Page 48 of Death is My BFF

“Sweatpants shouldn’t be too big, I purchased the wrong size a while back,” he said absently. “This jersey is the only shirt here that won’t be a dress on you.”

David handed me the stack of clothes and our fingers brushed. A jolt. My nerve endings resuscitated. Our eyes locked, and there was an ineffable exchange between us.

He jerked his hand away. I rocked back with the clothes like a total klutz.

David rubbed the back of his neck. “I should probably get changed too.” The corners of his mouth twisted in an evanescent smirk. “Would you like to get dressed in here? In that case, I’ll leave the room. Or you can use the bathroom?”

“I’ll use the bathroom, thanks.” Had he felt that weird shock when we’d touched too? With downcast eyes, I speed-walked out of the room like a determined soccer mom with weights.

How had I managed to have an entire conversation with David last weekend, when now I was a gawping mess in front of him? Not to mention the charged tension in the room and his bizarre mood.

What had changed between us?

I’d totally forgotten my purpose of being at the D&S Tower. I peeled off my damp clothing, my bra and underwear soaked through with rain. Eyeballing the convenient electric hand dryer on the wall, I crouched down and aimed the hot air at my chest.

Now was not the time to be dating, especially when I was skeptical of David’s objective with me. The more I reeled over my thoughts, the harder it became to return to the office and face that beautiful man and his chocolate puppy dog eyes.

The sweatpants he’d given me were soft cotton with the D&S Tower logo on the upper thigh. The waistband had to be rolled over three times with the drawstrings pulled as tight as possible so they wouldn’t sag off my hips. I slipped the Chicago Bears jersey over my head, dried my hair a little bit with paper towels, applied some watermelon lip gloss from the pocket of my discarded wet jeans, and gathered up all my bravery to enter his office again.

David was resting against the edge of his desk and peering out into the thunderstorm. He had his cell phone to his ear, and although his back was to me, I could tell he’d styled his damp hair away from his face with a comb. He’d also exchanged his waterlogged clothes for another Armani number.

“Your phone is breaking up,” David susurrated. “Tell me again what happened. Slower.”

A pause.

“No,”he said firmly. “Do not show up here. I’m unavailable.”

He cracked his neck to the side as he listened to whoever was on the other line.Well, shit.

“I’m not mad.” The displeasure in his body language and the leisurely way he drew out each word said otherwise. He adjusted his position on the desk, his fist tightening against his thigh. “Enough.

We’ll discuss this later.”

He hung up.

“Sorry about that,” he said, without turning around. My sneakers must have been squeakier than I thought. “One of the creative directors has been testing me all day.”

“About?”

“An external conflict in the agency he hasn’t resolved yet.” He gave a half shrug as he pushed off the desk, pivoting toward me. His expression closed off any visible emotion. “I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

I pressed my lips together.Now, there’s a line he replays like abroken record.

“Do you need anything? Water? Food?” He scratched his jaw. “I can head down to the refectory and get you a sandwich and chips?”

“I’m good, thank you.” I ran my hands down the sides of his jersey a few times. “So Chicago Bears?” In the bathroom, it’d been my decided-upon transition into a conversation. Now it was my saving grace to assuage the tension in the room. “Not a Giants or Jets fan?”

He crossed his arms. “Nah, Chicago’s my team. Through thick and thin, I stick with Da Bears.”

“I don’t know why you torture yourself,” I said in a teasing way.

“The Bears haven’t won a Super Bowl since the eighties.”

David blinked a few times, taken aback. “You follow football?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I watch football and hockey with my dad. Football is religion on my dad’s side of the family. He has five brothers, and they’re each loyal to different teams. I can’t tell you how many times a sports argument has ruined a holiday family dinner.”

“You’re into sports.” His disposition transformed as a slow, radiant grin stretched across his mouth. This man had me wrapped around his finger. “How do you not have a boyfriend?”

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