Page 31 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
For the love of all that is holy, someone please crack me with a whip.
Instead, the Indiana Jones theme music is playing somewhere in the back of my mind, guilting me out. I pass her glasses to her like they’re a hot potato. She puts them on and I look away in the name of self-preservation. I’m just a man, standing in front of a woman, trying not to have inappropriate glasses-related dreams all night.
“Sorry to wake you, and for getting home so late.” I frown, remembering the day. What a mess. “It was a long one.”
“I’m sorry you had a hard day,” she murmurs as she extricates herself from the bed. She tucks the blankets around Immy. “Did you get your snack?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Not yet. I’m starving.” I pull out my phone because the notifications won’t stop. There are multiple texts from my mother, still incoming.
MORMIE
BRING ME MY GRANDBABY.
MORMIE
Now.
MORMIE
And who is that gorgeous woman???
MORMIE
I’m guessing she’s the new nanny? Nan didn’t last long, huh?
MORMIE
Please don’t be your usual self with that one. Love you, Sockergris.
My mother always sends texts one after another, machine gun-style.Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.It’s how she talks in real life, too.
But I can’t respond now—not when there’s a warm, sleepy-eyed woman smiling at me. Sunny tracks the buzzing of my phone and I shove it in the back pocket of my jeans, where it continues to buzz. My mother is on one tonight.
“Ollie texted. You have an early day tomorrow?” She tries to hide a yawn behind her hand.
I love that she’s calling him Ollie now. It’s like we’re a team, united in our goal to annoy the bejeezus out of him. “Yeah. Sorry about that. You know you’re welcome to sleep here if it’s more convenient.”Yes. For convenience.Where’s that whip? I need it.
“I don’t think so,” she says with a laugh. “Oliver had fire shooting out of his eyes when he caught me here this morning. I bet you got an earful.” I follow her to the living area, where she slides her feet into her sandals. I need to start hiding those things when I walk in the door.
“Hetried to give me an earful, but I reminded him that he works for me, and that you and I have a friendly working relationship. I’ll talk to him about laying off you.” I’m hungry, bordering on hangry, thinking about the conversation I had with Oliver this morning. I don’t want Sunny to leave, so I wander over to the fridge mid-sentence to grab my snack. She can’t leave if I keep talking. She’s my conversation prisoner. “Big day for you tomorrow. Or are you one of those women who hates her birthday? Should I not say anything about it?” I peel the Snack sticker off the container and toss it on the counter.
“Not at all. I love being showered with gifts and attention. And you’re rich, so expectations are high.”
That startles a laugh out of me. Her tone makes it obvious that she’s joking. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who seeks out elaborate gifts, or even attention, but this feels like a challenge. I can’t wait to knock her off her feet with… something. Tomorrow. I need to get on it. “Oh, I’m all over this. Anders Beck does not mess around when it comes to gifts.”
She covers her reddening face with her hands, “Please tell Anders Beck I was kidding. I’ll feel guilty if you get a gift for me. I’ll be here in the morning and we’ll just have a normal day, okay?”
“Not a chance,” I say around a mouthful of this chickpea tofu snack that is decidedly inedible. I would commit murder for a bag of Skittles. I drop the plastic container on the counter and make my way to Sunny, who is standing at the door with her bag slung over her shoulder and her hand on the knob. I’m not missing out on Sunny time for that garbage snack. I don’t care how hungry I am.
“Please don’t go crazy. I’m a simple gal.”
“You are anything but simple, Sunny Pratt.” I’m standing way too close to her. She’s not moving away. Before I realize what I’m doing my fingers brush the scratch on her cheek. She sucks in a breath, and I pull away. “Did that hurt?”
“No.”
“Immy said Hairy did this. What happened?” This is good. Make her tell a story. Keep her here as long as possible.
Once again her cheeks flush pink and I’m consumed by the urge to touch them. So I do. She shudders, but leans into my palm. Her skin is so warm and velvety, it’s impossible to pull my fingers away. She recounts the events of her morning with Imogen, and her soft breath against the inside of my wrist makes my heart jump.What are we doing? Can she feel this?
