Page 26 of That Geeky Feeling

“How about one of these?” He pulls two from the front and reads their labels. “This one has ‘layered flavors of plum, blackcurrant, and Japanese tea,’ and this one is, apparently, ‘fine and complex with notes of juniper and chocolate with a velvety finish.’”

He holds them both up and jiggles the one in his right hand. “Given your matcha fixation I’m guessing you’d prefer the hints of Japanese tea.”

Am I really that predictable?

And of course, that was the one I was going to choose. But, in an effort to make it feel less office-datey, I point at the other one instead. “How about the velvety finish. That has to be a good thing, right?”

He looks a little crestfallen at incorrectly guessing my pick. “Sure. I’m easy either way.” He puts back the other bottle.

“Why do you never drink any of it?” I ask. “That cupboard is full.”

He puts the velvety bottle on the desk, next to the Tardis pen holder and bright yellow foam Pac-Man stress ball.

“I give a lot of them away to Greta and the staff. And my dad likes wine, so I give some to him and Mom too.” He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of his desk chair. “I keep a few at home in case one of the guys stops by. But they generally all prefer beer. And I’m given this stuff at such a rate they build up.”

That was an interesting response. He keeps some at home in case of family. Not in case he has a woman over on a date? Does he not date? When was the last time he had a girlfriend? He’s such an enigma.

“I’m sure there’s a corkscrew around here somewhere.” He yanks the knot from his tie, pulls it off, and drapes it over his jacket.

It’s a damn good thing I’m sitting down. There is nothing sexier than a man undoing his tie. Well, apart from me undoing it and giving it a long, slow pull to slide it through his collar.

He took care of it swiftly, all businesslike, with zero attempt at sexiness, but try telling that to my pulse.

Elliot pulls open a couple of drawers.

“Here it is.” He holds up a corkscrew, his face beaming again, and places it next to the bottle.

After popping the cuff links from his shirt, he drops them on the desk with a heavy rattle and turns back a cuff. Then folds it up. The second turn reveals a smattering of fine dark hair over his fair skin. He turns the cuff back a third time, then pushes it up to his elbow. The full glory of his forearm is now on full display and, like the rest of him, it’s lithe yet muscular.

What is it about a man’s forearm? And what is it about Elliot’s in particular that has me suddenly much warmer than I was? Watching him reveal just a few inches of skin should not be heating parts of me that know better to stay cool.

He turns back the second cuff.

Christ, I can’t watch another one of these. It’s hotter than a sauna that’s on fire. And all he’s done is take off his jacket and tie and roll up his sleeves. Thank God he’s got only two arms.

I need something to do, so I stand up and look around the room. “Do you have glasses? I’ll get glasses.”

“Yup. They’re in there.” He tips his head toward the lower cabinet behind him while continuing the knee-trembling work on his second cuff.

Dragging my gaze off him is like pulling a truck loaded with rocks up a hill with my teeth. But I round Elliot’s desk and open the door he indicated. With his jacket off, his sleeve-rolling activities waft a clean laundry scent my way. How can someone still smell so fresh at the end of the workday?

I bend over and take two wine glasses from the cupboard. When I straighten and turn around, I catch his gaze darting away from somewhere around my ass. It lands on his cuff, which is already fully rolled up to reveal the second forearm, just as glorious as the first, and no longer requires his attention.

A tremor of excitement ripples through me. Even if I’m never going to go anywhere near him, which I’m not, there’s nothing wrong with being happy he wanted to check out my rear end. And anyway, there’s no telling whether he liked what he saw.

He pours us each a glass of wine and picks his up to sniff it. “Hmm. It does smell kind of velvety.”

“Velvety has a smell?” I tease. But it feels a bit different. Was that a flirty tease, as opposed to a regular bantering-with-Elliot tease?

He pulls the bottle across the table toward him. “I can withdraw the wine and pizza offer any time you like, you know,” he says with a quirk of an eyebrow and a purse of his lips—the lips I feel like I’ve seen for the first time today, even though I’ve seen them hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before.

There’s a knock on the glass door behind me.

“Dashwood?” asks an older man wearing a Poetic Pizza T-shirt.

“Yes, right here.” Elliot puts down his glass, strides up to the guy, and exchanges a handful of bills for the pizza box. “Thanks.”

He holds the box high. “Dinner is served.” Then places it on the low table in front of the sofa.

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