Page 92 of Chasing After You
I realize none of them know I’m pretending to date Henry because it’s unofficially part of my job, but it hasn’t been all sunshine and roses, even if last night it was jerseys and orgasms.
I weigh a quick pro and con list in my head. Pro: telling Miley off. Con: I still have to work with her.
“I can list off all my qualifications for this jobagain, but it’s getting a little repetitive. Just like your bitching about how I’m not working as hard as you. If you have a problem with it, take it up with Stacey,” I reply icily, over this bullshit.
Her jaw drops in surprise, but I have a feeling I’m going to end up working from home for the rest of the day. I log out of my computer, and grab my bag with my laptop, making sure that my fists are clenched so I don’t walk out with my middle fingers up in the air.
I send Stacey an email on my phone as I walk out of the stadium, letting her know that I’ll be working from home today, but if she needs me to come back to the office once the plane lands, I’ll come back. I guess it’s a good thing I came in early.
Fuck Miley and her stupid opinions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Henry
ANDREW’S FLIGHT WAS delayed so instead of waiting at the airport for him, I decided to run home and shower first to wash off the feeling of flying. If I have enough time, I could probably take Mirabelle lunch. I’m learning she’s not very good at remembering to eat when she’s in the zone.
Opening the garage door, I’m surprised to see her car still here. Stacey didn’t say anything about her working from home today, but I guess it’s good I came here first.
I grab my bag from the trunk of my car, my stomach flipping a little at the thought of being in the same room as Mirabelle.
Last night on the phone might be the new fantasy I replay in my head, because holy fuck, she looked incredible. I was in a pretty awful mood after the game until I checked my phone, and the picture she sent of herself wearing my jersey blew my mind. I didn’t call with the expectation of anything happening, but I’m sure as fuck not complaining. When Mirabelle asked for permission to touch herself in my bed, I think my brain stroked out for a moment.
I want to kill her ex-boyfriend for making her feel like she’s not good enough, but I also want to thank the stupid son of a bitch for being the reason she looks at me like I hung the moon and the stars. It does something to me that I can’t describe, but it’s an addictive feeling.
I think for my birthday present I’m going to ask Mirabelle to wear my jersey—with pants—to the next game. That would be a dream come true.Shit, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
I open the door, but the handle doesn’t turn.Why is this door locked?We never lock the garage door. I pull my keys from my pocket, unlocking the handle, but the door still won’t open.Did Mirabelle flip the deadbolt too? What the hell is going on?
It takes me a moment to find the right key, but I’m finally able to get in. Whoever thought of designing all the keys to be the same shape and color but for different locks deserves a special place in hell.
“Mira? Are you home?” I call out, setting my duffle bag next to the door, punching in the alarm code to disable the system. The house is silent, and it puts me a little on edge. A quiet Mirabelle is a sign of trouble, and I’m just hoping I’m not in deep shit with her.
Oh fuck.What if she locked the door to let me know she’s mad at me for falling asleep on her last night? It was an accident, and I would think if she were upset, Mirabelle would have sent me a middle finger this morning instead of telling me she would start the book I sent her while she works?
She’s in my room, sitting on the floor as she scrolls on her iPad with headphones on. I don’t mind at all that she’s in my room, but I feel like there’s definitely an underlying reason for it that Mirabelle hasn’t shared. She sets her iPad down to reach for her laptop when she finally spots me standing there.
“Henry, you scared the shit out of me.” She laughs, pressing a hand to her chest as she takes her headphones out.
“Sorry,” I apologize, because that wasn’t my intention, but this sort of feels like déjà vu from a few months ago when I crashed her morning surf. That feels like a lifetime ago. So many things are different now, but I’m not sure I would change anything if it meant I wouldn’t be with Mirabelle. Not that I’mwithher, but I enjoy spending time with her like this. We’ve always been friends, but now I can’t imagine going a day without talking to her.
Mirabelle tilts her head. “Are you?”
“Nope.” I grin at her, moving to sit by her on the floor. “I didn’t know you were working from home today?”
“It wasn’t the plan,” she admits.
“What happened?” I ask, and Mirabelle sighs, shrugging.
“Just more shit with Miley. It was either work from home, or get myself sent to HR.”
Based on the little bit Mirabelle has shared with me, it sounds like nothing she does is going to be good enough for Miley. “That bad?” I ask, and Mirabelle drags her hands over her face, groaning.
“It could have been worse. I told her to cry me a river and to stop bitching about whether I’m doing my job, but that’s the only time I swore,” she defends herself, and I know I would have paid good money to see Mirabelle try to control her temper. “Stop smiling. I’m supposed to be a professional by not stooping to their level,” she says, scolding me in a way that makes me want to lean over and kiss her senseless.
“You are a professional,” I agree.
“Damn straight. Miley can fuck off,” Mirabelle says, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles.
