Page 47 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
Chapter Fourteen
Josh
Lastnightcouldnothave gone better.
I roll to my back, weak gray light slipping around the edges of my blinds before my alarm even goes off. I don’t need it. For one, it’s a Sunday, and for another, my body clock always wakes me up anyway.
Sami Webster likes me.
That’s why I’m waking up with a smile on my face.
Maybe she doesn’t even know it yet herself. But her fingertips do. And her lips.
I stare at the ceiling and my eyes drift closed as I remember the feeling of her kneading my shoulder, of her hand tucked into mine, of the warmth of her breath against my jaw.
I sit up, endorphins flooding my system the way they do when I’m into a woman. I haven’t had that rush in a while, and I decide to use it as fuel for a run. I’m dressed and out the door in less than ten minutes, and even when I’m met by a chilly morning, I smile. It’s brisk. I like it.
It’s early, barely 7:00, and the city is still quiet. I run at least a mile before I even see another person. I’ll put in a full day of work, but I’ll probably do it from home, and it already makes the day feel more relaxed. It’s the magic of Sundays. It calls people out of bed for leisurely brunches and afternoon drives.
I wonder what Sami is up to today. She said she doesn’t work weekends, and I doubt she has a gig tonight. The bar scene is pretty mellow on Sunday nights. She could have another festival to play or something this afternoon, but she didn’t mention it.
If I push a few things off for tomorrow and power through our most pressing contract, I could free up a decent chunk of time. It would be worth it to get time with Sami. But that doesn’t mean Sami will want to spend the time with me.
This is tricky. She wants me in the friend zone, but that’s not based on a lack of attraction. I’m not cocky, but I know what I felt last night. The air practically vibrated between us, and every touch only charged it more. It wasn’t one-sided. Ruby hinted that Sami has reasons for not liking a familylikemine, but she seemed to like my actual parents fine last night.
I have enough self-respect not to try to talk a woman into dating me. I’d never want someone to go out with me because I wore her down. That’s a move for losers. But this . . . this is not that. We click in every way, from our easy nights on the balcony to our obvious chemistry.
I push it out of my head to focus on my run, picking up my pace. I go for another forty minutes before winding down with a jog on the last block back to my condo, sweaty despite the cold. But also, clearheaded. I’ve figured out what to do about Sami: nothing.
If I’m right about the vibe between us, all I have to do is be around. Make sure our paths cross. Show up for balcony hangs. Because Sami gets under my skin in a way no one else ever has, and I don’t understand it yet. But I know if she’s even feeling a tenth of the pull toward me that I do toward her, there’s no way her walls will stay up. Then we can figure out what we’re standing on the verge of. I don’t know what it is, but I want to.
Today, instead of clearing time to see if she’ll spend it with me, I’ll respect her space. Maybe she’ll decide it’s way less interesting when I’m not in it. And maybe she won’t. I’ll accept that. But my gut instinct says that’s not where this is headed.
And no matter what, I’ll be on the balcony tonight.
At home, I shower and change into jeans and a collared shirt and settle into my office. I’m a T-shirt guy by nature, but I’ve learned the hard way that I concentrate on work better if I’m wearing a collar. Brains are weird. Mine at least doesn’t object to jeans for work at home.
It doesn’t take long for me to sink into work. We’re helping a drilling company acquire a competitor, and the merger involves some complicated mineral rights. I need to comb through all their disclosures for any hidden contingencies that can hurt our client. Since those things are hidden with language so redundant and boring it’s more effective than Ambien, it means reading and re-reading very closely. For hours.
I break it up by getting up every half hour to run to the mailbox or do pull-ups on the bar installed over my office door. Then it’s right back to the legalese. There’s nothingeasyabout it.
Around lunch, my doorbell rings, and I look up from the contract, smiling. Sami. She couldn’t resist coming over. Even if it’s to give me another speech about no flirting, I want to see her.
But it’s not Sami on my doorstep. It’s Presley, and she’s by herself.
“Pres. Hey.” I don’t bother asking her how she got my address. Either of my parents would have given it to her simply because she asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see your new place. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
So she can mentally redecorate it with a feminine touch? Pass. Except that’s not an option, so I step back and let her through. I give her plenty of room, but somehow, her forearm still ends up grazing my abs.
“It’s nice,” she says. “I prefer houses to condos, but this is nice.”
“I can’t afford a house. I had to save for two years for this condo.”
She smiles as if the idea of having to save up for anything is cute. “Your parents would help you.”
“They’ve done enough.”
