Page 27 of Puck of the Irish

“Tell me it’s him…please tell me it’s him.”

“I will stab you,” I tell him, brandishing my letter opener. “And no, it’s Hattie in the Sin Bin Chat…” He pats his pocket and then must realize he left his phone in his own office. “Ha! Look at this pic!”

I show Bobby the selfie of Hattie with a very disgruntled looking Shep in a wheelchair.

“Looks like he’s headed home. She’s taking the day, obviously. Wanna go by there later? Maybe bring them some food or something?”

“Sound like a plan,” he says, rising from the chair and pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m going to pretend to work but probably sleep at my desk with my eyes open. Holler if you need me.”

“Hattie is rubbing off on you. You’re going to be sayingy’allandbless your heartsoon.” He laughs and waves as he leaves. I get through some emails and my phone buzzes again.

Rizzo: Hey

Don’t even think about it

Rizzo: That was an innocent, completely platonic hey, thank you very much!

I’m watching you, Thirst Trap…

I shiver thinking about the picture he sent last night…the one I definitely saved immediately and have looked at no less than fifty times this morning. I know he’s got a million across his various social media accounts, but none of them are quite this…thirst-inducing. And I’m not even talking about the X-rated ones. Those were also saved for, uh, research purposes.

Rizzo:

Rizzo: Gonna go to Shep’s later. You coming?

Yeah, me and Bobby were just saying we might bring them some food. I’ll text Hattie and coordinate.

Rizzo: Sounds good. See you later.

I laugh and decide it’s time for an early lunch. I need to find a dress for the organization Christmas party next week anyway, so maybe it’ll be a long lunch, actually. I idly wonder what kind of dress might catch Rizzo’s attention, but remind myself that it doesn’t matter because last night was the last night.

End of story.

The story apparently isn’t over.

We make out in the pantry at Shep’s place that afternoon, jerking away when Howey almost walks in on us.

“Are there more paper plates in here?” he asks, completely oblivious, thank God.

“Uh, yeah, I think they’re in that cabinet right there.” I nod and Rizzo leans down to open it up and pull out a stack of plates.

“Sweet. Thanks.”

“We have got to stop this,” I hiss quietly as soon as Howey is out of earshot, and Rizzo laughs.

“You started it!” I give him a level look and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok, so maybe I kind of started it when I tried to grab that bowl above your head and leaned my body up against yours…” I shudder at the memory, my hands already itching to pull him close to me again. What in the literal fuck is wrong with me? I can’t get enough of him. I can’t stop this pull between us. It’s like we’re magnets. Dangerous, stupid fucking magnets.

“Ok, I’m sorry. I’ll be on my best behavior for the rest of the evening.”

“You better,” I warn.

Wemightend up sexting again that night, but the next morning I wake up feeling like death and hooking up is the furthest thing on my mind.

Rizzo: Hey, you alright? Mac said you were sick.

I feel awful. Are you ok?

Rizzo: Yeah, I’m fine. Immune system of a horse.

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