Page 37 of Rewrite the Rules

“Sorry, man, residuals from being on a pro sports team. You forget normal people boundaries.” But he doesn’t let go. He just pats my back in gratitude and relief.

thirteen

Adler

Le Vol is not an easy wine to track down. I had to pull out every trick in the bag for this one.

After days of obsessive online research, I found an itty-bitty little wine store in the backwoods of Milwaukee that is going out of business. Luckily before they decided to shut their doors permanently, they hired a tech guy to catalog all their remaining bottles.

I nearly choked when I saw the burgundy label with the wispy lines outlining the duck feathers. The only other bottles of Le Vol I could find are scattered in obscure corners of France and between customs and import laws there was no way that was going to happen. I think I hunted down the last bottle in America.

I called the owner of the wine store promptly. They were so eager to get rid of all their inventory that they basically gifted the bottle to me minus shipping costs. I also might’ve fed them a sob story about unrequited love and trying to win my boss’s heart…which is only a partial lie. My lust for Joel isn’t unrequited, it’s just off-limits.

We’re friends. Friends is going…well.

I’ve kept my hands to myself for two weeks, two days, eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes and I’mnot at allabout to die from my pent-up sexual frustration. I didn’t even know it was possible to be sexually frustrated as a virgin. But it is. And I am. And it’s very uncomfortable.

Here’s the problem—ever since I agreed to just be Joel’s friend, his flirtatiousness has known no bounds. I don’t think Joel quite understands platonic boy-girl friendship. He hugged me right in front of the team last week. And not an awkward, butts-out, arm barely bent around the top of your shoulders hug. I mean I could feel his partial pressed into my stomach kind of hug when I delivered the team’s lunch to the meeting room of Marquis Business Tower’s fifteenth floor.

He breathed in my hair and whispered that he liked my perfume. The ravenous feasting wildebeests, also known as our coworkers, were none the wiser that I almost ripped his clothes off and mounted him right then and there. Joel flipped a switch in me that no man has come close to finding before. I’m on.Always on. I’m lit up and I can’t go back to the dark. My lust for Joel is addicting. Friendship is my nicotine patch.

He even invited me to a movie last weekend. I wanted to go. I wanted to hold his hand and cuddle into him while watching—who cares. But I’m respecting boundaries the best I can. Joel, however? He needs a little practice. These arehis ruleshe’s not following.

Every single day Joel and I play with the line we’ve drawn, soaked in gasoline, and lit on fire. One day, I’m tempted to cross, the next day, it’s Joel. I imagine it’s only a matter of time before one of us chickens will walk through the flames to get to the other side.

On Friday afternoon at the office, I linger. Brett and Lawrence are the last besides Joel and me to leave the office. Lawrence barely grunts as his sweaty bald head disappears down the hallway. He looks suspiciously sleepy as if the last meeting on his calendar today was with a nap.

“Hey, Addie.” Brett taps my desk. “Working late on a Friday?”

“I’m just finishing up some emails,” I lie. My eyes dart toward the tote to the left of my desk which contains the special bottle I plan to give to Joel once we’re alone. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong,albeitaccurate,impression.

“Well, have a good weekend.” Brett dawdles. His dark curly hair has so much product in it that even at five o’clock in the afternoon it looks like he freshly showered.

Ding!

Oh, thank heaven. My email notification cheeps loudly like a fire alarm with a dwindling battery. I don’t even care who it is…thank youfor saving me. Brett looks dangerously close to asking me what my weekend plans are and if they can involve him.Nope.It was a no even before I mettheman that set me on fire. I’m Joel’s now. Even if I can’t have him. I’m his.

“I need to respond to this ASAP, but you have a great weekend, Brett!” I swivel around in my chair, effectively dismissing him. I wait until the glass door of the front office clicks shut before I actually scan my new email.

It’s a new message from Tessalynn Gorthridge. I am one of the few people in the world that knows Tessa Rayne is a pen name. Gorthridge doesn’t quite flair off the tongue so she adopted a snappier alias.

The subject line reads:Do not say no to this!

Sigh. I’m probably going to say no to this…

From:Tessalynn Gorthridge

Subject:Do not say no to this!

Addie,

I know this is last minute but I managed to finagle an extra pass for this invite-only writers’ convention next week. I’m running a romance panel so they gave me a free VIP pass which gets you access to everything.

Come with me! Don’t think, just do it.

I took the liberty of booking your ticket and your room. All details are attached. Yes, I already purchased a nonrefundable flight and hotel room for you…no pressure or anything (but actually, lots of pressure).

Are you thinking right now? Stop that. Start packing!

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