I clamp my mouth shut, mid-sentence. Two can play this game (and yes, I know I’m the one in the wrong, but it wasn’t that wrong, and it was an accident, and I’ve apologized a lot).
After a beat, he finally opens his mouth to speak. “Are you done?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Well, then, thank you for that.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “All of it.”
He’s mocking me, even though I’m giving him a heartfelt apology. Even though I mean every word I’m saying and I really, truly do feel bad.
I give a curt nod. “You’re welcome,” I reply solemnly, as though I’ve done him some kind of favor.
“You’re right. They’re my personal items, as you referred to them, but I’m happy to forget it happened. So, if you’re looking for it, I forgive you. Let’s forget about it and move on.”
Relief washes through me. “Moving on sounds good to me.”
Silence falls once more. Alex is still looking at me intently, and I’m still wishing this was over and I was back in the office. Being in the Red Room with Aleron and his bundles of twigs is preferable to this level of tension, believe me.
“Is there something else?” he asks.
“Oh, yes. Actually, there is.”
“Another prepared speech?” he asks, and his lips quirk into a small smile.
Something stirs inside me. Something I don’t want to think about.
“It’s from Larissa, actually.”
“A prepared speech from Larissa. That’s new.”
I shake my head. “It’s not a speech.”
“That’s a shame. I quite enjoy your speeches.”
I regard him in surprise. “You do?”
“Yeah. You get all serious, like you’ve really thought about what you’ve got to say. It’s . . . charming.”
Alex thinks I’m charming?
I press my lips together, ignoring the way his smile makes me tingle. It’s only due to my relief that he’s forgiven me. It’s nothing more than that. And saying I’m charming? Well, that’s his way of putting me off my stride, of getting back at me for looking at those photos.
I refocus on my message. “Larissa wants you to come to a meeting with her. She wants to talk to you about some things, specifically,” I pull my Labrador puppy notebook out of my purse, flip to the page where I’d written down her questions, and quote her word-for-word. “She wants to know how you think, how you feel, and to ask you about your higher state of consciousness.” I flip the cover of my notebook over and await his reaction.
His brow is furrowed. “She wants to ask about my higher state of consciousness?”
“Yes.” I give a solemn nod.
The corners of his mouth twitch again in that all-too-familiar way before blooming into a smile.
Relief washes through me. He may be laughing at me right now (is he laughing at me right now? I think he is laughing at me right now.), but this sure beats the frostiness of before—and my guilt over finding the photos of that girl.
Whoever she is.
Slowly, he gets up from his stool and walks around the counter until he’s standing closer to me. His smile now firmly in place, his eyes boring into me. “You know, I can’t say I’ve ever thought about my ‘higher state of consciousness.’”
“You haven’t?” I ask, shocked to hear how breathless my voice has become.
It’s only Alex Walsh. I hate him, remember?
“What is a ‘higher state of consciousness’ exactly?” His voice is low and sexy, and it rumbles right through me.
Uh-oh.
My heart begins to thud in my chest. Why does he have to stand so darn close to me? First at his place and now here. Doesn’t he know it makes me incredibly uncomfortable? Doesn’t he know I can catch a hint of his scent (fresh, woody, with a hint of lime)? Doesn’t he know I could reach out and touch him? That he’s close enough for me to take one small step toward him and . . . and kiss him?
Wait, what?!
What the heck am I thinking? This is Alex Walsh. Alex Walsh. He’s not someone I think about kissing. He’s . . . he’s a cocky, arrogant jerk who did what he did to me back in high school. I hate him. I hate him.
But oh, my. My conviction is melting with every second he’s standing here, smirking that sexy smirk at me. I bet he’s acutely aware of the effect his proximity is having on me, and he’s enjoying making me squirm.
Well, I’m determined not to let that happen. With a dry mouth, I back away from him, only for my butt to smoosh up against the counter behind me.
I’m trapped.
I toss my hair and shoot him a breezy smile. Well, breezy is the aim, anyway.
When I still haven’t responded to his question (I’ve had other things on my mind), he says, “Darcy? Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
“Oh, um, I was just thinking about how to explain what a higher state of consciousness is,” I reply. “But you know what? I wouldn’t worry about it. That’s just Larissa-speak. All you’ve got to do is prattle on about your creative vision or something. She’ll be more than happy with that.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair, messing it up. It makes him look even hotter. “You know, I’m not much of a prattler,” he says.
He moves closer to me, his eyes still locked on mine.
Thud thud goes my heart.
Zing zing goes my belly.
What the heck is happening right now? goes my brain.
My hands grab the counter at my sides, the cool touch of stainless steel capturing my attention. But it’s only a temporary reprieve from the new and confusing things I’m feeling inside.
“Well, not prattle then. Talk, I guess,” I say.
“Sure, I can talk to her. But I quite like talking to you.” He pauses before he adds, “Darcy.”
The way he says my name has my eyes drifting from his eyes down to his mouth. His lips are parted, ready to be . . . what? Kissed?
No no no no no! What has gotten into me? Pull yourself together, Darcy!
He still hasn’t moved away, and he’s still got his eyes trained on me, boring holes the size of moon craters into my skull. His gaze drifts to my white-knuckled hands and back up to my face. Immediately, I let go of the counter and cross my arms over my chest. I couldn’t look any more uncomfortable if I were wearing a ski suit in hundred-degree heat.
“I’ve been thinking about you today. A lot, actually.”
“About how much you don’t like me?”
“I never said that. It was you who said you didn’t like me. Although secretly, I think you do like me, even if you won’t admit it.”
“No, I don’t,” I reply, but it’s so lacking in conviction, no court in the land would believe me.
“No you don’t like me, or no you won’t admit you do?”
I’m too thrown to respond because now he’s reaching his hand out and lightly touching my cheek, making my whole body tingle.
He’s going to kiss me. Alex Walsh is going to kiss me.
My mind turns to Seth, the nice guy I’ve only just begun dating. I think of Alex, and how much I’ve despised him for so, so long. And then, I push the litany of reasons not to let it happen from my brain as I uncross my arms and drop my hands to my sides. I inch closer to him. We stand as though in limbo, not quite taking the next, inevitable step.
And then, in one fluid motion, his arms circle around me, pulling me into him, and his lips crash against mine. Before I even have time to think, I’m wrapping my arms around him as I kiss him back, and everything—everything—around us fades to nothing.
It’s just him and me.
Us.
And oh, my, what a kiss! It’s the kind that sucks the air from your lungs, makes your legs turn to jelly, makes you completely dizzy. The kind you never want to stop.
My mind whirs with conflicting thoughts. I’m kissing Alex! But I can’t be because I hate him. But oh, my, this feels so good. But it’s Alex Walsh! What am I thinking? God, I hope this never s
tops.
Eventually, after I swear I begin to see stars, I pull back as my heart bangs like a drum. My confused feelings are strewn across the linoleum floor.
What. Just. Happened?
One second, I’m setting up a meeting, and the next, we’re kissing like . . . like that?
I have got to get out of here.
I pull my eyes from his and step back, once again smooshing my butt against that darn counter. I begin to slide along the side away from him. I must look totally ridiculous, but what just happened cannot happen again. Kissing Alex? Have I gone insane?
“Darcy,” he says, reaching out his hand.
I duck away from him. “I, ah, I need to go.”
“Do you?” he asks softly.
I nod rapidly. “I came here to—” What did I come here for? My mind’s gone blank.
“You wanted to set up a meeting with Larissa.”
That’s right! “Yes, a meeting,” I reply breathlessly.
“I’m out of here at two today. Would that work for Larissa?”
“I’ll make two o’clock work for her.”
“Will you be there?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
I inch away. “I’ll, ah, see you then, then.”
Then then?
A fresh smile spreads across his face. “I’m looking forward to it it,” he teases.
I slink back from him until I’m far enough away to break the spell. Only, the spell isn’t broken, and all I can think about is that kiss.
On legs as wobbly as jelly, I somehow manage to put one foot in front of the other. “And thanks for—” the kiss? “—the photos.”
“No problem.” He smiles at me, and something new and unexpected moves inside my chest. “See you, Darcy.”
I turn away from him and scrunch my eyes shut, clasping my trusty notebook in my hands. I throw my head high and put one foot in front of the other, leaving Alex and that confusing, incredible, so very wrong kiss behind.
Chapter 12
Only, I don’t leave it behind. Far, far from it. In fact, it’s all I can think about. The way he smiled at me, the touch of his hand on my cheek, the way his lips felt pressed against mine. He’s sparked something inside me. New, scary feelings. Feelings I never thought I’d have for him. And now, back in the office, I can’t concentrate. I can’t do anything but sit at my desk—and think of him.
Work? Gone. Seth? Who?
Well, not entirely “Seth Who?” I mean, I can’t go that far, and certainly not for a guy like Alex. That would be insanity at its most extreme. I’m dating Seth, and I’m very happy about it, too. Extremely happy. Deliriously happy, in fact. Seth is a good guy, the kind of guy I agreed to have the No More Bad Dates Pact find. And I want to be with him I really, really do.
But then Alex kissed me and turned my whole world on its head.
Guilt stabs me in the side. I can’t go kissing Alex when I’m dating Seth. Sure. We’re not exclusive or anything yet, but that’s where we’re heading. That’s the whole point of the No More Bad Dates Pact.
I bury my head in my hands. What am I doing?
I glance at the clock on the wall every couple of minutes. And I know it’s every couple of minutes because I’m looking at a freaking clock. I’m totally on edge, waiting, waiting.
Two o’clock comes and goes.
He said he’d be here after finishing work at two. I tap my pencil on my desk. I guess he needs to get across town, so that would mean if he left at exactly two, he would get here by about two-thirty, traffic allowing. But then, does he have a car? Would he get the bus? Walk? There are so many options. Why the heck didn’t I pin him down on these details?
And then, when I’m in fear of my pencil shattering from my endless tap tap tap-ing, it dawns on me. I’ve worked it out. I know exactly what’s going on here! I know why he kissed me. I slump back in my chair, my mind suddenly clear. If I lived in a cartoon, there would be a big, illuminated lightbulb above my head right now.
Alex is the kind of person who delights in other people’s discomfort. Yeah, that’s it. He delights in other people’s discomfort, mine in particular, and he uses whatever tools at his disposal to achieve his goal.
Jerk.
I can just picture him smirking to himself after I stumbled out of the café kitchen. I bet he sat back down at the counter and congratulated himself on making me squirm. Who knows? Perhaps kissing me was his way to get payback for me looking at that box of photographs he didn’t want me to see? Oh, my God. That’s it! He lured me in with his smiling and flirting and sexiness until I was powerless to resist him, until kissing him was really the only option open to me. He used his lips as a weapon! I should be able to report this, call the police or something. I need to warn the female population of Auckland that there’s an evil mastermind on the loose, using his masculine wiles (is that a thing?) as an extremely effective weapon.
The cheek of him! Well, if that was his plan, then I’m not falling for it again. No way. That kiss will never be repeated. It was a misunderstanding, an accidental meeting of the lips.
I’m onto you, Alex Walsh.
Now that I’ve worked him out, I’m resolved. I’m not going to let him take up another second of my time. I’ve got a job to do and a celebrity to keep happy in our lovely blue world. I am an extremely busy and important person, and Alex can go stand too close to other girls and kiss them for all I care.
And if he tries to kiss me once more, I will definitely rebuff him. I mean, puh-lease. Kiss Alex Walsh? On what planet could that ever happen again?
I’m busy undertaking the vital job of sharpening the pencil I’ve been endlessly tapping against my desk, calm in my resolve, when I get a call from the lobby.
“Hi, Darcy. I’ve got Alex Walsh here for Larissa,” Juliet, the receptionist says.
He’s here. My belly does a flip. I glance at the clock. Two thirty on the button. He must have driven. “Right. Yes. I’ll be right down.”
“Take your time,” she replies.
I detect a distinct note of girlishness in her voice that’s not usually there.
Typical. Alex will be charming the pants off her, I bet. Maybe standing too close to her, too, making out like he’s going to kiss her. Really, I should warn her about him. Sisterhood and all that. Sisters before misters, chicks before d— Oh, I forget that one.
It’s like I’ve been sitting on a spring that’s suddenly released. I bounce out of my chair and rush to the ladies’ where I do a quick check of my lipstick, pull my long hair over one shoulder, and smooth down my skirt. Just to look professional, of course, nothing more. Whether my legs look good in my black pencil skirt or not is completely irrelevant (they do, in case you were wondering).
I pull my shoulders back and walk through our offices, catch the elevator down, and stride out into the lobby. I spot him straight away. Dressed the way he was when that thing I’m no longer going to think about happened, he has one elbow resting on the reception desk as he talks to Juliet. She’s so busy blushing and giggling that she doesn’t even notice my arrival.
I clear my throat, and they both turn to look at me. “Thank you, Juliet,” I say in clipped tones.
Juliet has the good sense to look abashed. “Oh, hi, Darcy. We were just . . . talking. You know.”
She’s right. I do know. She was flirting her little hiney off with him. I want to tell her not to waste her time. Sisterhood, remember? I make a mental note to come back down and tell her after Alex has gone.
I turn to Alex and use my smooth, professional voice when I say, “Alex, good to see you again. Shall we?” I gesture toward the elevator and raise my eyebrows in expectation at him.
“We shall,” he replies, totally mocking me.
Jerk.
Gone are my feelings of guilt and regret that made me into that bumbling idiot back at the café. Gone are my confusing feelings for him that have been churning inside me all day after our kiss. He said we should move on, and th
at’s exactly what I’m doing, right back into “I hate Alex Walsh” territory. The status quo, where I know what’s what and how I feel.
“Good. Excellent,” I say to Alex. I turn to Juliet. “Thank you, Juliet.” Oops. I already said that. Dammit. I shoot her an embarrassed smile.
“No problem,” she replies, although she’s not even looking at me. Instead, she’s gazing up at Alex as though he’s some sort of god, here visiting us mere mortals on Earth.
I turn on my heel and stomp across the lobby toward the elevator. As I walk, I give myself a stern talking to. So what if Alex was flirting with Juliet? What does it matter to me? He can flirt with whomever he wants. It’s absolutely none of my business.
And anyway, I hate him. Totally and utterly hate him. And I would do well to remember that at all times, particularly if I ever find myself in the position I was in in the café kitchen this morning.
“You like to walk fast, huh?” Alex says as he catches up with me.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “That’s right. I’m a very busy person, you know. I’ve got lots and lots to do.”
Hmmm, yes. Like tap my pencil incessantly against my desk.
“Good to know,” he replies.
We reach the elevator and I press the “up” button. I wait, tapping my heeled foot against the marble floor. When the elevator doesn’t arrive within about two and a half seconds, I press the “up” button again.
Alex throws me a concerned look. “You okay? You seem a little stressed.”
“Yes, thank you,” I reply as I press the button for the third time. Where the heck is an elevator when you need one?
“Look, Darcy,” he begins, but I refuse to look at him. “If you’re feeling weird because of what happened between us this morning—”
“I’m fine,” I snap. Talking about kissing him has got to be almost as dangerous as doing the actual kissing.
“Are you positive you’re fine? You don’t seem it.”
“I am. I’m perfectly fine. Thank you, Alexander.” I risk a furtive glance at him only to see a smile growing on his face. I turn away immediately. Smile equals weapon, remember?
No More Terrible Dates Page 12