Page 49 of That Fake Feeling
Shereaches up and brushes something from the smooth, bare shoulder protruding from her pink tank but doesn’t break concentration on her book.
Irun my hand along the cool marble of the long kitchen island asImake my way, almost in a trance, to the glass doors.
AsIslide one open, she jolts upright, slams her book shut, and pulls her legs down, like a kid caught with her feet on the furniture.
“Oh,God.Sorry.”Shejumps up. “You’reback earlier than usual.I’llget out of your way.”
“You’renot in my way.”Inod at her feet as she slips them into her flip-flops. “AndI’mhappy you now have functioning footwear for both feet.”
“Ha, yeah.”Shestares at them. “Igot them out of my first week’s allowance.”Hersoft brown eyes lift to look at me, and the lips that felt so delicious against mine form a sweet smile. “So,Iguess, thank you.”
Mydress socks, suit pants, and shirt feel like a straitjacket compared to her comfortable summer clothes.Ormaybe it’s her beautiful, natural demeanor.Andwhy the hell can’tIfigure out what to do with my hands?I’vehad them all my life, but right now they’ve turned into things that flap around clumsily on the ends of my arms with no clear purpose.
Ishove them into my pockets.
MaybeifIlean as casually asIcan against the doorframeIwon’t look as awkward asIfeel, which is excessively more awkward than when bumping into anyone elseI’vekissed.
“You’remost welcome.I’mglad to see you’re spending it wisely.”
“Oh,Ididn’t splurge.Theseare just the regular cheap onesI’dusually get.”
Shit, she must have thoughtIwas criticizing her use of the money she’s earned fair and square and is free to spend however the hell she likes.
“Itmight not look like it,”Itell her in an effort to empathize with her thrifty nature, “butI’mnot much of a spender either.Ionly have this big house for myself because it’s a good investment.”
Hershoulders relax as she looks up at the back of the building. “It’sbeautiful, though.Myrooms are the loveliest placeI’veever stayed.”
“I’mdelighted you’re comfortable.”Jesus,Isound like a hotel receptionist.Relax, for fuck’s sake. “Ihad fun renovating.Itwas a wreck whenIbought it.Wegutted it completely.”
Shesteps toward me, like she wants me to move out of the way so she can get through the door and escape this agonizing conversation.
“Well,I’llgo back upstairs,” she says. “Andyou can enjoy it in peace.”
“Youdon’t have to.”Thewords shoot out of my mouth beforeIcan stop them.Christ,Connor.Ifshe wants to get away from you, let her go. “Notunless you want to, that is.Ionly came down to get last night’s leftovers, thenI’llbe out of your way.”
Myhands have somehow escaped my pockets and are tugging at the ends of the tie hanging around my neck.Irun my toe along the line between the inside and outside of the house.
Idon’t want to go.AndIdon’t want her to go either.
“Iwas going to grab a beer as well.”Mystomach churns likeI’mabout to hurl myself off a bungee jump platform into the deep unknown below. “Wouldyou like one?”
Sheholds her book to her chest and picks at a corner. “Oh, that’s okay.It’snice of you.Butyou don’t need to do that.”
Isshe just making excuses?Ormaybe she doesn’t like beer?
PerhapsIcould sweeten the deal with something everyone likes.
“Haveyou eaten?Therearen’t enough leftovers for two, butIcould order pizza.Wouldyou like to share?”
Doesthat sound as desperate as it feels?
Shetucks a couple of stray strands of hair behind her ear.
“Don’tyou have anywhere you need to be?”Shelooks puzzled. “Orplans for your evening?”
“Nope.Theonly placeIwant to be this evening is home.”
AndnowI’msureI’mlooking at the reason for that.ThereasonIcouldn’t settle at work.ThereasonIwanted to be here and not at the bar.
