Page 47 of Rookie Recovery

“Any particular reason?” Katie didn’t come farther in, which meant she was leaning in the doorway. Watching me. I really wished I knew if I’d been humming.

I turned, propped a hip against the counter, and leveled a stare at her. She was doing her cool-guy doorframe shoulder-lean, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, arms folded and everything. Smug, like she knew things I didn’t want her to know.

“Living in the present more I guess.” I gave her a tiny smirk. “As a good friend of mine suggested.”

Her brows shot skyward. “You got laid?”

“Oh, my God.” I groaned, tipped my head back. “Why is that your first assumption?”

“Because … you’re a dude?” She strode into the office and slipped into my chair. “So, you’ve been using TopTier?”

“Wha—oh.” Oops, almost slipped there. TopTier: the hookup app I hadn’t looked at since she’d downloaded it and made me answer all those stupid questions. “No, I haven’t been using TopTier. I told you it wasn’t about getting laid.”

“Uh huh.” Her mouth curved into a smile and I kicked myself for not lying. Inventing some cute guy with mind-blowing dance moves and world-class knowledge of fancy fun drinks or something. Yeah, cause she’d believe that shit.

I was in trouble.

Her smile said nothing less. “So, if it’s not sex, then what is it? A certain perky—injured—blond hockey boy who’s been spending a lot of time in your office?”

My brain immediately conjured up an image of the aforementioned perky, injured, blond hockey boy with green eyes and tousled hair and a smirk that spoke of all kinds of unspoken dirty movies playing out in his mind. Except I wasn’t thinking about that smile.

I was thinking about how sometimes he let that cocky smirk slip and laughed, for real, tipped his head back and laughed. Or when his eyes went round and soft when he was being serious and it made my stomach feel like a storm of butterflies had taken flight.

And I was thinking about those green eyes, a narrow band around pupils flared wide. Will you kiss me?

“I’ve been spending time outside of work,” I said, scraping at a tiny nonexistent hangnail on my index finger. “In nature, you know? I went swimming up at the lake last weekend.”

“Swimming. Yeah, sounds life changing.”

“I got through that bitch lesson in my business class.” I would make a hangnail if I had to. I’d mostly gotten through the lesson, anyway. “So I feel closer to where I want to be.”

“Course. I’m sure that’s it.” She popped back out of my chair, and I thought I was in the clear, that she’d walk out sans comment. “So you humming ‘I’m Walking on Sunshine’ has nothing to do with your next appointment.”

Goddammit, of all the songs to be humming.

“All right, you’re done.” I pushed off the counter to bustle her—laughing—out of my office before said next appointment could make his cheery blond way in and overhear anything that would further inflate his already overinflated ego. Or give him any … ideas about things he shouldn’t have ideas about.

“But I have so many more comments!”

“Bye, Katie!” I waved with a very specific finger in her direction to get her moving. “Good chat!”

She waved back with the same finger. “Always here for some deep boy talk.”

“Keep dreaming.” I started to close the door—but someone else stepped in first, and all other thoughts fled my mind. Because there he was.

“Hey, Kitty.”

Every atom in my body spun in his direction. “Hey, Bowman. Come on in.”

Like he hadn’t already. Like he wasn’t already standing too close. Not close enough.

“Always so professional.” He strode into the office, his gaze fixed on me. Flaying me open with that x-ray laser vision—that afternoon at the lake, all of me on display for him, all over again.

I should have stepped back to let him pass. But I hadn’t, and now the heat of his body pressed against me like a physical touch, like the memory of that lean, athletic frame lining mine, hard and honed and so very fucking tantalizing. Will you kiss me?

Snap out of it, Sullivan. “Of course I’m professional. I’m at work.”

Remember that, Sully? Remember? That didn’t change because of a tight squeeze in a dark museum corner. A heated almost-kiss that I couldn’t stop replaying, or even a genuine laugh, a flutter of butterflies.

---