Page 2 of No More Bad Boys
The dish moves, I’m still alive, and another day of work is almost in the books.
I slide my ID card, step through the back door of the station, and go to the ladies’ room to try to clean up a bit—my hands are covered in some sort of greasy black goop which the cheap bulk-marketed hand soap is barely touching.
Ten minutes and ten paper towels later, I head back for the engineering department, passing through the enormous WATV newsroom to get there.
“Hey—you—intern. What’s your name again?” A chirpy little brunette in retro black glasses motions to me from the assignment desk.
I’ve met her at leastthree times. “It’s Cadence.”
What could she want with me? I cross over to her and try to see over the high counter of the assignment desk—it’s almost like a crow’s nest overlooking a sea of partition-divided desks in the busy newsroom.
The girl, whose nameIremember, Alissa, has disappeared from view. And then she’s back. Her owlish-cute face pops over the top of the desk, and she hands down a piece of printer paper.
“Okay, so we’re sending you out with Blake. Y’all are going over to the Tech campus—I figured you’d be able to help him find the right building and a good parking spot—I hear it’s a nightmare over there.”
She must think I’m a news intern—I’ve been here four months, for God’s sake.
I stand on tiptoe to speak to her, but she’s disappeared again. I raise my voice, trying to be heard. “Yes, it is but—I’m not—”
My protest is interrupted by a barrage of disconcerting sensations.
A huge pair of hands covers my eyes, a warm (and very hard) male chest presses against my back, and I’m surrounded by possibly the best scent I’ve ever experienced—a mixture of cologne and warm skin and a fruity scent—gum maybe?
Against my ear, a low murmur sends chills spreading across my body like water rippling across a pond.
“Guess who?”
The voice is deep and raspy, a Southern-tinged baritone… and it’s completely unfamiliar.
The close proximity of the assignment desk prevents me from stepping forward out of his grasp, so I jerk to the side and out of the arms of the delicious-smelling stranger who has obviously mistaken me for someone else.
I whirl around to face him and get a quick, dazzling impression of green eyes and strong features, and barely controlled waves of auburn hair.
The green eyes go wide, and then his color deepens—wow—that was a fast blush response.
And wowWOW—this guy is super-hot. He reminds me of the actor from that Scottish highlander time travel show I’ve been obsessed with lately. I’ve been spendingwaytoo much time alone with cable TV.
“Oh. Uh—sorry. I thought you were… someone else. I’m so sorry.” His blush deepens even further.
My God, he is cute.
He’s probably about Kenley’s age—but he looks like a little boy in this moment, stammering and reaching toward me in a placating gesture, then apparently thinking better of it and pulling his hands back to himself.
Really nice hands, too, big and strong-looking with those raised veins that guys who work out always seem to have.
Dragging my eyes from his hands to his face, I shake my head. “It’s okay. No problem.”
I offer my own hand to show there are no hard feelings. “I’m Cadence. I’m an intern—not news—engineering.”
The guy seems to recover himself. He takes my hand and gives me a smile.
Wow wow wow.
Dimples. The high kind that are almost on the cheekbone. I love those. Andlord help mehe has a dimple in his chin as well.
“I’m Blake,” he says. “Not engineering. News. I’m a reporter—just started this week.”
“Oh—” I look down at the paper in my other hand. It’s some sort of itinerary. “I think this is for you. Alissa at the assignment desk gave it to me—it has something to do with a story at Georgia Tech?”
