Page 57 of A Smooth Operator

As my lab mates attacked lunch, he brought ours into my office. "Hey, Doll."

I sighed. "You can't feed my lab like this."

"It's just a couple of times a week. And I am trying to win you back; this way, I got your whole lab on my side."

"Hey, Remi, if she agrees to go out with you, will you stop bringing food?" Jason, who at one time wanted to ask me out, wanted to know.

Before I could respond to that, Martin advised, "Make him work for it. For as long as possible. We love free lunch."

"And that's the other edge of that sword," I told Remi.

He chuckled. "Doll, I get to have lunch with you, and that's worth all the lunches I got to buy for you and your colleagues."

This had been going on for a month. Every morning, he texted me good morning, and every night, he said goodnight. He joined me ever since he figured out that I ran on most weekday evenings. He'd park his bike in my driveway and wait for me.

"I didn't know you ran."

"You didn't see me except for the booty calls, remember?"

"Well, I know now, and I'm gonna run with you. Hey, you wanna go to my gym to work out?"

"No."

A month later, he convinced me to do exactly that, and now, on Sunday mornings, he took me to his gym.

Every day, he asked me to go out on a date with him. Every day, I turned him down. But in all honesty, with the lunches, the running, the flower deliveries, the cakes, and the cookies, I saw him all the time, which was his goal. Was I softening toward him? Yeah, like a pat of butter on a hot biscuit.

"What are your plans this weekend?" Remi asked me when he came to deliver flowers on a Saturday morning. "Wanna go to New Orleans?"

When we were together, whatever that meant, he'd talked about us going away to New Orleans for a weekend. It was one of my favorite cities in the world. I loved all things Cajun: the food, the music, the Sazeracs, the city. It had felt like such a romantic overture when he'd suggested the trip, but now, I was so confused. I couldn't relate the man who was wooing me to the man who had wanted to keep his dirty secret in bed.

We hadn't had sex. We hadn't even kissed properly. He would brush his lips against mine. He'd kiss my cheek and forehead. He'd hold my hand sometimes. But that was it. I was a puddle of sexual frustration, and I was certain he was doing it on purpose. Sometimes, he lost control and held me, rubbing himself against me, but too soon, he'd pull away, apologize, and keep his distance.

If we'd never had sex, if we hadn't known what it felt like, it would've been fine, I think, but we did know, and that only made everything harder.

"I got no plans this weekend…with you." I took the flowers, this time they were yellow roses. He followed me into the house.

He dropped his Ducati keys on the kitchen island and sat on a bar stool.

"How about next weekend?"

"Remi, I'm not going to—"

"My mother is throwing a party next Saturday; everyone's gonna be gussied up. You wanna come as my date?"

I set the vase I'd just pulled from a cabinet on the counter before I broke it. My hands shook slightly at his request—a date in front of his family and friends.

"As a date or a…?" My back was to him, and I didn't dare face him, not when I was feeling so close to having a nervous breakdown.

"I said date, Echo." His tone was gentle and soft.

I didn't respond; instead, I busied myself with filling the French press with coffee. When the kettle whistled, signaling the hot water was ready, I poured it into the French press and set it down in front of Remi, along with two cups. As the coffee steeped, I stared at the swirling brown liquid.

"I can't date you, Remi."

"Why?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure about your motives. Is all this because you feel guilty?"

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