Page 19 of My Office Rival

“Are you going to tell the firm you want a different rental house?” she asked as she drove.

“Nope. You?” I knew for a fact that there weren’t any other rentals available, due to the huge ranching festival in town this week. But I’d let her think I was baiting her.

“I just thought you might want some personal space,” she replied evenly.Nice try.She’d done this to me before. The sideways route. Cajoling instead of forcing. She excelled at it.

“Oh, I don’t need personal space,” I responded with a smile.I very much do.Even being in this car was torment. Her warm scent wrapped around me. Her even breaths filled the space.

“Those walls are really fucking thin,” she grumbled. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Did I distract you last night?”She had distracted me. Every creak of her mattress had kept me wondering why she was awake.And when I’d woken hard and wanting, I’d refused to let off steam for fear she would hear me.

Her cheeks pinked. “A little. I mean, I live in an apartment so I’m used to ah, sounds. But it’s been a long time since I had a roommate.”

“I’ve never had one. Not since college.”

She made a sound of surprise. “Even as a lowly law student? It’s a rite of passage in New York.”

“I don’t do well without control over my space,” I said tightly. “I grew up without much of any. It’s precious to me now.” The understatement of the year. A childhood full of chaotic, broken homes meant I craved order and comfort, like I needed air and water.

“You must have lived pretty far out, then. Unless you were rich? You don’t seem like a trust fund kid.”

I barked a laugh. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. I lived ninety minutes from school in a tiny studio apartment.”

“Damn, all that just to avoid roommates?”

“Yep. It was pretty brutal, actually. I studied a lot on the train, in between jobs, or after work.” I’d fallen into bed every night. I couldn’t remember a day I hadn’t been exhausted and wary.

“Wow. So living with me must betorturefor you,” she teased. “I would describe my living style as colorful.”

I groaned, and she grinned. It would be torture, but not for the reasons she thought. Torture was knowing she was naked just inches away. Those tiny pajamas she’d worn this morning had concealed very little. “Are you one of those people who saves every single piece of packaging to reuse later?”

She burst out laughing. “No, but my parents are. They could be generously described as borderline hoarders.”

“Luckily for me, it sounds like you haven’t inherited their tendencies,” I said hopefully.

She shook those fiery curls as she turned into the grocery store parking lot. “You’re in luck. But I do take after my parents in one way—I don’t know how to cook.” She eased out of the car, and I looked away before I ogled her ass in those leggings.

“So, what were you planning to buy?”

“I don’t know. Lunchables or something?” She looked totally serious.

I grinned. “Yeah, that would be professional. Lunchables at the office.”

“I was at least going to get some coffee and fruit.”

I looked over at her, so much smaller than I was, so soft in her street clothes, when she normally seemed larger than life.You could help her.I shook my head. Provide for her?That’s insane.

We wended our way through the aisles, and Cynthia tossed random things into her cart without looking at the prices. I trailedbehind, selecting actually useful items, like fruits and vegetables, oatmeal, protein bars.

“Protein bars, really?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I work out a lot,” I said. Compulsively, one might say. Alana had described me asobsessed, and not in a good way.

“I, ah, should have remembered,” she replied, and cleared her throat.Your body is insane, she’d said last night. My groin tightened.

“Uh, right,” I replied eloquently, and followed those swinging hips into the next aisle. “If it were up to you, it seems we’d be eating pretzels and string cheese.”

“What’s wrong with that?” She rounded on me.

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