creative partner, so to speak. He’s going to rebrand us digitally, but with your artistry and behind the scenes know-how, he’ll be able to really capture the essence of what we do here. It’ll be authentic, something we always strive for. And it makes way more sense for you to be the point of contact for this than me, because you understand better than most what we need.”
I chewed my cheek, fighting to swallow the refusal that immediately tried to bubble up—I worked better alone, and I wasn’t sure that working with Javi was a good idea. After all, I couldn’t get a read on him, and if we clashed, we’d still have to see each other each day living next door to each other.
Also, what had the director meant, Javi would understand better than most? Just how much time did he spend at the center? How much time would that mean we’d be spending together? There was an uncomfortable swelling in my cock at the idea. Traitorous cock. And that was just another reason why it was a bad idea.
But this was my first real solo client, and I worried that protesting would make me look high-maintenance. So, smiling, I held out my hand to shake Javi’s. “Sure thing, I’d love some input.”
Javi didn’t take my offered hand immediately. Instead, he stood there looking as if the director had asked him to eat a toad. When he finally took my hand, there was a sudden shock at the contact that seemed to burn up my arm, straight to my chest. We both stiffened, and I would swear his lips parted in a way that was more an invitation than disgust. He made me feel like my body was humming, attuned to him in a way I hadn’t been attuned to anyone in far too long.
He dropped the handshake too quickly for anyone to fail to notice. Yet the director seemed to be oblivious to it, waving as he left us and wishing us good luck.
I’ll need it, I thought to myself, my pulse still uneven.
“I’ll help where I c...c-c-c...help where I c-can,” Javi said. His voice was just as I remembered it, rich and deep, at odds with the sharp awareness of those unforgettable hazel eyes. “But I have...work...now.”
That same slow, deliberate way of speaking as when he’d apologized. As if he were afraid to let his words out and was carefully guarding them.
“That’s fine,” I said, knowing some of my awkwardness was leaking into my tone. “Giuliana’s at my brother’s and I need to pick her up anyway.”
We walked in stiff silence to the parking lot. My shoes squeaked, and I missed the comfort of socks and sweatpants, something I never thought I’d want again after these last few weeks. But those clothes meant the safety of my home and the comfort of my daughter and none of the mindfuckery that came with this job. With Javi.
Javi’s boots, heavy black leather and worn laces, pounded out a steady rhythm that echoed down the halls. Occasionally a teen would see him and wave. He’d wave back, but that stride never broke.
When I saw my car, I stopped. The tension was becoming too much.
“Look, Javi,” I said, staring at my feet. “You don’t have to work with me on this.”
I expected relief from Javi. After all, I was letting him off the hook. Instead, I was hit with a snap of anger. “You think I’m n...n-n-not up to it?”
When I brought my gaze up to his face, his browned skin was flushed red. I’d have thought he’d be relieved. After all, he seemed so tense around me—probably because I hadn’t been the friendliest of neighbors, and now here I was, sticking my nose in his space again. He probably thought I didn’t like him, and there was no way to explain that I was scared of the opposite being true.
That there was the potential to like him too much.
“No, I—”
He didn’t let me finish. “I’m an artist, t-too. Just because I t-t-tattoo instead of d-doing something fancy like you d...d-d-doesn’t mean—”
He stopped in the middle of the sentence, shutting down so fast and tight it was painful to watch. Like an iron wall slammed between us. He was breathing so hard, it was next to impossible to keep from reaching out and pulling him into a hug—I wanted to tell him it would be okay.
“Good luck,” he spat, but I could no longer tell how much of his anger was