15. BODI
15
T he elevator dings and I smile when I see a glimpse of Kayla’s brown hair peeking out above her screen. I know she knows I’m here, but she keeps her attention on her computer. I actually expect her to rip a flirty comment from her throat and when she doesn’t, I round it, sitting down on the corner of her desk.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” she drags out carefully, giving me a side glance.
“What are you doing?”
Incredulous, she turns her head toward me, her eyes automatically moving up and down my body. The wolfish smirk on my face makes her cheeks grow flush, and I let out a soft chuckle.
She’s cute when she’s not being a smartass. Even though I’m doing my best to not look at her like that. After we went home that night after visiting my dad, I dropped next to her on the couch, feeling more relaxed than I had felt in a long time.
I’ve had late night calls from Peartree Park a few times now, and every time I come home anxious and on edge, unable to sleep. But this time, I came smiling through the door, feeling like I could handle it all, and when I climbed into bed, I wondered what was different this time.
The answer was simple; it was the brunette in my guestroom.
She makes me laugh. She is goofy and silly, and with her, I don’t seem to feel as moody and broody like I have since my father’s condition started deteriorating.
Less worried.
“You’re wearing a jacket,” she states, referring to my short denim coat. A hoodie sits underneath it, and she eyes me as if she wants to wrap herself inside of me.
“It’s 30 degrees out.” I shrug.
“You have a car.”
“I walked.”
“What?” I frown. “Why?”
“Could use some fresh air. Are you cool with us walking back tonight?”
She answers with suspicion. “Sure.”
The truth is, I want her for myself. I want to talk to her, hang out with her without any of my employees lurking from behind their desks, and I don’t want to do it on my living room couch.
As soon as we walk through the door of the apartment, I walk around with my hands in my pockets to make sure I don’t yank her into my bedroom. To make sure I don’t strip her naked and start peppering her skin with open-mouthed kisses. Or move my hands up and down her thighs, teasing her until I dip my finger…
“Bodi!”
“I’m sorry, what?” I blink a few times, pulling myself out of my daydream while my dick tightens against the zipper of my jeans.
“Did you need anything else?” There is amusement traveling her pretty features and I match it, not even embarrassed that she probably knows what I was thinking about.
“Oh, yeah. Right. I need you to throw a New Year’s reception.”
“It’s February,” she deadpans, blinking.
“I’m aware.”
“That’s like throwing a Christmas party on the 4th of July.”
I huff. “That’s not even remotely the same thing.”
“It totally is! Why would you still throw a New Year’s reception in February? I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck and all.” She twists her chair, putting her focus back on her screen.
“You totally just made that up.”
“I’m serious! It’s like you can’t say Happy New Year after the sixth of January, or breaking a mirror, walking underneath a ladder, seeing a black cat. It’s a very long list.”
“You believe in that crap?”
“Why wouldn’t I? There are more people dying on Friday the 13th than on any other day of the year. That’s solid proof, Aussie boy.”
I reach out with my foot, linking it underneath her chair to yank her closer, and it’s immediately followed by a screech from her because of the sudden movement.
Her hands land on my knees as she tries to steady herself while heat flashes in her blue eyes when our bodies touch. “What are you doing?”
“You are so full of shit.” I peer down at her with a wide grin.
I can see her swallow, and the air between us changes, electrifying, while at the same time, it feels like the walls are closing in around us. Her pouty lips part, her tongue darting out and making them glitter at me.
Fuck, I want to kiss her so bad.
“I’m not.” Her cockiness seems to have vanished and all that is left is an anticipation.
I dip my chin. “Why do you always answer my questions with a detour?”
A playful glint greets me. “Because I like to tease you?”
“Didn’t we agree on no flirting?” I whisper, lowering my head a little.
“Pfft, I threw that rule out the minute you made it.”
“What am I going to do with you, Kayla Lockheart?” I ask, while searching her eyes.
They tempt me every single day when she tells me good morning with a cup of coffee in her hand, even though she doesn’t have to. They tempt me when she steps into my car and the excitement of the roaring engine run through her eyes.
They tempt me when she stares at me, thinking I’m not looking. They tempt me when she lets out a laugh that sounds like music to my ears.
She tempts me by existing and it’s driving me absolutely bonkers.
“I know what you can do to me,” she murmurs through her lashes, her sass returning in his fiery blue irises. “Want me to tell you in your office?”
My breath catches in my throat. I have no clue how long I’ll be able to keep this up. But I manage to pull it together with a grunt.
“Plan the reception, Kayla.” I give her a slight push to put her chair back behind her computer before I get up.
A guffaw comes from her lips, and I give her scowl while I walk to my office.
“One of these days, McKay...” she calls at my back, then adds, “When do you want this party to happen?”
“This Friday.”
“This Friday?” she blurts, indignant. “Motherfuck–”
Her voice drowns out when I close the door behind me, unable to hold in the laugh that sits on my chest before I get to work. Anything to settle the throbbing muscle in my jeans.
Five minutes later.
KAYLA: I don’t remember you being such a bore last summer
BODI: Last summer I thought I was never going to see you again
KAYLA: You’re such a liar.
BODI: Hardly.
KAYLA: Want me to pull up the text messages you sent me before Friendsgiving?
BODI: You still have those?
KAYLA: Fuck yeah I do. I’m saving them like love letters for when our kids are older.
BODI: We’re not having kids.
KAYLA: You’re hurting Oliver’s feelings.
BODI: Who’s Oliver?
KAYLA: Our future son.
BODI: No fucking way I’m calling my son Oliver.
KAYLA: Why not? It’s supposed to be the favorite boy name in Australia. I thought you’d like that.
BODI: You do realize I have been in the states since I was twelve?
KAYLA: That explains your lack of aussie slang.
BODI: What the hell is aussie slang anyway?
KAYLA: You know, barbie, woop woop, bloke, g’day.
BODI: Did you just google that?
KAYLA: Not the point
BODI: Do you need anything Kayla?
KAYLA: Your dick, but you won’t give it to me.
BODI: You’re not getting my dick.
KAYLA: Fine, I’ll just go find another dick.
BODI: Are you shitting me?
KAYLA: Did I just hear you growl?
BODI: No.
KAYLA: Pretty sure Agnes heard it too LOL.
KAYLA: Jealous?
BODI: Get back to work, Kayla.
Three hours later.
KAYLA: How do you feel about clowns?
BODI: I need more information
KAYLA: For the New Year’s Reception.
BODI: NO.
KAYLA: Acrobats?
BODI: NO.
KAYLA: Fire eater?
BODI: It’s a New Year’s reception. Not a damn circus.
KAYLA: A cotton candy stall then.
BODI: NO.
KAYLA: Oh, come on. You can’t go wrong with cotton candy.
BODI: It’s pure sugar.
KAYLA: Exactly. PURE DELICIOUSNESS. Don’t tell me you don’t eat cotton candy at a carnival.
BODI: I don’t go to the carnival
KAYLA: For a rich motherfucker you’re seriously missing out.
BODI: I’m too busy for kid things.
KAYLA: You did not just trash the carnival. It’s the best thing there is.
BODI: It’s bad food and rides that make you puke.
KAYLA: I don’t see any issues.
KAYLA: I found a carnival not far from here.
BODI: We’re not going to the carnival.
KAYLA: Why not. It can be our second date.
BODI: We never had a first date.
KAYLA: The opinions are divided on that matter.
BODI: Get back to work, Kayla.
She bursts through the door ten seconds later, and I lean back in my chair.
“Seriously, though, what is wrong with a carnival theme?”
“I thought I told you to go back to work?” I’m doing my best to sound reprimanding, scolding. But like always, either I fail miserably, or she really doesn’t give a shit. Probably both.
She waves her hand in the air, brushing my comment away. “This is work. You told me I needed to plan a reception. That’s what I’m doing.”
Without asking, she plants her ass in the chair in front of my desk, and I exhale in surrender.
“No, you’re organizing a kids’ party.”
She rolls her eyes. “Do you have to argue with me about everything?”
“Says the brunette strutting into my office like she owns the place!” I gasp.
“I’m your assistant! Why can’t I walk into your office?” She gives me a look as if I’m talking a different language, every muscle in her face etching with defiance.
Her blue eyes are glimmering with a dare, and I press my lips together to try to ignore the fluttering feeling she seems to ignite in me.
She makes life really hard, but she also makes it so fucking fun.
I like how she challenges me, how she keeps me on my toes, and I even like it when she tries to outsmart me with her witty mouth. It’s frustrating because I can’t admit it, but every time she does, I just want to kiss her. A thought I really need to stop having.
“A normal person would knock.”
“I’m not a normal person.” She shrugs.
“No argument there.”
“Oh, whatever,” she replies, unfazed. “Look, just give me a shot. Trust me. I promise it won’t be a kids’ party.” Her eyes search mine with hope when she emphasizes the words, and all argument seems to vanish ice in a fire. All I know is I want to give it to her.
“No clowns,” I tell her with a dark gaze as a lousy attempt to control just a little of it.
“Pinky swear.” She childishly holds up her pinky, and I laugh, while my phone starts to vibrate on my desk. “Get to work, I need to take this.”
“Ay, ay, sir.” Her mock salute is adorable, and I playfully roll my eyes before I wait until she closes the door behind her.
“What’s up, mate?” I bark, tapping my pen on the wooden surface of my desk.
“Did you sleep with her yet?”
Goddammit. “I told you! We’re friends. ”
“You sound like Hunter, you idiot.” Jason’s smile is almost fucking audible.
“I’m not Hunter.” My situation is nothing like the bullshit he pulled with Charlotte for longer than half a decade.
“Exactly. The man is my best friend, but let’s be honest, you’re the brains of our little fourway bromance.”
“That sounds like a search term for porn.”
“Yeah, if we ever go broke we can make a lot of money with that, but I’m not into guys. No offense.”
His stupid reply has me laughing harder than it should, not wanting to encourage this torture session of the motherfucker.
“None taken.”
“What are you doing, man?”
I push out every ounce of air from my chest. “I have no fucking idea.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Of course, I like her. I wouldn’t let her stay with me if I didn’t.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Yeah, I know.
“Yeah, I like her,” I emphasize, then sigh, because I like her a whole fucking lot, “but Jay, come on. I’m ten years older, and she’s working for me. You have to admit this is asking for a shitload of trouble.”
“Depends. Do you like her because you want to fuck her or because you just like her ?” The intent in his voice kinda pulls on my heartstrings, and the pen stays still between my fingers.
Do I want to fuck her? More than I want my next meal. But I’d be selling her short if I’d tell him that’s all there is. She makes me smile, even when I don’t imagine my dick buried inside of her. An occurrence that’s happening more frequently every day.
I like having her around.
“She met my Dad the other night,” I confess, thinking back to that moment, which seems to slightly remove the charcoal of my burned heart. I lean back in my chair, rolling my lips. “I didn’t plan it. But it didn’t freak me out either.”
Jason stays quiet, though I can sense his amusement even from thousands of miles away before he finally breaks the silence; “I can be a dick like Jensen or Hunter and tell you all the shit you don’t wanna hear, and make a bunch of jokes about this, but ten years is not that big of a deal unless you make it, Bodi. But if you like her… crossing that line means there’s no way back. So, I think the bigger question is,” he pauses, and I shake my head, because I know where this is going.
I can see his question enter my office like a freight train, and I silently pray for him to make a joke or say something stupid. Just not spit out the words I’m dreading to hear out loud.
“Are you willing to risk it?”