One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,63
to Lola.” Peyton waves a hand in front of my face.
I snap my gaze up. “Sorry. I drifted off.”
“Yes, I know inventory is not that thrilling. That’s why we always have a drink after. Besides,” Peyton says, shooting Marley a knowing glance, “I want to hear more about what you did in your dazzling sapphire-blue lingerie.”
Marley adopts an overly demure smile. “Who said it was dazzling?”
“Um, you did.” Peyton points at the brunette. “Might it have involved a certain someone you met yesterday?”
“Maybe it did,” she trails off and adds a flirty little grin.
That piques my interest, and when the three of us head to Gin Joint to grab some libations, I wait until we order and then command playfully, “Tell us, Marley. Dare I say dazzle us?”
As we drink, Marley shares a few details and I lean closer, doing my best to stay in the present moment. It’s a scintillating tale, but I have to work to focus on the details.
Because the moment I want to be in is my last night. My yesterday. My twenty-four hours with Lucas.
Except that’s not how we fix mistakes.
We repair the past with a better present.
By doing things right this time around.
And as it happens, I’m not technically any closer to figuring out the design issues of my new book cover. So maybe, just maybe, I should see if Lucas wants to help.
When Marley and Peyton grab refills at the bar, I fire off a text.
Lola: Hey! Want to grab that coffee tomorrow? I could use your brain.
Lucas: My brain is at your disposal.
26
Lucas
I’d like other parts to be at her disposal too.
Not just that part.
All the parts. Except that’s not in the cards, so I shove those annoying, irresponsible, nagging notions of romance and a future and I’m falling for you into the corner, then I stomp them pancake-flat and light them on fire for good measure.
There.
I wipe my hands of emotions, falling, love, and all those other dangerous ideas.
Besides, I have plenty to deal with.
Like the fact that our office space still isn’t ready.
Like the work I fell behind on over the weekend.
Like the presentation.
That’s my Monday.
And all day long as I refine my work, I check the clock. I check it religiously. I check it like it’s my motherfucking job.
And when the clock ticks closer to coffee time, I close the laptop, head home, and change into a T-shirt I know she’ll like. I run my fingers through my hair and head to the coffee shop.
This is good. Everything we fucked up last time, we are unfucking now.
We are such goddamn adults we should earn medals for excellence in adulting.
And really, isn’t that everything I’ve ever wanted?
The second I open the door to Doctor Insomnia’s, my heart springs out of my chest, scampering to her.
What the hell?
I grab the outlaw organ, stuff it back between my lungs, and tell it to settle the hell down.
This is not the time or place for stupid displays of affection.
Yet as I head over to her, there’s a smile on my face that I can’t hide. My skin warms, my pulse races, and my mind is surfing a dopamine wave just being near her.
She stands and smiles too, and then it happens.
The awkward sets in.
We’re a foot away from each other, and I don’t know if we should hug, or shake hands, or something else.
“Hey, you,” she says, going first, a note of sweetness in that last word that winds its way around my heart, tugging it perilously close to her.
“Hey there.” I don’t know if I should respond to the sound or the situation. Where is this covered in the rules we laid down?
“Good to see you,” she says, shifting to full-on friends mode. Pursing her lips, she draws a breath then wraps me in a hug. “Thanks for letting me borrow your brain.”
Ah, yes. The situation. Focus on that. “You’ve got all access. Twenty-four seven,” I say, turning my nose away from her hair because if I spend too long inhaling her fantastic scent, I will backslide.
Hell, I’ll relapse into offers of group showers and sleepovers and breakfasts, and spending every single second with her, like I stupidly want to.
We separate and sit. She clears her throat, gesturing to the empty table in front of me. “Want a coffee?”
“Sure. Yeah. Definitely. Coffee is good.” I sound like an overeager teenager on a first date. I gesture with my thumb to the counter. “I’ll go grab one.”