Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,36

gulps.

“Drink up, friends.” Jerome slides three drinks onto the bar in front of us. The salmon-colored liquid is served over ice, with a jaunty lemon wheel on the lip.

“Damn that’s pretty,” our new friend says from under his baseball cap. “Cheers, guys. To pink drinks and baseball.” We all lift our glasses and touch them together. “Now if only the Mets could strike this motherfucker out.”

As I take a sip, I glance up at the TV for the first time since sitting down. The score is tied. But I don’t care as much as I usually would.

Posy is much more diverting than baseball. I don’t know why I’m drawn to her. I’ve never really understood it. We were downright hostile to each other back in the day. And then—at the bitter end—her dad made me angrier than I’d ever been in my life. And now I have to call her boss and literally fetch coffee all fricking day.

Even all these years later, she still gets under my skin. There’s something about her energy that resonates with me. She’s driven and focused. She doesn’t suffer fools. Those are traits that we have in common.

But Posy has a warmth that underlies her troubled soul. As if she is doing everything she can to avoid becoming a cynical bastard like me. I see it when she puts an extra cookie in an old man’s bakery bag. And every time she speaks kindly to Jerry even when he’s forgotten to do something basic—like closing the backdoor.

She’s like the nicer, chick version of me. And she’s sneaking looks at me over the rim of her glass.

I feel my pulse accelerate. Is tonight the night it finally happens? And why not? We’re two adults with no obligations. Why shouldn’t we?

Posy catches me watching her, and looks away, her cheeks burning.

“What are you thinking so hard about over there?” I press. Say it, I beg. Ask me to come home with you.

I wonder if she has the nerve.

11

Posy

Gunnar waits for my answer, watching me with hungry eyes. I take another sip of tart, fruity goodness and feel a rare looseness in my limbs, as if I’m limber enough to mold myself into the kind of woman who knows how to handle this moment. The possibility of Gunnar and me in bed stretched itself out around us.

He’s waiting for me to say something. Except that I’ve forgotten the question, let alone the answer. He gives me a smile, like he can read my thoughts. And then he lets me off the hook by glancing up at the TV screen to check the score. “Tell me,” he says. “Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere,” I say quickly, chickening out. I take another deep gulp of my drink. I haven’t had quite enough alcohol to nonchalantly ask Gunnar to come home with me tonight. I want to, though. Really. A lot. He’s just the right kind of playboy to get me out of my rut. It won’t mean anything to him. He won’t have any expectations.

And neither will I, of course. We have nothing in common.

Although lately I find myself appreciating Gunnar for much more than his very fine ass. Who could resist a guy who comes to work on time every day, and makes fabulous coffee for eight hours without complaint?

The old Gunnar would have teased me mercilessly and hidden the sugar cubes when he went on break. The new Gunnar keeps his head down and saves my overworked butt during every shift.

Sure, he still flirts mercilessly with the customers. But nobody is perfect. And I’m just jealous. I’d rather have those pale eyes trained on me.

They were, too, only a moment ago. But I blew it already. He was waiting for me to give him the green light, and I chickened out.

That’s a theme with me.

Earlier, I’d spotted him even before he came into the bar. I watched him get out of that cab and then check the time. I saw him look toward the pub, weighing his choices.

My heart had thumped along with only one word. Please.

Fine—not my heart. It was other parts of me who were doing all the begging. Silently, of course. Speaking up seems impossible right now. What if he laughs in my face? Or—this might even be worse—what if he says yes? And then we get naked and I can’t satisfy him?

You’re not very adventurous, Spalding said. You’re not very good in bed.

My ex is the only person I’ve ever been naked with.