Chapter 18
18
A sharp knock on my door startles me out of my single-minded focus. I quickly check the bottom tool bar to discover that it’s nearing ten at night. I’ve been so lost in poring over every nuance of Joel’s contributions to the team designs that I can only imagine that the cleaning crew is here to vacuum the floors and empty the trash.
I quickly save my files then power down my computer. Isaac will be angry with me again tonight.
As I’m packing my things to vacate my office, Peter steps in.
I glance up at him in surprise. “What are you still doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” he admits. “Did you really think I was going on that date?”
“No.”
Maybe a little.
Peter shakes his head, that familiar frown marring his lips that bear no evidence of our earlier kiss. Then again, that was roughly ten hours ago. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”
“No.”
Also maybe a little .
It’s been a long day. I might have uncovered negative proof of Peter’s wrongdoing after thoroughly searching his apartment, but I have yet to positively ID anyone else in the department as the mole.
He steps further into my office, already wearing his coat and holding his satchel. “I will not be going on dates with anyone who isn’t you.”
“Sex?” I ask as I shrug on my heavy winter parka.
He chuckles. “Is that an offer, or are you requesting that I define that aspect of our relationship as well?”
“Define,” I sigh as I turn off my lights, lock my office door, then fall into step beside him down the hallway.
My brain is still running through files and operating on heavy focus. It will take me a while to shift gears into socially acceptable conversation.
“I will not be having sex with anyone who isn’t you,” he insists on a murmur.
We don’t say anything further as we navigate the labyrinth of the building until we reach the parking lot that glitters with a fresh coating of snow.
He bundles me inside my car, insisting that I turn over the engine to heat up while he clears the windshield for me.
By the time he’s finished with both our vehicles, I remember why I prefer to sleep at the office rather than drive home so late at night. In the cozy warmth of my interior, my eyes are rapidly falling closed more than is safe to operate a motor vehicle.
He startles me out of my half-awake state by rapping on the window. I roll it down.
“Dinner?”
I blink at him. “Are you asking me or telling me? I’m aware that I skipped dinner. I’ll find something to eat when I get home. After I feed Isaac, that is.”
He smiles. It’s a soft one, reminiscent of memories of cozy winter nights spent huddled on the couch as we slurped Ramen and studied for our next major exam.
“Leave the door unlocked for me. I’ll bring you dinner. And Elise?”
I breathe out yet another sigh of relief at hearing my name instead of my title fall from his lips.
I always thought hearing someone call me Dr. Fowler would be the biggest turn-on. Turns out, not so much. At least if that someone is Peter.
“No more late nights if it means you have to drive when you’re this exhausted.”
I nod. “I wouldn’t have to drive so late at night if someone hadn’t insisted that I can’t sleep at the office.”
He straightens and laughs, a bright puff of steam bursting from his mouth. “Yeah, well, sue me for not wanting the night-shift security to pop boners because one of my employee’s rogue breasts popped out of her shirt one night. Besides, I can’t have dinner with you at the office.”
I knew it! I knew he was the one who reported me to HR! Just as I should know better than to trust him again. He probably wanted to go on that date…
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs, his face obscured by steam. “I can see your brain running a mile a minute from here. Judging by the expression on your face, none of your conclusions are good.”
“Brains can’t run,” I hiss. “I can’t believe you reported me to HR! I was trying to dress like a professional businesswoman, so everyone would take me seriously.”
“No,” he insists, shaking his head rapidly. “I didn’t report your choice of clothing. The only reason I told Carly to ask you not to sleep at the office anymore is because I was genuinely concerned for your safety.”
“We have security guards!” I shout at him .
He tips his head to the side, his expression completely calm. “I know. After what happened at MIT, I don’t trust anyone else to protect you or treat you the way they should.”
Oh.
My coworkers’ stories about their first week at Chester fly through my mind at lightning speed like a montage of miscommunication.
“I’m the reason you insisted on the harassment in the workplace seminars?”
He nods. “You are. I’m in charge here. Hell no am I going to foster a culture where something like that can ever happen again. Not for you and not for any other woman.”
I have no idea how to respond to that. A blooming warmth spreads through my chest at his admission.
Peter smirks as he leans his forearm on my open window. “You know, someone with a low EQ probably wouldn’t have been able to figure out my secret motivations.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m also a genius. Remember?”
His smirk spreads into a full-blown grin. “A genius with a low EQ wouldn’t invite me to stay at her place tonight.”
Only an idiot would refuse.
“I’m hungry. It’s late. You offered to bring me dinner. These are all perfectly logical reasons to invite you over.”
He’s going to break his face if he keeps smiling like that. He leans inside my window to press a kiss against my cheek. “I’ll be there soon.”
“When is soon? I need a numerical representation,” I insist, checking the clock on my dashboard.
He straightens then shrugs. “A half hour? I have to run to my apartment, then pick up the food.”
I highly doubt that’s enough time to shower, shave, and moisturize, but I’m going to try anyway. This is not me, attempting to lure Peter into my bed with false advertising. This is me, planning to put the best version of me forward for him to enjoy.
Peter walks in my front door forty-five minutes later, setting a pizza box on the kitchen island and a duffel bag on the floor. “It’s not the healthiest option, but not much is open this late.”
“Why didn’t you knock?” I mumble from my spot, curled up on the couch with a spare blanket draped over me.
I obviously haven’t fully recovered from my battle with influenza. I got as far as showering and shaving one leg before my energy was sapped. I have mismatched legs, but I’m too tired to be as irritated as that would normally make me. I only managed to pull on panties and a t-shirt after barely drying off.
“Why would I knock when I know you left the door open for me?” He retrieves two plates from the cabinet as if he has the entire layout of my apartment memorized.
“What if you were an axe murderer?”
“Would an axe murderer actually knock?” Peter squints, holding the two plates in midair. “Why wouldn’t they just chop down the door? They already have an axe.”
“Too much noise.” I shake my head and force myself into a sitting position, but that’s as far as my exhausted bones will carry me. “If they wanted to get away with the crime, they would be as stealthy as possible.”
“You assume they want to get away with the crime,” he argues as he places three slices of pizza on each plate then carries them to the living room. “If they’re already going the axe murderer route, there’s way more inherent risk of leaving behind traceable evidence. It’s too messy.”
“Touché,” I concede with a yawn .
“That’s it?” he asks, his mouth already full of food. “You’ve got nothing else to counter with?”
“Too tired,” I admit, shaking my head as Isaac appears to beg for food, for affection, for Peter to spend the night.
He obviously is, or he wouldn’t have arrived with a duffel bag.
Peter relaxes beside me on the couch, pulling his plate onto his flat stomach that does not double as an effective table. The pizza slides dangerously toward the gravitational pull of the Earth, threatening to stain his soft, white T-shirt. He finds the remote hidden between the couch cushions, then queues up yet another nature documentary.
Isaac curls up in a purring ball of fur beside him.
“You have developed quite an affinity for nature documentaries,” I muse aloud, my head lolling back to the couch.
What else has he developed an affinity for in the year we’ve spent apart? How much more do I not know about this man I once believed I knew so well?
He hums in the affirmative as he swallows another bite of pizza. “I got into them about a month after becoming director of R&D. I’d get home so fucking tired but unable to sleep. My apartment was always gratingly quiet, so at first, I just turned on whatever for some background noise to dull the silence. I actually sat down and watched a whole episode one night, and it turned out to be…soothing?” He furrows his brow as he seems to question his own question. “I think it’s because I have to play politics and corporate chess all day long. Watching animals just be animals without all the other bullshit that humans play at became my way of recharging after a long day.”
I don’t fully understand but also somewhat empathize with his explanation. “I rewatch old sitcoms that I’ve memorized. Since I know everything that will happen, I study fictional human behavior instead of watching for the plot. I prefer comedies, so I can learn more about comedic timing.”
Peter stares at me with a small smile. “What’s your favorite show to rewatch?”
“The Office,” I answer, expecting laughter as a valid response for such a mindless choice.
He nods like this isn’t as pathetic as it feels. “For the comedy and the romance, right? Everyone loves Jim and Pam.”
“Jim and Pam are the worst,” I insist. “They’re bullies. How no one recognizes this unequivocal fact, I will never understand.”
Peter’s gaze softens. “You relate to Dwight.”
I nod. It’s too obvious of a comparison to deny. “He’s…weird. He doesn’t behave in socially appropriate ways. He’s ostracized for being the most competent, devoted worker. His loyalty is underappreciated even by those he’s most loyal to. He’s more focused on logic than emotions.”
“With the exception of his very deep emotions for Angela,” Peter points out.
I shake my head though it is not an indication of disagreement.
“I still don’t understand it. She treats him so horribly, time and time again. And yet he…he keeps going back for more. Like an illogical, stupid puppy that’s eager for mere scraps instead of recognizing that he’s worth an entire feast.”
Though I’m facing the television instead of him, I’m acutely aware of the way Peter’s tongue flicks out between his lips to wet them before he inhales deeply then says, “I don’t think Dwight’s stupid. He’s the smartest guy there.”
“He is the smartest guy there. But he acts in stupid ways when it comes to Angela.”
Peter leans his deliciously heavy weight against me. His warm breath brushes my cheek as he murmurs, “I think Dwight recognized a special connection that he wasn’t willing to let go of in spite of the games people sometimes play. I think he was smart enough and loyal enough to wait out her indecision. He wasn’t going to give up on something he wanted so much because of Angela’s fear of commitment and deep emotions.”
I turn my gaze toward Peter, an infinitesimal amount of space separating our faces. “Untrue. He engaged in several sexual relationships with other women when Angela was out of the picture.”
“Do you want me to call your hero stupid?” Peter breaches the separation between us to wrap his hand around the fluttering pulse point at my neck. “Because in that? He was very, very stupid.”
“All humans are animals.” I lick my lips. “With baser needs and carnal wants that can only be ignored for so long.”
Peter hums deeply, the sound emanating from the back of his throat to vibrate all the atoms that make up my physical body.
His eyes are half-lidded, but his pupils swallow the kaleidoscope of his irises. His gaze fixes on my mouth as his thumb sweeps a path of heat across the overly sensitive skin of my neck in a soothing rhythm.
I’m aroused yet exhausted, anticipating yet relaxed. I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, studying the distance to the ground below me, calculating all the ways to make the fall survivable, but it’s an exercise in futility.
“Elise,” he murmurs, his lips brushing across mine in an achingly gentle motion. “Neither of us are stupid.”
“It would be stupid of us to cross this line,” I whimper even as I reach for more. “We’ve already agreed we can’t have an open relationship. Our jobs are on the line.”
“Then, be stupid with me,” Peter pleads before dipping his tongue inside my mouth .
I moan my mental surrender as he flattens me against the couch. I arch my back to seek out more of the animalistic friction he teases over my collarbone, my breasts, my stomach, the pulsing spot between my legs.
He hums against the overly sensitive skin of my neck as his big palm drags up one thigh then the other. “Someone’s cheating.”
“What?” I gasp as he drags his fingertips over the embarrassingly damp spot on my panties. “I never cheated. Never.”
He pulls back to stare down at me with a frown. “Why did you only shave one of your legs?”
“I got too tired to do both,” I admit with an equal frown.
His expression softens. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s beautiful anyway. “Would you like to take another bath? I can finish for you if you want.”
My gaze roves over his handsome face, cataloguing all the things I’ve missed. His multi-hued eyes, the way his glasses always sit perfectly straight on his Grecian nose, the fullness of his lips. I drag my hand against the scratchy facial hair that makes him look a million times hotter than the surface of the sun. I tug my fingers through the thick wave of hair that falls over his forehead in this position.
“Not tonight,” I murmur after realizing I never answered his question.
His eyes and mouth impossibly soften further. He tips his head forward to speak against my lips. “You would trust me to shave you?”
I nod.
He hums.
The mental tension I’ve been carrying like an invisible weight falls away, leaving me with the more acute physical ache that I’ve been ignoring for so long. Too long.
Even when I thought him capable of the lowest, most basic betrayal, he never was. It was only my human bias informing me of facts that weren’t wholly true. Nothing is black and white in this plane of existence. Everything is muted shades of gray.
Everything is possible inasmuch as nothing is. The eventualities exist simultaneously. Schrodinger’s cat. I’m vaguely aware that I should have chosen a different name for my pet.
Peter laughs abruptly before sucking my tongue into his mouth and dipping his hand inside my panties.
I moan as he parts my folds with a deft touch.
There’s no room with both of our bodies pressed together on the couch for me to open my legs very far, but it doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.
All his hours, days, weeks of research are put to good use as he pumps two sure fingers into me, massaging the exact right spot on my inner wall, while grinding the palm of his hand against my clit with the perfect amount of pressure.
In an embarrassing amount of time, my muscles tingle, starbursts flash behind my closed eyes, and the biochemicals in my body multiply at an exponential rate.
I succumb to inevitability, crying out my release into his mouth only for him to steal it from the universe. He keeps it for himself. When I reach for the band of those damningly addictive sweatpants, he tugs my hand away.
He laces our fingers together as he situates our bodies more comfortably on the couch.
My breathing has bypassed baseline to a lower, steadier rhythm and depth.
“Sleep,” he murmurs against my temple. “If you’re not going to eat, then sleep. That big brain of yours need the same fuel as the rest of us mere mortals.”
“’M not a baby.” I press my face into the comforting space between his chin and chest. “An adult. Don’t need to be taken care of. ”
“Indulge my fragile male ego,” he whispers against the crown of my head as he sweeps his hand up and down my back. “I need to feel like I’m worth something to you.”
What is he worth to me? What am I worth to him? Is a sex-only relationship worth it now? My brain keeps spinning up new questions, but I fall asleep anyway.