His gaze drops to my piercing. “Good. I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”
I give him a moment to let his gaze wander. Removing my shirt hasn’t done any good in cooling me down because the hunger in Orson’s stare is setting me on fire.
“Were you here for a reason, or did you just miss me?” I ask, breaking the tension.
He grins guiltily, knowing he wasn’t being subtle. “Can’t it be both?”
“Sure.”
“Then both.”
“Missed you too, sweetheart.”
His eyes meet mine, and the nerves in my gut take off at a gallop. “It’s only been a day.”
“I don’t see why that matters. Now, what were you here for?”
“Ah.” He drops his butt onto the desk, squarely facing the back wall. “Maybe here isn’t a great place to do it, but I’m back at work tomorrow, and you hadn’t written back to my text to see you tonight.”
Text? I slide open my desk drawer and tap my phone screen. Huh. There it is. “Sorry, I don’t bother taking my phone out with me.”
“It’s okay. I was … anxious.”
I shoot forward in my chair, every protective instinct on high alert. “Anxious about what?”
He bats at my shoulder. “Calm down. I decided that I had to talk to you about what’s going on in my head, and I’ve been worrying over how to do that.”
Okay, not what I was expecting. “You don’t have to have any conversation you’re not ready for.”
“And that’s why I do. You’ve been patient and kind, so I owe it to you to open up.”
“You don’t owe—”
He laughs. “It’s called mutual respect, Ford. Surprisingly, it’s something I have for you.”
“Yikes. Poor judgment skills on your end.”
His hit to my shoulder is harder this time. “You’re making this hard.”
“You makemehard all the time. I’m only returning the favor.”
“Sometimes it’s like I’m talking to Art.”
“Makes sense. We used to hang out a lot.”
“Did you two ever—”
“Once.”
“Ah.” He scrapes his fingers through his hair. “That shouldn’t surprise me.”
“It shouldn’t. It’s Art. He’ll offer it up to anyone, and after leaving the club alone, I wasn’t in the mood to say no.”
“When did it …”
That’s a good question. So long ago I can barely remember specifics, though the alcohol doesn’t help with that either. “We were … late twenties, I think? Fuck me, like fifteen years ago.”
“Wow, you’re old.”