Page 96 of Dear Grumpy Boss

“Weston,” she breathed, scooting closer. Her arms went around my shoulders, her cheek pressing against mine. “Don’t, okay? I don’t blame you, and I’m not mad at you. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m back, and we’re good. You and me, right?”

I turned my head, our noses brushing. “I wasn’t lying about you being mine.”

Her lashes fluttered, and she rubbed her nose against mine. “I didn’t think you were.”

“But we can’t.”

Her soft breath floated over my lips. “If we did, it would be…”

Dangerous. Ruinous. Beautiful.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “It would be.”

I curled my arms around her waist, drawing her closer. “Let’s watch your movie, baby. We don’t have to talk about this anymore. It’ll work out how it’s supposed to.”

She pulled back, looking me over. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

I gave a wry laugh. “It doesn’t, but I’m hopeful it’s true since I don’t have any control over this anymore.”

“That must be hard on you, you control freak.”

I wasn’t offended. It was the truth.

Sliding my hand up her back to cup her nape, I shook my head. “You have no idea.”

She laid her head on my chest, nuzzling even closer.

No idea at all.

Chapter Twenty-three

Elise

Weston:Where are you?

I wasn’t surprised to see his text, but it did make my blood heat. We’d been back from our trip for two weeks and had spent almost every evening together. Some nights, we had dinner; others, when he worked late, we watched stupid TV and snuggled on his couch.

Yeah. Snuggled.

We’d been saying we were just friends while holding on to each other like life rafts. My social life was Weston. My hobbies were Weston and more Weston.

It wasn’t wise and probably not healthy, but I told myself I could stop at any time. We were just making up for the years we hadn’t been close. If we didn’t kiss or have sex, it didn’t count.

So what if my body thrummed, and when I left his place, I went straight to bed and took care of my pulsing clit with his face on my mind and his name on my lips. So what if Weston’s joggers seemed to be permanently tented?

I quickly replied, then set my phone face down on the table in front of me, giving my attention to Rebecca and Simon. They were on their second pitcher of margaritas and well on their way to getting shit-faced. They’d been asking me to go out with them for ages, and it had been on the tip of my tongue to turn them down once again, but I’d thought better of it. They were good friends to me, had been from day one, and I didn’t want to lose that because I’d become mildly obsessed with my boss.

Rebecca’s husband, Sam, had just arrived from his office a few blocks away, and since we were both mostly sober, we were laughing at their antics.

Right now, they were in a deep debate on whether rock could really beat paper. Simon said yes, Rebecca was adamant the answer was no. Sam had to make her sit back down when she tried to go outside to find a rock to prove her argument.

Sam picked up the pitcher. “If I can’t beat them, I’m joining them.” He filled his glass, then gestured to mine. “Refill?”

“Sure, thank you.”

Two was my limit tonight. The last thing I needed was to show up at Weston’s drunk. Tipsy would be dangerous enough.

Rebecca and Simon finished their argument and decided it was time for dancing. There wasn’t much of a dance floor in this bar, but they found a spot that had previously been a walkway and declared it theirs.

---