I rolled my eyes, but my body responded to him without my permission. “Seriously. What do you actually do, Jake? How bad could this be?” To do: Google management consulting.
“We determine which areas of the university are contributing and which are draining, financially or otherwise, and then we offer recommendations. It’s a lot more complex than that, but essentially, that covers it.” He fixed me with a pointed gaze, his hands sliding to rest at my waist again, thumbs making small circles on my hips. “Carlton is the front man on this, anyway.”
“I don’t think this is right,” I insisted.
“I’ll bring it up when I get back to the office. I promise.”
“All right,” I murmured, imagining the worst but resigned that I couldn’t do anything that morning. Still, his thumbs made wider and wider circles, inching closer to where I wanted to feel him again.
“I’ll give Muriel a hypothetical—”
I cut him off with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Muriel? Not Gladys?”
Jake’s face cracked into a grin, and he pulled me closer, dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose. “You’re beautiful.”
“When I’m giving you shit?”
“Yes.” His voice softened. “But the rest of the time, too.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but my heart thumped wildly.
“Now,” he added, his breath against my neck and his palms wandering, “will you come back to bed so I have more juicy things to confess to HR?”
Sixteen
I filed the last email into the proper folder.
Is there anything as satisfying as an empty inbox?
I clenched my thighs as I had been doing all day. The slight ache there reminded me of the night before and that morning. Maybe a few things are better.
Campus was quiet enough that I could savor the feeling of having made it through the year. A definite upside of my job was having control over my summers—I didn’t have to be in the office and could spend my days writing. That’s what I did ordinarily. Maybe this summer, I’d try a few other things.
My phone buzzed, and I smiled before I flipped it over.
Jake: How did work go today after Flip’s announcement last night?
The warmth that spread through my chest had nothing to do with the sun beating through the windows from the cloudless sky or even the memory of multiple orgasms. I reread the message. He was thinking about me, and he thought to ask about my work. I reminded myself this was a fling. I told myself that, but I grinned as I typed a reply.
Naya: Good. Boss is freaking out like everyone else, but I am celebrating the end of the year.
Jake: How are you celebrating?
I snapped a photo of my empty inbox, making sure my email address and last name didn’t show on the screen.
Jake: You don’t know this, but that image is equivalent to pornography for me. So sexy.
Naya: How are the wedding preparations?
Jake: We’re on hour three of decorating the reception hall. Apparently, we should be done with things by five . . . with an hour to spare before the rehearsal dinner.
Naya: That’s brutal.
Jake: I don’t know if I’ll get to see you tonight until late.
Naya: I’m sure we’ll figure it out.
My phone pinged with a photo message from him. It was a selfie, his skeptical expression in the foreground and behind him, a petite woman in a white T-shirt with Bride spelled out in glittery pink script. She was surrounded by women in neon pink T-shirts that read Bridesmaid in a matching font. They were in one of the hotel ballrooms, and the bride appeared to be scolding the leftmost woman.
Naya: Yikes. Intimidating . . . Don’t screw up.
Naya: Wait, everyone in the background is in pink T-shirts . . .
The dots appeared, and a photo came through, another selfie, but in this one, I could see his broad chest in a pink T-shirt, his muscles defined under glittery script reading Groomsman. My smile spread.
Jake: Offering you a glimpse into my own personal hell.
Naya: You look good in pink. Will you model it for me in person?
Jake: I would, if I didn’t plan to burn it.
Naya: You’re no fun.
Jake: That’s not what you said this morning.
* * *
I finished a few last tasks and locked up my office to head home, fingering the screen of my phone on the walk to my car. I opened the app to type a new message but paused, realizing I had nothing to say. Isn’t mindless texting something you do in a relationship? I slipped my phone back into my bag, because I was asking for trouble.
I’m asking for trouble either way, right? I pulled my phone back out when I thought back to his earlier texts that were cute and sweet. When I glanced up, I froze, nearly dropping my device.