Page 38 of Pick Me
Well, Wayne, since you asked… what would you advise me to do when my extremely young but painfully sexy officemate and roommate wants me to have sex with him, which is a thing I also want, but which feels irresponsible for reasons that are probably incredibly important even though I forget them whenever he walks in the room?
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I told him, averting my eyes from Goodman’s luscious ass once more.
“Good to have you back, Knox.”
“Good to be back,” I replied automatically.
But as I disconnected the call, I realized that the words weren’t just polite; they were kind of true. I was kind of enjoying my time at the orchard. More than I had at first, anyway.
I felt good. Truly calm. I hadn’t had even a fluttering of a panic attack in a couple of weeks. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I’d never have another one, but I was definitely getting better.
And even though Goodman was the bane of my existence—and I was still almost positive I wasn’t going to sleep with him—his open, cheerful nature made life fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up interested to see what the day held like I had recently.
“Hnghhhhhhhhhh,” Goodman moaned, lifting his flip-flopped foot onto the edge of the desk and leaning his body weight into his leg.
I wasn’t sure whatthatmove was supposed to stretch… besides my self-control.
“Y’okay, Goodman?” I demanded without looking at him. I shuffled some papers on my desk and grabbed one at random so I could pretend to be making crucially important notes.
“Yeah, no, I’m great. Never better.” His eyebrow twitched. “I actually got a huge chunk of the scheduling software customized this morning, and Webb is thrilled. But for some reason, my muscles just feel so…hnghhhhhh… so very, verytightthese days.”
“Dehydration from last week?” I suggested sweetly.
“What? No!” His outrage was adorable. “I wasn’t even hungover.”
“You sure? ’Cause you vomited a lot. Like, alot,” I lied. “I wasn’t sure someone could puke that much and live.”
Goodman let his foot fall to the floor. “It’s not dehydration.” He sounded sulky, and I felt the urge to laugh bubble up in my throat.
“Maybe it’s the change of seasons, then,” I said mildly. “Gammy Sunday used to be a slave to her arthritis, especially when she was underdressed. She used to wear a scarf religiously come fall, and she swore by her raw-onion liniment recipe. I think Webb might have some of Gammy’s liniment in the cow barn if you’re interested.”
“I’d literally rather die.” He jumped to his feet and began pacing the length of our front-to-front desks. His gorgeous, bare, golden-tanned legs ate up the short distance.
“Or you could put on warmer clothes, maybe.” I tugged at the drawstring of my Hannabury College hoodie. “Protect yourself from the chill. Maybe a blanket for your lap. Maybe not wearing shorts when it’s fifty degrees, or—”
Goodman rolled my chair back from my desk and inserted himself in the space he’d created, his bare knee an inch away from my jean-clad one. “Why don’t you want to fuck me?” he demanded.
I blinked.God damn.Was he actually asking me that flat out? “Goodman—”
“Don’t do that. Don’tGoodmanme. Look, I told myself it’d be fine if you weren’t interested in me. Plenty of people aren’t. But then the other night at the club, you and I danced, and it… you… We kissed, Knox,” he blurted. “You kissed me. I didn’t imagine that.” He frowned. “Wait, I didn’t imagine that, did I?”
“No,” I agreed softly. “You didn’t imagine that.”
“And you werehard,” he accused.
I sighed. “I was.”
“And you were jealous of John.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did I tell you about the text I got from Teagan? About what happened between the two of them?”
“Yes. And stop trying to change the subject.”
I tapped my pen against my thigh. “Yes. I was jealous.”
“So, then…?”
It was hard to think clearly when he was so close, so warm, and smelling so damn good.
