Page 18 of How to Deal

He smiles, thanks me, but hands it to the woman with three kids behind him. Apparently, there’s some humanity left in this world.

I check my phone once I walk into my office building, which just happens to be around the corner from the café. I can’t walk and look at my phone at the same time, so I stop. I even go so far as to stand against the wall, so I don’t trip. One embarrassing display of road rash and I’ll never text and walk at the same time ever again.

There are sixty messages. Sixty! They’re all from Casey and Zane wondering who I was dancing with last night and where the hell I disappeared to. I avoided them like the monkeys inOutbreak,disease infested little shits they are, and I’m amazed my phone can even hold that many messages. The thing about my friends, they gossip and insist on being in everyone’s business.

I don’t answer any of their messages because it’s better to explain in person.

At my desk, I notice Tathan is there, smirking as he drinks his coffee, smugly. “Mornin’,” he says, winking.

There’s something undeniably sexy about the way he says mornin’, like him cutting the word short makes it sexual somehow.

“Goodmorning,” I reply with a smile and for a moment, just a small fraction of a moment, I glance over his appearance. I never got past his eyes in the coffee shop. I usually never do.

It’s Friday. Fridays he wears jeans and usually a button-down shirt he rolls the sleeves up on. The top few buttons are undone, and a little chest hair is peeking out. Fucking sexy as sin. I want to walk up to him, straddle him in his chair and rip the buttons of his shirt open one by one and then lick his chest. Every inch of it.

And then he speaks, and I remember why Ineedto hate him.

“Like what you see, honey?”

Yes.

No.

This is why I can’t stand him and need to stay away from guys like him. He can’t actually have a conversation with anyone that’s not filled with innuendo or lewdness that revolves around him and his amazingly fuckable body.

“No, I don’t.” Reaching forward, I turn on my computer. “Every time you talk, I want to throw up.”

“You seemed very willing while we were dancing,” he notes with a laugh under his breath, undeterred by my harshness. “Come to lunch with me today.”

Here we go. He’s relentless. The thing that gets me is why he’ssohell-bent on me going out with him. That right there warrants all kinds of red flags for me. No one is that determined, and if they are, there’s an ulterior reason as to why.

“No, I think I’m coming down with the flu,” I tell him, slurping my coffee, trying to annoy him. It doesn’t work. He smirks despite my slurping. “But thanks for the coffee.”

I couldn’tnotthank him. It’d be rude, right?

“Like I said. . .” He pauses and grins. “. . .you’ll give—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. A box of rubber bands sitting on my desk prohibits this.

Shuts the cocky hottie right up.

Rubbing his temple, he smiles, “I like it rough.”

I bet you do, asshole.I don’t say that because I know it will only encourage him.

I open my e-mail and leave him rubbing his face. There’s one from Casey reminding me of the Arizona Bridal Show this weekend, yet again.

She’s hoping to catch a glimpse of Elliott Warren, the famous photographer who just so happens to be from Phoenix and is also attending this wedding expo. From what I’ve heard about this Elliott guy, he photographs everything, but specializes in weddings, capturing the most amazing moments of every event he photographs.

Before you go thinking I’m stalking a photographer, I’m only repeating what I’ve heard endlessly for the last few months since Casey got engaged. It’s only everything she talks about. Almost everyone around town has photographs by him. Hell, even some photos inside Madsen Construction are from this dude and sport the familiar signature logo he has.

Normally I would want nothing to do with attending a wedding expo because, let’s face it, me getting married or even planning a wedding is pretty far off.

Unfortunately, I have a weak spot for Casey. She’s been my girl for years, held my hand when I cried over Colton, helped me set fire to his car and was right there with me with a shoulder to cry on when my dad died.

For those reasons, I’ll be there for her too.

Zane shows up twenty minutes late for work, and he’s dressed better than I am and watching Tathan drink his coffee. It’s like watching art.

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