.

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