Page 22 of The Opposite of Romance
We lift the cups to our lips at the same time, our faces grimacing in sync. The reaction is instant, quicker than the bitter taste of the coffee registers in my brain.
“This is … sweet,” he says, his nose scrunched like he just downed a shot, not a sip of my delicious drink.
“It is. People tend to prefer sweet, rather than the taste of dirt, or whatever this is.”
His laugh rumbles out of him, brightening his face. “Still, how much sugar is in this?”
“Two and a half teaspoons.” I purse my lips in defiance. “Seems like I’ve got our drinks mixed up.” It was probably the sight of him reading one of my books that distracted me. “I’ll make you a new one.” I start to get up, but he stops me with a hand on my wrist.
“No need. I’ll just take this one.” He drags his bitter coffee toward him, pushing my cup to me with his other hand. “You can, of course, make yourself a new one, but I truly don’t mind drinking this.” He lifts the cup in the air, shooting me a simple smile before pressing it to his lips.
My eyes catch on the spot where his lips connect to the cup, the same spot my lips just were.Why is there something so hot about it?
“Big night last night?” he asks, and I’m grateful for him making small talk and pulling me out of my trance.
“Not really. It was an author thing. We have them a few times a year. But my sister, you met her, forced me to go all out with the outfit. That’s not something I would typically wear.” I don’t know why I feel the need to make excuses for myself, but I do.
“I think you looked good in it.” His tone is casual, and I don’t read too much into it.
“Thank you. I might just wear it to the school pick up tomorrow.”
He chuckles with a hearty laugh, pulling my own lips up. “The other moms will love it.” He winks. “Let me know how that goes.”
This time, I’m the one to chuckle. “So, your boss couldn’t let you off today since the other job failed?”
“Nope. He’s a real pain in the ass.”
“Oof,” I hiss. “Guess I’m lucky to be my own boss.”
“So am I.” He glances at me expectantly. “That was the joke.” My confused look forces him to explain further. “The boss is a real pain in the ass, the boss being me?”
“Oh … OH. Wait, you own Chase Constructions?” He nods. “Aren’t there other people working other jobs?”
“Yup. We have four sites going at the moment.”
My forehead wrinkles in confusion. “How old are you?”
Another chuckle escapes him. “I’m 29. Started Chase Constructions when I was 22.”
“Wow. I thought you were like 24.”
“Come on, we’re pretty much the same age.” His dark eyes sparkle as they meet mine.
“Not really. But thanks.” I laugh awkwardly. “Though you called me Ms. Summers this morning, so I don’t quite believe your story.” I give him the stink-eye.
“It was out of respect.” He lifts his hands in surrender. “You’re a client.”
“Anyway,” I roll my eyes, “I’m definitely older than you, and you’re old enough not to ask how much.”
“Ok, you win. Never liked younger girls, anyway.” His tone is, once again, playful, but his words are dangerous.
I take a sip of coffee, trying to collect myself. He’s so fucking charming that he can get away with saying anything. No wonder he has a successful construction firm at his age. He sure knows how to get and keep clients.
I change the subject, moving the conversation to safer ground. “So, you’re the boss and you still do the work yourself? Guess you’re not such a pain in the ass, then.” I throw in a smile.
“Erm … Typically, not. I haven’t been working the sites for a couple of years. Just overseeing everything.”
“What do you mean? You’re here, every day, doing the work on your own?”
