Another time. On another planet. In an alternate universe.
“I know what I’m doing,” she said, hoping she did. “Before you were a driven software engineer and marketing strategist, where did you get your kicks?”
He stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s see. In high school I was in a band—but what high school kid wasn’t?”
“What instrument?”
“Bass guitar.”
“How cool. I always had a thing for sexy bass players. Silent…moody…deep.”
He shook his head. “Did you ever consider we might be silent because we had nothing to say?”
“Don’t destroy my fantasy.” She covered her ears with her hands, pleased when he chuckled. “What kind of music did you play?”
“Ska, rhythm & blues. Top 40 hits for parties. We weren’t together that long.”
“Long enough to get laid, though?”
“There was that.” He winced with pretend guilt. She could see him with a guitar at his hips, moving to the music, flashing that chipped tooth at the girls who caught his eye. Desire shivered through her.
To hide her reaction, she held out the flyer so they could both see it. “Doesn’t look like they’ve got a battle of the bands going, so what other hobbies have you got?”
“Photography. I took a couple of classes.”
“Photography? Oh. Hang on…Yes! Here. The Hot Shot Photo Scavenger Hunt tomorrow night. It’s sponsored by a cell-phone company. Does your cell take pictures?”
“Sure.” He leaned toward her to dig into his back pocket for his phone, and for that fleeting moment, she was hyperaware of his body, his muscles, how he smelled, how easy it would be to lie back on the couch and take him with her.
Finally, he sat back, ending the sensory assault, flipped open the phone and handed it to her.
“This is the same model I have,” she said, managing to sound normal. She clicked into the photos he’d stored, curious about what he’d saved. “You saved pictures of computers?”
“I was checking out monitors,” he said.
She kept clicking and found shots of digital cameras…shelves in a computer store…sales displays. “Where are your friends? Your mom? Ellie, for God’s sake?”
“I have pictures of them. Just not on my phone.” He reached for the phone, but she held it away.
“I’m not finished looking.” He kept reaching while she playfully held back. His arm brushed her breasts, giving her a tingling rush.
He pulled away immediately. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Matt had taken the blame for the Thong Incident, too, which had clearly been a two-person catastrophe.
She focused on the phone photos, fighting the waves she still felt. Then she hit the jackpot—a shot of Matt wearing Mickey Mouse ears. His dark hair curled messily from beneath the brim and he managed to look grave and sweet at the same time.
“This is so cute,” she said, showing it to him.
“God. Ellie,” Matt said. “One of her customers had just been to Disneyland. You know how Ellie gets.”
“I’m glad she took this. It’s proof you can loosen up.”
“So you think I’m uptight?” He seemed amused by the idea.
“Not uptight. Just restrained. Controlled.” Everything she wasn’t, but needed to learn how to be. Or at least how to appear to be when it counted.
Part of her rebelled at that. Take me as I am, dammit. Can’t you see I can be silly and brilliant?
But she knew that wasn’t easy to accept. She remembered when she’d told her family she’d left the ad agency to work for SyncUp. They looked at each other the same way. Not again.
They’d been polite and encouraging, but there was no mistaking their weariness. When will she grow up, figure it out, settle down?
They just didn’t get her. She had a plan and this promotion was key. She was building contacts, networking, getting experience. In five years or so, she would open up her own agency, maybe with a partner.
“You okay?” Matt had noticed her preoccupation.
“Sure. I’m fine.” She smiled, sorry she’d gotten distracted.
“So, you think all I have to do is slap Mickey Mouse ears on my head and people will buy SyncUp products from me?”
“Whatever works, Matt,” she said, smiling. “Actually, though, now that we’re talking about it, a camera is a great networking tool. Bring a camera to an event and everyone’s your friend. You have a good digital, I assume?”
“Not with me. I bought the new Canon EOS 350D, eight megapixel, an upgrade from the 300D. It’s got—”
“Forget the specs, Matt. Will it fit in your pocket?”
“I have a case for it.”
“The idea is to keep it with you at all times. When you’re at the convention, take photos and you have an excuse to exchange business cards so you can e-mail the snaps. Instant leads.”
He gazed at her, a smile tracing his lips. “You’re good.”
The words would have been a sexual come-on from any other guy. From Matt they were straight praise. She was chagrined to notice they aroused her anyway. She was tuned into him, hyperaware, probably from the long-ago crush, which seemed to be getting worse.
She stayed on task. “So, tomorrow night we’ll do this photo hunt.”
“What are we supposed to take pictures of?” He tugged the flyer closer. “Exactly what are ‘hot shots’?”
There were no specifics listed. “Sexy stuff, I’d guess. It’s the Sin on the Beach festival. Remember? Sights you’d see in a Girls Gone Wild commercial or, say, spring break in Florida. Anything goes.”
He seemed to chew that over, work it out like an equation to be solved for X. “So I’m supposed to talk women into taking off their clothes for me?”
“You’ll have no trouble.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. You’re a hot guy.” She shrugged.
“You think I’m hot?” He honed in on her.
“Absolutely.”
He shook his head, as if he thought she was being polite.
“I’m serious. You’re built. You’re good-looking.” She surveyed him. Sunlight flashed off his glasses. “You should ditch these, though.” She tugged them from his face, being playful, but was startled at how close his electric-blue eyes suddenly were. The moment was abruptly intimate, like being naked with someone for the first time, and she could hardly breathe.
“You have great eyes,” she said, lowering his glasses to her lap to hide the fact her fingers had started to shake.
“How am I supposed to see?”
“Get contacts.”
“Too much hassle. Little plastic floppy things.” He rubbed his fingers together, then shook them, as if to rid himself of the clingy objects. “I don’t know how you stand them.”
“How did you know I wear them?”
“They swim over your irises.”
“Oh. Well, then.” He’d watched her closely enough to catch