Page 4 of His Hot Mess

So much for no distractions.

SADIE

Ihad met Chris Slade exactly twice before. The first was when we helped Lucy win Graydon back by setting off a bunch of fireworks on a beach last spring. The second time was a few weeks later at a barbecue at Graydon’s place to celebrate the end of the job Lucy and Graydon had met on. Both times I found myself with an unusual and unwelcome mix of being extremely pissed off at him for being a smug know-it-all, and also feeling like my whole body was on fire near him—like I wanted tomake outwith him.

Both feelings only made me angry at myself. Why was I like this? Why did hemake melike this?

In any case, I hadn’t seen him in almost exactly a year.

But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him that whole time. If I was being really truthful, I’d thought about him an unhealthy amount over the past year. It was extremely irritating how much he’d gotten under my skin.

So how the hell had I not noticed him sitting here, hunched over a coffee and a paperback, wearing a Grayscale Contracting hat? As I glared, I couldn’t help but notice how well he filled out his t-shirt. His broad shoulders and triceps—and the sideways look he gave me—made my stomach do a little flip.

Then the anger lit up. I slapped my forearm down on my paper.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to look at other people’s stuff?”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s hard not to when it’s right under your nose?”

His voice was deep. Hard. Panty-melting.

Fuck.

I blinked, then looked down. Somehow in the few minutes I’d been there, I’d spread my bag and half its contents out on the formica.

I wished for the thousandth time in my life I could be more like Lucy. Organized. Put-together. Professional.

I grabbed my bag and used my arm to sweep everything back inside. I didn’t realize I’d left my ‘business plan’ exposed until Chris said, “You’re not a half bad artist.”

I grabbed the paper and stuffed it in my bag. My cheeks burned. That plan was personal.

“Chris, right? Club? Diamonds?” I hooked the bag under the counter.

Chris laughed. “Slade. Close… ish. Actually, not close at all.”

Ugh, this guy. Screw him and his stupid hot face. “Slade. Sure.”

I shoved my bag under my stool and, hands now unoccupied, drummed my fingers on the counter, craning my neck to look for Aubrey. I spotted her helping a woman with a red-faced toddler pick up the crayons he’d exploded all over the floor. It looked like something I would have done. That was me, as neat and put-together as a toddler. My cheeks burned hotter.

I spun back to Chris. “Listen, I’m just here for some breakfast—we don’t need to pretend we know each other.”

“Suits me,” Chris said.

Somehow, even though it was what I wanted, I was irritated that he was so happy to forget I was there.

“Do you even remember my name?” I shot back at him.

“Sadie Fulham. You don’t just forget the woman who argued with you—erroneously—about where to find the best bratwurst in Germany.”

Despite myself, my lips twisted up. I looked away before he could see. At that barbecue at Graydon’s place last year he’d been infuriating—insisting he was right where he was laughably wrong. But it had been fun, too.

And he’d remembered my name.

Most guys I met didn’t remember my name until the third time we’d gotten together.

But it wasn’t like I was planning on doing any more making out, and definitely not with Chris. He’d just made fun of my life dream, as messy as it was.

I scowled, folding up my paper. “Listen, I just came here to get some breakfast and do some work. If you don’t mind, I’d like to do it in peace.”

---