Page 11 of Playing Flirty

He pressed his pouty lips together and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” His gaze slipped to my chest where my scarf had shifted, but it zapped back to his screen a microsecond later. He blew out a short breath. “Hold off on beatboxing for another twenty minutes or so.”

Then Shaun pulled me away while bitching about our boss until Neema arrived with Bananagrams.

William trudged over and sat down on the large gray couch. He leaned back, stretching out his long legs in his sweatpants. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’m about to teach Rose a lesson.”

“You wish,” I snapped, spreading out the lettered tiles, face down.

As soon as the game started, I flipped my tiles, and my brain went into overdrive, connecting the letters. Word games were my strength, and the only person who ever challenged me was William.

But William was distracted by the silly words Shaun made, and I claimed victory.

“Rematch,” William said, taking all the tiles and flipping them face down.

Of course he’d want a rematch. And I’d win again. Except this time William was focused, and I was beginning to learn that, when William focused, there was little that could stand in his way. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he won.

I groaned and double-checked his words to make sure he hadn’t cheated. Damn him. He hadn’t.

I challenged him to another match.

Which I shouldn’t have.

After winning the last round, the dimple in his left cheek deepened at the corner of a smug grin. He walked back to his laptop. “Maybe next time you won’t ask me to join, and you’ll have a higher chance at winning.”

So annoying.

Ignoring him, I made my way to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, which William had specifically bought after he’d heard me complain about the lack thereof one too many times. The gurgling noise of boiling water blocked out Patrick’s entrance and his clipped footsteps. I looked up as he set a brown paper bag on the kitchen island between us.

“Hey, babe.” He took out a pack of caramel popcorn and tossed it at Neema. “It’s been a long day.”

For Patrick, a long day was twelve hours or more at the office. Yet somehow, every light brown strand of hair was in place, and there wasn’t a single crease in his black shirt. My days looked much different. After two hours in the office, I had usually managed to lose a hair tie and an earring, and accidentally sipped someone else’s coffee.

“Hey, you,” I replied.

He removed a maple syrup pie, and Shaun swiped it before it even hit the counter.

“And for you.” He handed me half a dozen chocolate croissants.

Apparently, forgiveness had a price. And it was half a dozen chocolate croissants.

He leaned across the counter and kissed my cheek. “I missed you, babe, but I won’t be staying long. I have—”

“Work,” I interrupted, harsher than I intended. “I figured.”

His leaf-green eyes were filled with apologies I was tired of hearing, and he was tired of making. “I need to talk to you about something.”

My breath hitched in the second that passed.

“My dad is promoting me to national sales manager.” He walked around the kitchen island toward me.

“That’s amazing!”

His frown lines deepened.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re saying something good, but your face is saying something else.”

“It means I have to leave town every now and again and take care of clients around the country.” The corners of his mouth resisted the urge to break into a smile.

I was consumed by the familiar pang of guilt for making him hate how much he loved his job. Slapping on a smile, Igave him what I hoped were what Neema calledheart eyes. “We should celebrate.”

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