Page 29 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

“Have a good sleep,” she says, wriggling her fingers in a farewell gesture over her shoulder and taking the final sandwich with her.

After she leaves, Darius and I breathe a collective sigh ofthank fucking goodness.He takes a bite of one of his sandwiches and groans. “Oh, man. This is amazing. This might be the best PB and J I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, my mom makes good PB and J.”

“The best,” he adds.

“Thank you for getting my gotch down from there before she saw.”

“Oh.” He sets his midnight lunch down and digs in his pocket, producing them for me. I snatch them out of his palm, barely brushing my fingers over his skin. I need to be careful. Because if I’m not then I’ll forget all about this sandwich and pick up where we left off. I’d really like to pick up where we left off. But I can’t. We shouldn’t. Things don’t need to be more complicated. I’m not sure what Darius wants, but the fact that he got himself into a marriage of convenience that’s going to end would suggest it’s not a commitment or a meaningful relationship. I have a lot of things going on the side, too. I mean, I’m not killing myself by working so many jobs anymore, just like my mom isn’t, and Heather is getting her treatment, but I’m still, uh, not available. Kind of?

“Are you okay?”

The soft undercurrent of concern in Darius’ voice threatens to make my knees buckle, so I slap on a shaky smile, grasp my panties with one hand, and grab my sandwich with the other. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“We should probably sanitize that table.”

“I’ve got it. You go ahead to, uh…to bed. If that’s where you were going. Or…continue on, at any rate.”

“Okay.” God, this is why I don’t do spontaneously wonderful things like letting my super hot, deliciously attractive, and masculine husband of convenience lick my lady bits in a big industrial kitchen in the middle of the night. Or anywhere. At any time.

This is why I have to turn and make a fast retreat because I’m afraid if I stay, I’ll abandon my resolve and this sandwich, and I’ll throw down another peanut butter offer that involves my mouth and, okay, probably my lady bits again after, and also Darius’ man nipples, all his muscles, and maybe his man bits.

God, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone. I’ve always been on the shy side, and then life just got…busy and out of control. Finding a boyfriend was the last thing on my mind. Getting busy was also the last thing on my mind because I was already busy enough. Thank you very much.

Tonight just reminded me of how much I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and also how lonely I’ve been. In a sexual dry spell kind of way. And in other ways, too, but I didn’t just find that out tonight. I think I’ve known that since the minute I locked eyes with Darius for real, back when I was tied to the bed and wondering what the heck was going on. As he was explaining himself, he got this look on his face that I recognized—a look that my heart felt, synced up with, and beat all the more heavily after knowing.

I wasn’t alone in the world, but man, sometimes I felt like it. And Darius had that same look.

Tonight didn’t feel like an accident. It didn’t feel like something wrong or bad. Even if I really should keep it from happening again because I know this has an expiry date on it, and sexy time wasn’t part of the deal, I can’t convince myself that I’m not looking forward to the next slightly awkward, hella wonderful chance encounter we might have.

You know, even if I have ironclad control, and my lady bits are not going to be getting themselves involved in any more sticky, or not so sticky, situations.

Chapter eleven

Darius

Igave up on the idea of sleep after trying for a few hours. My shoulder was locked up, which was uncomfortable, and no matter what position I tried, I couldn’t drift off to sleep. There were better things to do than lay there, frustrated beyond belief, though. Things like hitting the gym at four in the morning to do some punishing cardio followed by enough shoulder exercises to loosen the bastard up a little, showering and pointedly not jacking myself off to get rid of the damn erection I couldn’t get under control, or telling myself in the said shower that the lesser of two evils was to take care of the problem instead of walking around with a tent in my pants all day.

I could have gone to the office and started work early, dealing with yesterday’s problems that I didn’t attend to because I was busy with Everleigh and her family. And I will be busy again today. But instead, I chose to roll into the nearly empty garage at half past five.

I flick on the lights and stare down at a sea of empty bays and endless concrete. It’s pretty much immaculate in here because I own zero vehicles. I’ve been meaning to get Hans something to drive, but he keeps telling me he doesn’t need anything. There isn’t anything that can’t be delivered here for an extra cost. I assumed he’d want to do some shopping or something in the city, but he always said he had everything here that he needed. So it’s just me, two huge empty bays, and the third one containing one cherry red convertible.

My feet take me there slowly, my leather shoes scuffling over the concrete until I’m there, standing right to the side of the beast. My breathing is already hitched up, and I try to push it out, but it comes out in spurts like a faulty sprinkler system.

Shh. Shh. Shhhhhhh. Shhhhhhhh. Shh-shhhh-hhhhhhhhhh.

Instead of panting here like I need one of those barf bags that Hans carries around, which, for the record, I don’t actually freaking use that often, I open the door, my hands vibrating like a tuning fork while the rest of me is the messed up music. I leave slippery fingerprints on the door handle because my palms are soaked. Then, I force my ass into the passenger seat and just sit with the door cracked open and one foot on the ground outside. This is okay. I can deal with this. It’s when I swing my foot in and shut the door with a dull bang that things get squirrelly. My lungs lock up and draw themselves up, shriveling to the size of one of those nasty nuts at the bottom of the container that doesn’t look like the others and sure as hell doesn’t taste like them either.

I drop my head in my hands and don’t even attempt reaching for the seatbelt. I didn’t bring my phone to serve as a timer or Hans to rescue me from here if shit gets bad. I just brought myself and my determination to do this.

Because…because I want to.

Because of what happened last night.

Because what the hell could I ever hope to actually offer Eveleigh? There’s a reason I never dated after the accident. I always figured no one would want some scarred-up guy who can’t even cut his own steak, who has to keep going for surgeries, and is never going to be at the top of his physical game again. Hans once told me that anyone would have me for my money. He was serious and sarcastic all at the same time. I could get a girlfriend or a wife in a second if I truly wanted one. I flipped him off at the time, and he rolled his eyes because he was far too honest, and he knew I knew, deep down, that the arm wasn’t the real issue. It was the thing with my brain. Even still, even if I never left the house, I knew I could buy someone’s time and partnership, but that was never what I wanted.

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