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“Careful, Charlie,” I say. “That sounds like jealousy.” “It’s relief,” he says. “I expected you to show up here today in Daisy Dukes and pigtails, maybe a Ford tattoo on your tailbone.” I slide my forearms onto the desk and lean forward in such a way that I really might as well have brought a silver platter out and presented my cleavage to him that way. The lack of sleep is really getting to me. I feel haunted by him, and I’m determined to haunt him right back. “I would be”—I drop my voice—“adorable in Daisy Dukes and pigtails.” His eyes snap back to my face, flashing; his mouth twitches through that grimacing pout, a pair as reliable as thunder and lightning. “Not the word I’d use.” Awareness sizzles down my backbone. I lean closer. “Charming?” His eyes stay on my face. “Not that either.” “Sweet,” I say. “No.” “Comely?” I guess. “Comely? What year is it, Stephens?” “A real girl next door,” I parry. He snorts. “Whose door?” I straighten. “It’ll come to me.” “I doubt it,” he says under his breath.”

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“It needs to be in person.” I can’t take this tension between us anymore. Avoiding him is only making this worse, and I hate feeling like I’m hiding. With Libby, the way to get to the heart of things might be a slow, cautious obstacle course, but this is Charlie, and Charlie’s like me. We need to bulldoze through the awkwardness. I miss him. His teasing, his challenges, his competitiveness, his care for my overpriced shoes, his smell, and— Shit, I didn’t expect the list to be so long. I’m in deeper than I realized.”

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“And to be clear,” I get out, “you’re okay with the fact that we’re working together?” He kisses along my collarbone, his voice all gravel. “We both know you won’t go easier on me for it.” “And what about you?” It’s completely absurd that I’m keeping up the charade of having a totally normal conversation while my palms are flattening on the table behind me and my body is lifting unsubtly, making it easier for his mouth to brush under the collar of my shirt. “I have no interest in going easy on you, Nora,” he says.”

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“So you and Amaya are hanging out.” I add, almost involuntarily: “I wasn’t eavesdropping—it’s a quiet shop.” His eyebrow ticks. “ ‘Not eavesdropping,’ ” he teases in a low voice. “ ‘Not stalking.’ I’m sensing a pattern here.” “Not jealous.” I challenge, stepping closer. “Not adorable.” His eyes dip to my mouth and slightly dilate before rising. “Nora . . .” he murmurs, a heaviness in his voice, an apology or a half-hearted plea.”

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“I want to be here with you and not worry about what comes next.” He steps closer, my heart whirring as he invades my space. “Nora,” he says gently. “It’s okay if you don’t want that,” I say. “But I’m thinking about you way too much. And the more space I try to put between us, the worse it is.” His lips twist; his eyes glint. “So you’re trying to get this out of your system?” “Maybe,” I admit. “But maybe I also just want something that’s easy for once.” His brow lifts, teasing. “Now I’m easy?” Yes,I think, to me, you are the easiest person in the world. But I say, “God, I hope.”

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“I'm used to people thinking I'm an asshole," he says stiffly. "Less used to them describing my eyes as 'amber'." "That's what color they are," I say. "It's objective. I'm not complimenting you." "In that case, I'll abstain from being flattered. What color are yours?" He leans in without any hint of embarrassment, only curiosity, his warm breath feathering over my jaw. That is pretty much when I realize I think he's hot. I mean, I know I thought he was hot in Mug + Shot when I thought he was someone else, but this is when I realize I think he - specifically Charlie Lastra, not just someone who looks like him - is hot.”

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