“Great. Thanks. Sounds great.” She winced at her stupid mouth, and reconsidered the whole banging her head against the door thing.
Finally, she turned around, resigned that there wasn’t enough aspirin and coffee in the world.
“WHAT’S THIS?” BREE ASKED.
Charlie looked down at the hundred-dollar bill he was holding out to Bree. “Cab fare.”
“A hundred? You think I live in Connecticut?”
“Wasn’t sure. Look, I’m sorry I can’t take you myself, but the blog …”
“It’s fine. Really. I’ve got it,” she said as she held up her to-go cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re not going to be late for work?”
“Nope. Not if I get a move on.”
She hadn’t looked at him. Not once. At least, he didn’t think so. He’d been avoiding looking at her, so there was no certainty, but it felt like she hadn’t.
If nothing else had told him the night had been a colossal mistake, this morning’s awkwardness would have. It was epic. Both of them stumbling, mumbling, embarrassed and basically acting like idiots. The problem was he couldn’t tell why she was behaving like he had the plague. He’d thought the night had been great, and the sex had been fantastic. Too good.
Maybe that was just him, though.
Naw. It had been spectacular, and he knew what he was talking about. She was being weird for another reason. He’d like to blame the excessive cab fare move, but the weird dance had started when she’d first gotten out of bed.
She was making her way to the front door, although she didn’t simply turn around and walk. She took a few steps back, checked behind her, then moved another couple of steps, and it made him want to kiss her.
Shit.
She had to go. Now.
He surged ahead of her to the door and opened it. “I’m sorry I can’t see you—” He stopped before he repeated the whole sentence.
“Of course. And I have …” She was right in front of him now, looking up at him with those green eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “It was the best night ever. I’ll never forget you. It. The party. Doing … stuff.”
Her cheeks had turned a really dark shade of pink, and yep, so did the tips of her ears. The urge to move a few inches, lower his lips to hers once more was stronger than he was prepared to admit.
“I had a great time, too,” he said, his voice cracking on the end. “We should …” He stopped himself by biting his tongue. It hurt quite a bit. But he’d almost said they should do it again.
“Well, I’ll be off. Down the elevator. To get a taxi.” She stepped through the doorway sideways. Almost hiding behind her coffee, only spilling a little.
“Right. Bye.”
“Bye.”
He went to shut the door as she called for the elevator. Then stopped. It would be rude to shut the door. On the other hand, she looked desperate.
He split it down the middle. Left the door ajar, but walked away. To the kitchen. He didn’t breathe until he heard the ding.
Holy crap.
BREE SAT IN HER CUBICLE, shuffling papers from one stack to the next. She’d been at the office for two hours and she hadn’t accomplished a damn thing. Most of the morning had been spent rehashing last night, analyzing to death every single thing Charlie had done or said. Sneaking peeks at the picture she’d taken, of his trading card.
In the harsh fluorescent lights of BBDA, the events featuring Charlie seemed more like a dream than something that could have happened to her. But there was an ache in her body that wasn’t a result of working out at the gym. She’d tensed her arms so hard gripping the headboard that her muscles had burned as she’d showered this morning, and there was that thumbprint bruise on her hip. Plus her memories, of course.
She had no business thinking about him. The night. Him. Really now. It was over. Done. A recollection that should bring her pleasure instead of this sense of loss. How could she have lost something she’d never had? Never could have?
God, the whole morning sucked. Her thoughts had been wild enough before she’d seen that he hadn’t posted his blog yet. He should have. His routine was like Old Faithful, like atomic time. Instead, three other people had posted—one fashionista, one celeb tracker and one foodie.
So in addition to obsessing over the fact that sex had been no more than a part of the overall standard package rather than a romantically wonderful moment between the two of them, now she was pretty convinced that she had somehow jinxed Charlie. And she had a headache.
Surprisingly, Rebecca hadn’t called yet, which was fine because Bree hadn’t figured out how much she wanted to tell her and she wanted to be careful about that conversation, not dead on her feet. In fact, she seriously thought about sneaking in a nap today in place of lunch. She needed sleep more than food.
Her cell dinged and when she saw the name flash, she nearly choked. She clicked on the icon.
How are you feeling? CW
Bree stared at his initials, completely stunned. Why was he texting her? Good manners? Had she accidentally taken something from his apartment? She hit Reply then forced herself to think, not text, not yet.
This was silly. She shook her head as she used her thumbs.
Fine. Thanks.
You get to work okay? CW
On time and everything.
I’m glad. Also lunch? CW
What? Lunch? Was he asking her to lunch? Nope, no, that couldn’t be right. Not after this morning. She stared at the gray panel of her cubicle for a moment, then looked once again at her message. She hadn’t read it wrong. It simply made no sense.
Now her gaze lifted over the cubicle wall, but all she could see was the top of the heads passing by. There wasn’t a single person at BBDA she could pull aside for advice. None of them knew about her date with Charlie. Or really anything about her except that she tended to keep to herself.
She quickly typed BRB letting him know she was away from her keyboard, and grabbed the landline. Screw not telling Rebecca about what happened. Bree needed help. Fast. She dialed, praying her friend would answer.
The second Bree heard “hello,” she launched. “Last night was the most fabulous night in the history of earth, but this morning was completely weird and now he’s …”
“Bree—”
“Oh, God, you’re busy. Please don’t be busy because I don’t even—Wait. He’s texting me now, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Texting you what?”
“He wants me to have lunch with him. Today.”
Rebecca laughed. “Then go!”
“We both freaked out this morning. He offered me a hundred dollars.”
“What?”
“For a taxi.”
“Oh. Then I repeat. Go.”
“But—”
“Trust me on this. I know him. Really well. Lunch is huge.”
“Huge? Huge isn’t good at all. It’s over now, right? He doesn’t