Page 60 of Holidating
“How about that other bank?” he asks.
“Oh, it was… interesting.” I picture the round-faced man who’d sat across from me at that other interview. “The guy kept staring at my chest, and it threw me off.”
Weston groans. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I mumble. Because I hadn’t done that well otherwise. The man had asked me why I wanted to work in mortgage origination. You’d think I would have seen that one coming. But I’d gone blank for a second, as his eyes took another trip to the open button on my blouse.
The truth is that I don’t have strong feelings about mortgage origination, either.Everyone needs a home to live in, I’d said eventually.It seems like a compassionate kind of banking.
“Let’s just say I’m hoping that tomorrow’s interviews go better.But enough about me.” I squint at the screen. Behind a shirtless Weston is a white tile wall. His tattoos stand out in the bright light. “Where are you right now? It almost looks like you’re in?—”
“The bathtub!” he says gleefully. “I’m giving my roommate some privacy.”
“Why?” I blurb. “Wait, never mind. Maybe I don’t need to know.”
He chuckles. “He’s just talking to his girl on the phone. Or at least that’s all they were doing when I left. Now that I think about it, I should probably be afraid to leave this bathtub.”
“I thought you guys would be partying in the lobby.”
“No way,” he says. “Coach is very firm with his curfew on game night. Once a year somebody sneaks out and does something stupid. And then they usually get caught. It ain’t pretty. But some people have to learn lessons the hard way.”
I smile at the tiny screen, and feel lighter. Weston is like sunshine on a cloudy day. “Tell me one dumb thing that somebody did.”
“Well, one time—during spring playoffs—there was a Dutch women’s field hockey team staying in the same hotel…”
I start smiling again before he’s even finished the sentence.
CHAPTER 21
IS THAT A EUPHEMISM?
WESTON
I tell Abbi a funny story involving a four-way room rearrangement that once became necessary just to give two couples some privacy. “There were more bed swaps that night than in a British sexual farce.”
Abbi giggles. She’s lying on a bed, wearing flannel PJs with little bunnies all over them. And I just wish I were there.
“Speaking of hotel beds…” I say, sounding about as subtle as a freight train. “This is a travesty. We’re both in hotels. If it were thesamehotel, we could be having hotel sex right now.”
“That would definitely improve my day,” she admits, propping her cheek in her hand. “If anyone is going to stare at my chest, I choose you.”
“See?That’s why all the lust-filled thoughts I have about you are okay. I’m on the VIP list. You justinvitedme to stare at your tits.”
“It’s a very short VIP list,” she says with a smile. “With just one name on it.”
“Yeah, I like it that way.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how true they are. Abbi and I are supposed to be just a casual thing. But I feel a little possessive of her, which really isn’t fair. I have nothing to give her for the long term.
And yet, if she met someone new tomorrow—someguy at her new job, who wanted to go the distance—I wouldn’t like it one bit. This school year still has three months left, and I plan to take advantage of every one of them.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” Abbi asks suddenly. And I realize I’ve been lost in thought for no good reason.
“Your tits, of course.” It’s not strictly true. But seeing as I think about them with some frequency, it might as well be.
Abbi unbuttons just one button on her PJs, and suddenly I can see the soft swells of her cleavage. “There. Now you and the mortgage banker have the same view.”
My body tightens deliciously. The bathwater has me feeling warm and loose already. “You’re killing me right now. When am I going to see you next—for real?”
“Hard to say,” she says. “I work a double on Sunday.”
