by Penny Wylder
She smiles right back, totally unsuspecting. "Yeah, come! It will be fun. Or at least, less boring with you there." Her eyes light up. "Oh, and... well. I'll tell you tonight. But I've got some interesting news." She winks, then practically dances away from my desk, and I laugh, my chest already feeling a little lighter.
Trust Lacy to always be available to distract me from myself—or at least, from any untoward feelings that I'm struggling with.
I'm already looking forward to the evening. See? Who needs Cannon to have a good time?
Halfway through bowling, despite my completely crappy score, I find myself grinning from ear-to-ear. Half our coworkers are drunk already, and the handful who joined me on the not-drinking train are enjoying watching the show as our friends' coordination gets worse with every additional G&T.
But Lacy still hasn't filled me in on whatever juicy gossip she promised to share tonight, even though she's already on her third refill.
"When are you gonna tell me?" I whine at her in between our turns.
"Soon," she promises, with a significant glance that I can't quite interpret.
Then Chris—Cannon's closest friend at work, I can't help but remember—appears at my elbow offering me the ball. "Your turn next, Rina."
I accept the bowling ball from him and shove to my feet, weighing the thing in my hand.
"Put some elbow into it this time," Chris calls.
I take aim, and, of course, just like last time, fire the ball straight into the gutter. "I think the problem might be too much elbow," I reply as I return from my failed round, dusting my skirt off. "Can we go play darts instead yet?"
He laughs. "I can see Cannon's influence on you already."
That freezes me in mid-step. I can practically feel every single one of my coworkers’ gazes turning on me, and I feel like a deer caught in headlights. Then I force myself to unfreeze, keep grinning, wipe the stupid shocked expression from my face. "Huh?"
Chris is frowning at me now, confused. "You know. Because he always makes us play darts whenever we're drinking."
Of course. He's where I learned to play darts in the first place. We spent the better part of the first two years of our friendship playing round after round at the bar near our law school. I spent the first year getting my ass kicked. Then the second year kicking his ass at least half the time we played. I have him to thank for my ability to shark any guy in a bar at darts.
"Right. Of course," I say aloud, laughing.
But Chris narrows his eyes as I drop into the seat beside him, not about to be brushed off lightly. "Why, what did you think I meant?"
"I just didn't hear you," I say over the sound of our other coworker Marcy whooping as she throws a strike.
Chris, seated between me and Lacy, exchanges a sideways glance with her before he zeroes back in on me. "You know, you and Cannon have been keeping the same hours lately. Working late every night. Going straight home when you don't..."
"What can I say?" I force a laugh, making my expression as careless as I can. "He's sometimes a good influence on my work ethic. When he isn't dragging me out to wingman for him by pretending to suck at darts."
Chris searches my gaze for another moment, then laughs too, and shrugs it off. "Never would have believed it of Cannon. I'll make sure to make fun of him for working so hard next time we hang out."
I snort. "You do that."
But on the far side of him, I notice Lacy studying me more closely than before, her gaze narrowed. Crap. Chris might be easy to throw off a scent, but Lacy? She's like a dog with a bone whenever she smells a secret. Especially around me. We've known each other long enough that she can read me like an open book.
"Be right back," I call to them both, and lever out of my chair to head for the bathrooms. Once safely inside, I whip out my phone and power it back on for the first time since that afternoon.
The first thing that appears on the screen is another text from Cannon: Never mind. Buffet supremely sub-par. Don't worry, you aren't missing out on anything.
Good to know, I text, then bite my lip and try to figure out how to word this next message. Out bowling with the guys from work. Chris was asking about us. Said he noticed we'd been staying late, going home together every night... I think he and Lacy might be getting suspicious.
I linger in the toilet until my phone dings with a reply.
What do you want to do? Up to you.
I bite my lower lip. But the answer is clear. We definitely can't tell anyone at work. It's too weird, especially since we both work there, and this will all be over soon anyway...
I agree, he answers, almost immediately. So fast that the fact that he didn't even need to think about it makes my stomach sink. What he wants is clear.
It's what we agreed to, I remind myself. I can't be hurt about it. I signed on for NSA. That's what we're doing.
Cool, I text back. I'll throw Lacy off the scent, you take care of Chris.
Agreed, he answers.
I finish up and shove my phone back into my pocket, popping out of the stall. And running straight into Lacy.
"Hey. You okay?" She studies my eyes in the mirror as she washes her hands. "Just, you were taking a while in here."
"Fine." I beam, in a probably over-compensating way.
Her brow furrows. "You sure? You were acting kind of weird out there when Chris asked about Cannon... Is everything okay between you two?"
"Golden!" I reply, my voice shooting up an octave. Damn it. "Anyway, enough about me," I continue. At least this will distract her. "What about this interesting news that you needed to share?"
"Oh. Well." She sighs and rolls her eyes at me in the mirror. "It's not exactly news, per se. But... Er..." She glances past me, her gaze darting at the ground under the stall doors. Making sure no one else is in here.
Ooh, this is going to be good. "What is it?" I'm practically bouncing on the balls of my feet, eager for a good distraction. Lacy always has the best gossip.
"The other night, a bunch of us went out to Michael's." The corner bar a few blocks from our office, where we often have office happy hours.
"And?" I lift a brow.
"Annnnd... I stayed pretty late. Until bar close, actually."
I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. "Okay?"
"And Chris stayed late too."
My eyes widen.
Lacy's cheeks flush red. She checks the door again, and despite the fact that she already knows we're alone in here, she lowers her voice still further. "And, we might have been, like, super drunk. I'm not even sure he remembers everything—I sure have some brown spots in my memory of the night." She bites her lip. "But... we made out."
My jaw drops. "Lacy!"
She clamps a hand over my lips. "Shh!" she hisses. "Listen, nobody can know, okay? I mean, it'd be weird, we're coworkers, we're supposed to keep things professional at the office..."
I know how that feels, I think, though of course, I can't tell her. "Do you think it was just a drunk make out though?" I raise my eyebrows. "I mean, that happens, sometimes..."
"I know, I know. I don't even know, he hasn't said anything since, so I figure, maybe just chalk it up to a crazy night and forget about it."
"But?" I prompt, because I can practically hear that word dangling in her tone. I know my friend well, too.
"But, I don't know. We've talked a little bit since, just like, about normal stuff, in passing in the kitchen and stuff, and... Ugh." She rolls her eyes and groans at herself. "I think maybe I like him. Kind of."
I clear my throat. I like Chris—he's a cool guy—but I do feel obligated to mention. "You know he's kind of a player."
"Oh God, do I ever know." She rolls her eyes again. "He's almost as bad as Cannon."
I try not to let that blow show on my face, even though it feels like a sucker punch to the gut. "Just saying. I'd be careful about it, if I were you," I say, my voice rising. I wish I could take my own advice here. But if nothing else, at least I can help stop La
cy from making my same mistake. Then again. From the way her face falls, I don’t want to completely destroy her hopes. Maybe I’m just projecting here. “Do you really like him, Lace?”
“I think so,” she groans.
“How can you tell?” I lift an eyebrow. Asking for a friend. Ha.
“I think about him all the time. Jump for my phone whenever he texts. And I can’t stop fantasizing about him either.”
Check. Check. And triple check, I think. “But do you think it could be more than just a fling?”
“How should I know, Rina? Personally, I just want to have fun, but who knows where anything leads until you try it out, right?” She squints at me, suddenly suspicious. “Why all the questions? Normally you’re just gung-ho to see me getting some action.”
“No reason.” I clear my throat. “Just curious.”
“You know, not every potential non-fling hookup ends in disaster,” she points out. Her eyes narrow. “Not everyone is like… well.”
She doesn’t have to say my ex’s name. I roll my eyes and groan. “I know, I know. He was a colossal jerk.”
“And you don’t have to project these insecurities onto me, either.”
“I’m not insecure!” I protest.
“Please, when was the last time you gave any guy a chance?”
I purse my lips, unable to respond.
“Exactly. Now, about Cannon.”
My heart leaps from 0 to 60 in no seconds flat. “What about him?” I ask, my voice too high-pitched to sound normal.
Lacy frowns at me like a total crazy person. “I was going to say, can you talk to Cannon about Chris, maybe? Feel him out?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah. Of course!” She’s still staring. I clear my throat hard. “Chris and Cannon are tight. If you want, I can talk to Cannon, get him to feel Chris out—discretely, of course."
She stares at me for another minute solid. I’m just about convinced that she’s going to call me out, grill me about Cannon, when she finally sighs and breaks eye contact to run her hands through her hair. "I don't know. I'm not sure I should bother—it might be messy to mess around at work..." She chews the inside of her lip, thinking. "But on the other hand, I mean... I'm not looking for anything serious right now. And he is hot as hell."
"He's definitely that," I agree, even though I don't really think Chris—cute as he might be—can hold a candle to Cannon in the looks department.
She blows out a hard breath, which makes her bangs flip up in the front. "I guess, if you think Cannon will be discrete about it and won't totally spill the beans, maybe yeah, ask him to see if he thinks Chris is interested?"
I grin. "He's discrete as can be, don't worry about that. Yeah, I'll get him to find out for you."
"Thanks." She grins at me in the mirror. "Ugh, too bad you and Cannon aren't more than roomies, huh? Could be fun to double date." She says it without any inflections or hints, and yet, I make myself laugh harder than strictly necessary, mostly to disguise the faint flush that's rising to my cheeks.
"Yeah, too bad I'm not into the player type," I reply, as I finish washing my hands. "Come on," I tell her, aiming us toward the door. "Let's get back to losing this bowling game spectacularly."
Lacy links arms with me. "Back to losing."
I just hope that bowling is the only thing I'm losing right now—and not my mind. Or my heart.
7
Cannon
Three days. That stupid goddamn business trip lasts three days. And it's all I can do to keep myself distracted the whole time. Every time my phone lights up, I practically pounce on it, eager to check the messages, to see if there's one from Rina.
Every time it's a message from anyone else, I feel my stomach sink.
It doesn't help that all day, every day, I keep seeing stuff that reminds me of her. We went out after the first night of the conference to a bar, and just the sight of the dart board they had in the corner got me reminiscing about all the games Rina and I played back in law school. She started out slow, but pretty soon she was whooping my ass nearly every game we played. I never admitted it to her, but I found that sexy as hell.
Skills are always sexy.
I limit myself to two texts a day. Two texts a day is a normal number of texts. The amount of times you would text a friend. Any more than that, and I worry I'd start to scare her off. Start to get her thinking that maybe I'm a little too into this, that maybe our NSA isn't exactly remaining NSA.
And that's the last thing I want to do. Because I know what happens if Rina thinks I can't be professional about our arrangement. If she realizes that I'm starting to develop feelings for her, if she ever realizes how much I think about her, how crazy she drives me just by walking past my desk at work or smiling at me or fucking hell, the look on her face every time I make her come... If she ever realizes that I'm starting to fall for her, then she'll cut off this arrangement.
And I can't stand the thought of that. I can't stand the idea of not being able to touch her ever again. Not waking up with her cradled in my arms every morning, not wandering out into the apartment to find her half-dressed and making coffee, not walking home at night with her, pretending to act prim and proper until the elevator doors close on our doorman and we fling ourselves at one another, not able to wait a second longer before we start touching again.
So I have to play it cool. I have to pretend that this is still just an NSA business arrangement for me. Because otherwise, I won't get even this short amount of time with her. And even though I know it's going to end soon—whenever I manage to knock her up, whenever I manage to put my baby inside her... Even though I know there's an ending in sight, I can't help it. I want to stretch this out, make it last as long as possible while I still can.
Which is why I hate this fucking business trip with every fiber of my being.
Normally I love business trips—great excuse to hook up with some new girls in a new zip code. This time, I don't even check my Tinder account. And when a girl at the conference starts flirting with me, playing with the collar of her admittedly very sexy dress, and leaves a business card with her phone number scrawled across the back on the counter beside me when she heads off to her next meeting, I just slide it straight into the trash can.
Because I'm not interested.
I'm not interested in anyone but Rina.
In other words... I am so fucked.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I make it through my third day away. Then it's back onto the airplane, into the cab from the airport, and the whole time, my stomach is tied in knots and my breath is coming harder as I imagine seeing her again. Touching her again, kissing her again. Grabbing her and tossing her across my bed and fucking her until we're both breathless from orgasms.
Halfway home from the airport, my phone lights up with a response to my question—asking whether Rina was home tonight, and wanted to hang out. It's Saturday, so I brace myself for the very realistic possibility that she might not. She might be doing other things. Going out with friends. Going out on a date.
She's free to date whomever she wants right now, of course. That's part of the whole No Strings Attached thing. But I have to admit, just the thought of her with another guy right now turns my stomach into an angry vat of stinging bees. And makes me want to find that hypothetical other guy, whoever he might be, and punch him in the face.
I suck in a deep breath and flick on my screen.
Yeah, sure! Movie night?
I breathe out a sigh of relief. Then I frown a little. Movie night?
Movie night has been an at least once-a-month tradition ever since we've been roomies. We both love really cheesy, terrible thrillers, so we try to make it to at least one crappy new blockbuster a month together. But it's always been very much a friend activity. We even buy our own popcorn buckets—because she likes hers sweet and I like mine salty.
Is she asking me to the movies because she wants to remind me that this thing is casual? That this is just a friend set up, tha
t we're not changing anything else between us?
Any relief I felt at her agreeing to meet up tonight just turns right back into worry the more I think about it. I've never felt like this before. No woman has ever driven me quite this crazy. She's all I think about it, and it's making me feel like I'm going insane.
And yet, I don't want it to stop. If anything, I want this to keep going as long as possible. I want her and I to keep going.
I can't tell her any of that, though, of course. So I write back, agreeing to movie night and suggesting the dumbest, most explosion-filled action thriller I can find at our local theater.
Perfect, she replies with a smiley face emoji, and I wonder what that means too. Perfect, because it's an action movie, and won't in any way wind up being accidentally romantic?
You're over-thinking this, Cannon, I tell myself. Pull it together.
We agree to meet at the theater, since she's still at work and I have to drop my luggage off at home. The moment I walk through the doors, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders, because I'm back. I'm back in our space, back in the apartment that smells like her perfume and her body wash and my shampoo and the mingled scents of both of us.
I drop my luggage in my room, then pause in the doorway to her room to gaze across her bed toward the shower. Memories play in my head. The way we fucked in that shower a few days ago, when I pinned her against the wall, the hot water steaming around us. The way we fell into her bed afterward, and I kissed her and stroked her clit until she moaned with desperation against my mouth, begged me to let her come.
I'm getting hard just being here, thinking about her. But then, she always has that effect on me.
I leave early, get to the theater long before the show time. I buy us tickets, then worry about whether she'll think that's too forward, acting too much like it's a date. Then I buy us popcorn too, because why not, since I'm already here.