Page 51 of Rooster

Robert is so different. I just don't know what to do with myself.

He was right Thursday evening. Had he gotten back into the hot tub, I would've been all over him, trying to get him to take things further than he told me he wanted to go. That makes me no less of an asshole than a guy pressuring his girlfriend after junior prom to take the next step. And then getting pissed and accusing her of being a cock tease before using the blue balls excuse to see if that tact would work.

"I'm a fucking frat boy," I mutter as I look at my reflection in the mirror, the early Saturday light filtering in through the small bathroom window.

My face is void of makeup, but instead of pulling my bag out to add a little color to my face, I decide against applying anything before leaving the room.

My t-shirt and leggings will just have to do. Instead of feeling down on myself for being comfortable, I remind my head that I don't have to impress everyone I come into contact with. If they have a problem with how I look, that's a reflection of them, not me.

Instead of heading to the kitchen when I notice it's empty, I turn toward the conference room door.

I avoided Robert all day yesterday while trying to wrap my head around meeting a guy who's different from every other man who has been in my path. I don't want to avoid him any longer. I have a million questions. I know I should probably have this conversation with a therapist rather than a guy I want to fuck, but my options are limited right now.

I knock on the door when I see him watching his computer screen while his hands work furiously over the keyboard.

His eyes grow brighter when he looks over at me, and I feel my face transform into a smile when the corners of his mouth turn up in one.

"Good morning," he says, looking at me the same way he did when I was in a dress and a face full of makeup, ready for work.

"Morning," I return. "I've been avoiding you."

"I noticed," he says without judgment in his tone.

"You sort of threw me for a loop the other night."

"I figured I did."

I sort of love that he isn't making apologies for telling me exactly how he feels. I swear the man is more enlightened than anyone I've ever met, and it's both refreshing and a little frustrating. But I know that has more to do with where I am in my head than a reflection of him.

I just don't think I've ever met a man who isn’t controlled by what his dick wants at any given moment. It's a shock to my system, for sure.

"Am I interrupting you? I don't want to bother you if you're busy."

He glances from me to his computer screens before looking back at me.

His hands work over the keyboard, and a second later, some animated game fills the massive television on the wall.

"What is that?" I ask, taking a step further inside the room.

"Farmer's Delight," he says, grinning at me. "And as sexual as that sounds, I promise you it's very wholesome. I'm waiting for my cabbage to grow so I can make coleslaw."

"You have to wait?"

"I do."

"I'm sure you could manipulate the program to make it go faster," I argue.

"I could, but that would be cheating."

"I don't think I've ever met someone with such…"

"Patience?" he says, and it sounds like a hint of challenge in his tone.

"Restraint," I clarify.

His laughter is quick, and I find myself smiling even wider. The guy lights up the fucking room when he's happy, and it makes me want to earn as many smiles and laughs from him as I can.

"Grab a seat," he says, angling his hand toward the closest chair to him at the conference table.

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