Page 34 of Phishing for Love
His eyes are glittering now. Dark and hot and smoky.
Oh, he’s definitely thinking about kissing me.
I hold my breath, feeling the stirrings of something in my gut. Whatever it is feels rich and warming. Dangerous.
The longest ten seconds of my life tick by while Aaron and I stare at one another.
My heart is racing too fast for me to sort out my thoughts. All I know is, Tess Miller, girlfriend of Nathan Holmes, daughter of John and Joelle who’ve been married for over thirty years, needs to end whatever this is. Right now.
Furiously, I conjure up the most awful images I can think of: The hair sprouting from my great-uncle’s nose. The plantar warts colonizing my aunt’s foot. The skin tags behind my cousin’s knees that resemble the wing flaps on an airplane.
Aaron must feel the same because he blinks and whatever emotion is there disappears. Or is smothered.
We break eye contact, and I’m left feeling a little bereft and a lot ashamed of myself for some reason.
This stance also puts me at a distinct disadvantage, which I need to remedy immediately. Abandoning any last shred of dignity, I stretch out my hands and do a crab-like roll into a standing position. I’ll never win any gymnast award, but at least I’m upright.
I turn to face Aaron. Amusement is written all over his face.
“What is this room?” he asks again, and I’m thankful for a neutral topic.
“This is our Creative Room,” I say. “Mevia calls it the Leprechaun Room.”
A full-blown laugh tumbles out of him. I’m thrilled to be its source.
He looks around with interest. “I don’t see how anyone would get any work done here.”
“It’s work in a different sense,” I explain. “The room is designed to stimulate the creative juices.”
He cuts me a sharp look, one side of his mouth quirking up. I replay what I said and hold back a sigh. Mercifully, he doesn’t tease me, but gestures to the exercise ball instead. “What were you doing there?”
“I’m struggling with writer’s block and I’m hoping the ball will help unleash the words.”
He looks skeptical. “How?”
“I’m waking up my brain cells with the blood rushing to my head.”
The words hang between us. I don’t even have to replay the sentence because as soon as it emerges, I realize how it sounds.
Hot, betraying color floods my face.
It’s suddenly so very hot in here. The air feels thick, unbreathable.
And Aaron has this look on his face.
It’s time to leave. Before another stupidly suggestive remark spills out of me. Before I cross a line I’ll never be able to uncross.
I turn toward the door. “I better get back to my desk.” When Aaron still lingers in the room, I ask, “You coming?”
Oh, no.
I exit the room in a rush, Aaron’s low laughter chasing me all the way down the hallway to my cubicle.
My grandmother narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you insulting me?”
My head shoots up. “Me? How?”
She gestures to my largely untouched plate of spaghetti carbonara. “I put a lot of effort into that meal and you’re just picking at it.”
