Page 58 of Handle with Care
“I don’t think so. Quite the opposite. Hence thewe need to talktalk.”
“Which ourbosswalked in on. God knows what she thinks is going on. By the way, only nerds say hence.”
“I embraced my inner—and outer—nerd a long time ago.”
“Humph.” I work on my drink, sighing. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Go back to dating. Forget him. He doesn’t matter, right?”
I give him a dark look. “You’re in cahoots with Stephen. Probably you’re talking.”
“Only nerds say cahoots.”
“Arrgh.”
“Honestly, keep it professional at work. Time helps these things,” he says comfortingly.
“I’m being sooo professional, it hurts. Really quite a lot. Neither one of us has dared to go off script. It’s brutal.” I complain, shaking my head.
He pats my arm. “There, there.”
“Tell me about your boyfriend problems. Or your boyfriend’s boyfriend’s problems. I can’t keep up.” Someone else’s problems are way better than my own. Refreshing, even.
“Neither can I. It’s getting complicated.”
We shift the conversation to focus on Russell’s problems, which is a great distraction from my own. Or thinking about the way Will’s mouth curves or the heat of our bodies entwined in his bed. Or how his ass feels under my hands. Or the special smile he has for me when I make him laugh.
Russell definitely doesn’t have a point. Not even a little.
Friday is the third day of torture.
We have ten pickups left from Lily’s wish list, luckily not all at separate locations, but we need to navigate around London. Will insists we take his Land Rover and his disability pass for parking in and around the city, which I’m fairly sure isn’t exactly what it’s meant for—facilitating museum work—but then again, he very legitimately is down a leg, and I’m definitely not the sort of asshole to make him take the tube again. Neither of us wants to commandeer a car service all day.
The unfortunate part—well, there are several—is that being back in Will’s Rover is too much of a reminder of the other times we’ve spent in his car, like having fun together last weekend. Or our drive north from London when we got stranded. Who knewa car could be such a heavy weight? I can see his perspective on the McLaren.
Another unfortunate part is watching him in a pale lavender shirt, sleeves rolled up, aviators on, stoically navigating London like the ninja he is. Parking gods throw down in front of him with his pass. And he only pulls a couple of illegal moves, parking half on the sidewalk. Which he insists is totally normal for London. I’m not convinced, but he’s the local. When he says he’ll show them his leg if anyone complains, I tell him it’s no one’s business but his own and to point out the parking pass. He shrugs.
“Appearances matter,” Will informs me. “People assume.”
“Screw ’em.”
We’ve got five of seven pickups done, and it’s already 3:30 p.m. We’re usually done by 5:00, and we’re on the far end of London. And we need to get out to outside the M25 and back again on a Friday. Naturally, there’re accidents, construction, and delays every which way. He mutters under his breath again and punches in a new route on the GPS. Then we’re off.
“We’re going to be late getting back.” Will frowns. “Shit.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “Lily will understand. I don’t think she’ll wait on us. We’ll message her. Unless this fucks with your Friday night hot date, that is.”
He gives me a sidelong glance behind the aviators, so I can see the corner of his eye and elegant profile. Will’s lips twist. “Speak for yourself.”
“Color me surprised.”
“Dylan, don’t be facetious. It’s unbecoming.”
At that, I start giggling uncontrollably in the tension till I dissolve into whoops of laughter, doubled over in the passenger seat as he pulls us onto the motorway. “You didn’t… actually… just call me unbecoming… I… Ican’t.”
Startled, he peeks at me fleetingly before focusing on the road again. “What did I say that’s so funny?”
“You—you called mefacetious—without irony! Oh God!” I fall into tears of laughter.
