“No idea. I was only in Idaho until the fifth grade. I was still wearing superhero pajamas.”
“You could still totally pull off superhero pajamas,” I tease. His expression shifts into one I’ve seen before but never had directed at me.
Sliding one elbow along the counter, he leans closer, his eyelids heavy. He tips his head to the side and in a seductive voice murmurs, “Role-play is an advanced level, coach. We should probably stick to the basics.”
I was melting toward him, but now I bristle. “Can you not call me that?”
“What? Coach?”
“Yeah. It’s…sexless.”
“It’s a nickname.”
“It’s not a sexy nickname.” My voice is a whisper.
His gaze is cunning and knowing. “Would you like a sexy nickname?”
I exhale, breathless at the offer. “I don’t know why I said that. Ignore me.”
“Yeah, not gonna happen.”
I’m overwhelmed. When I’m overwhelmed, there’s one surefire way to combat it. Control.
“We should lay a few ground rules.” Before he can argue, I go on. “I can call a halt at any time, and you have to agree to forget everything we did up until then. We go back to being best friends and coworkers and never speak of it again.”
“I agree to everything but the middle part.” He shakes his head. “No way I’ll forget it.”
Good point. I won’t forget the offer, let alone the kiss a few days ago. I imagine anything more will be seared into my brain like grill marks on a Fourth of July hot dog.
“I say we do it now. The buildup is hard on everyone.” He literally rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing strong forearms with a dusting of dark hair. He wiggles his fingers and then winks. “I’ll be gentle.”
“You’re insane.” I make a defeated sound that might be a laugh. “Ugh, I don’t think I can do this. I am insane.”
“You can.” He takes both my hands and gently squeezes my fingers. “And you’re not insane. You’re horny.”
“Don’t act like this is normal.”
“Fuck normal. What’s normal? Do you think it’s normal for an orphaned kid to be shuttled from Idaho to Ohio and adopted by billionaires? To become one himself at a crazy young age? To be this good looking and exude so much charm that every female in a one-hundred-mile radius faints dead away at the sight of him?”
I shake my head. He’s incorrigible and completely desirable. “You are too much.”
“I am just right. As you’re about to find out.” He stands, tugging me up.
“Not at work. That’s my other rule,” I argue. “I can’t do sex stuff during work hours.”
“Why not?”
“My head is in work mode. I have to check my schedule and yours. I have to return the fifty emails I know are sitting in my inbox. I have a report to finalize. I have office supplies to order because I ran out of time to do it last week.”
“We’re not having no-holds-barred fun in your pants because we’re out of Post-its?” he asks, droll.
“Pen refills, actually.”
“Oh, well in that case.” He wears sarcasm as well as his clothes, which he wears damn well. “Come on, Cris. You’ll be glad you did.”
“Nope. I mean it. I need to compartmentalize my day.”
“Okay.” He gives in with a full-body sigh. “When is the sex compartment?”
The questions stumps me. “I…I’m not sure. I’ve never had a sex compartment.”
His grin is devious and beautiful. “I was right, Firecracker. This is going to be fun.”
I return his grin, warmed by the idea we have something to look forward to. Warmed further by my new nickname. Firecracker is much sexier than coach.