11. Savvy
“OKAY, SHOW ME AGAIN.”
To his credit, Dar doesn’t seem annoyed. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. This is the third time in an hour he’s explained how to work the new security system, and the third time in an hour I’ve set it off by opening a door.
“You’re younger than me.” He grins, moving around the back of Dad’s old desk where I’m stationed, squinting at the computer screen. “Shouldn’t you be the more technologically literate of the two of us?”
I sigh noisily, attempting not to enjoy the way he leans over my chair, trapping me between his arms.
In my defense, they’re very good arms. Muscular without being buff, and dusted with just the right amount of dark hair. Even his hands, which look so much better than they did only a week ago, are so freaking masculine.
Now that I think about it, the arms might be a big part of why I still haven’t figured this software out.
“See here?” Dar explains patiently, opening the home screen. “There are three settings, one for when we’re open and people are here, which will only go off if there’s a fire or someone uses the emergency doors. The second is for when we’re closed, but you or other employees are here, which arms the doors and windows. The third is for when the building is empty, which detects fire or motion of any kind. Looks like you’ve been setting three instead of two.”
I nod, staring at the screen where Dar is clicking through the steps, trying to focus. His chest brushes my shoulder, and I lean back just a little, pressing myself up against him in the tiniest, most innocent way.
We both pretend not to notice.
It’s been a week since we cleared the air and agreed to start fresh, and while it seems ridiculous to be so bent out of shape over a handshake and a hug, I can’t stop thinking about it. Somehow, I’ve gone from a modern, sex-positive woman to a Victorian lady-in-waiting, getting all aflutter over Dar’s hand brushing mine.
At least I got to keep the modern accessories. There’s no way I could get through this without a vibrator. Or two.
Okay, sue me, there are four.
“What’s your code?” Feeling the low rumble of his voice against my back is very distracting.
“Um.” My eyelids flutter, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face… Or tell that my panties are now soaked from the most chaste, minimal physical contact possible. “You told me not to tell anyone my code.”
Dar huffs, his warm breath ghosting over my ear. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Oh, I definitely trust you. Which is why I’m listening to your very sensible advice not to tell anyone my code.” I giggle, leaning over so I can see his playfully put-upon expression.
“I’m not going to rob myself, Savvy.” He sounds annoyed, but I know he isn’t. He loves it when I tease him. Maybe even as much as I love teasing him.
I hum thoughtfully. “I might be willing to part with the information if you let me stock pineapple for the snack-bar pizzas.”
“Nobody is going to order that.”
“They totally will, and if they don’t, I still love it. You know I work my best when I have access to an optimal snack selection.” My smile widens, enjoying the familiar twist of the muscles below my belly button as our banter escalates. Dar plays the part of grumpy and exasperated, I act playful and coy, and he caves to my demands every single time. It’s addictive.
Do I know what’s happening between us? No.
Am I loving it anyway? Yup.
Even if there’s a little voice in the back of my head that will not shut up about me being reckless.
Dar groans, a sure sign that he’s accepted defeat. “We’ll try it. Just try, Savvy. Maybe there are other heathens in the area.”
As I turn back to the computer, my heart is fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage. It’s a good thing I haven’t been paying attention to this, because the blaring alarm is worth the prospect of him coming back in here to do this all over again. “In that case. It’s 4-3-2-1.”
Silence.
“You must be joking.”
“What?”
“That’s a terrible code.”
“Only terrible? Not dreadful? Or abhorrent? Abominable, perhaps? Good god, man, I thought you were a writer!”
Dar sighs heavily, already opening another window to change it. “Is all of the above an option?”
“It’s not that bad when you think about it. A truly terrible code would have been 1-2-3-4. That’s what everyone tries first. Once they do, and it doesn’t work, they’ll assume I’m savvy enough to come up with a proper code.”
I feel him shaking his head, but when he answers, there’s a smile in his voice. “You’re plenty savvy, Savvy. Though, if you used half the brain power necessary to get through that chain of logic, you’d have been able to pick and remember an actual secure code.”
Humming, I settle back against him, watching as he clicks around. “Okay. New code?” Dar asks at last, his fingers poised over the keyboard.
It’s hard to focus on anything this close to him, but I give it a shot. “1-1- 0-7.”
He doesn’t move to type it in, though, and my stomach begins that slow plummeting that always seems to follow an embarrassing moment. Finally, when I’m about to go limp and slip right between his arms and onto the floor like a wet noodle, he speaks. “That’s my birthday.”
“Is it?”
When I said it, I thought it would be… I don’t know. Flirty, maybe? Cute? Now, it just feels like too much. After all, who remembers a family friend’s birthday after nine years of complete estrangement? A loser who never quite managed to get over him, that’s who.
Dar is silent as he inputs the numbers and closes out the window.
I glance at the time on the corner of the screen. “I think I’ll take off for the night.” It’s only seven, and we’ve been here until nine the last couple of evenings. My car is back from the shop (though still making an ominous grinding noise that I’m ignoring because I can’t afford to fix it), so he didn’t have to drive me, and I’m grateful for the ability to make a clean escape.
Space. That’s what I need. Dar and I have been holed up here together for weeks, working away in our little sexually frustrated—at least on my side—bubble. Admittedly, things have changed since our talk, but I can’t let myself get carried away and start hoping for things that won’t happen.
He said he was doing better, and I’ve seen evidence of that with my own eyes, but that doesn’t mean he wants me. Maybe what I see as playful, flirty banter, Dar sees as being friendly, or worse, fatherly. I’ve made that mistake before, and it was disastrous.
So, yeah, I need a few hours alone to get my head on straight. I’m going to go out wearing something scandalous, get hit on by a man I won’t go home with, and remind myself that Darwin Wilder isn’t my only option.
Then again, I couldn’t get over him in nine years, so one night isn’t likely to do the trick. This is my life now. I may as well lean into it and accept an existence riddled by hopeless longing. Besides, tomorrow is going to be a long day. Raven, her moms, and boyfriend, Jonah, are coming to help us clean the arena.
It’s massive in there, taking up more space than the rest of Galactic Guild combined, and it’s the only part of the business where Dad made regular updates and improvements. When you go in, especially with the flashing lights, fake smoke, and pulsing beat of the music in your ears, it’s impossible not to get caught up in the fantasy of it all.
Unfortunately, every inch of the room is covered in dust, dirt, or trash thanks to Dad’s dubious manager. Dar hasn’t been doing a lot of cleaning, preferring to focus on the technology or repair side of things, and it would have taken me weeks to get the arena cleaned out if I didn’t have help from Raven’s family and our three new employees, who talk more than they work.
The hottest arms in the world disappear from either side of me as Dar straightens up. “Big plans?” he asks, and I can feel the weight of his eyes on me as I gather my things. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but does he sound a little too casual?
I’m so unsettled tonight, restless even. Aside from the occasional touching and a bit of harmless banter, I’ve been Miss Responsibility for the last few weeks—working my ass off and fixing things instead of breaking them, all while guarding my heart from the unintentional charms of this man.
What is wrong with me? Nobody who has ever spent two minutes with Darwin Wilder could mistake him for charming, but I love—nope. Hard nope. I’m not even going to think about a sentence that has “Darwin Wilder” and “love” in it. Already, I’ve been getting too close to him, and if I’m not careful, I could end up falling right back into the place I was when I kissed a man who didn’t want me. My pieced-together heart wouldn’t survive a second fall.
Realizing I still haven’t answered the question, I steel myself and turn. If there really is nothing here, my plans won’t bother him. “I thought I’d go out, actually. Get a drink.”
This time, I know I’m not imagining it when something darkens in Dar’s expression. “Do you do that often?”
I shrug. “Nope. You know me, I’m more of a curl up at home with a good book kind of girl.”
He folds his arms over his chest—his inconveniently hot arms over his inconveniently hot chest—lips turning down into his signature frown. “Why the sudden change of pace?”
My chin lifts, and I force myself not to turn away. “Maybe I want to meet someone. I enjoy sex. Haven’t had it in a while.”
Whoops, that was a little further than I wanted to take this. Sex is definitely not something you discuss with your dead dad’s best friend, whom you are desperately trying not to fall for (again). I can’t bring myself to regret it, though, because I need this reminder. Maybe we both do.
Dar doesn’t just look bothered… He looks furious. “There are better solutions than finding a stranger to satisfy you. I know there’s a shop just down the road that sells… equipment to assist with that.”
It’s saying a lot that even the scathing, cynical tone he’s using can raise the temperature in this office about twenty degrees. Satisfy me?
I swallow. “I’m not a pilgrim. I own a vibrator.”
Dar takes a step forward, narrowing the distance between us to only a few feet, dark eyes boring into mine. “Use it, then.” His voice is low and authoritative, inviting no discussion into the matter.
This conversation is getting out of hand so fast. I should leave it, laugh the whole thing off as a joke and live to fight another day.
I should—I would—except my heart is beating twice as fast as it should, and tension is crackling in the air between us. I can’t leave it. Why should I when he’s trying to give orders about what I should or shouldn’t do with my vagina?
We’re not in a relationship. How I choose to satisfy myself is none of his business.
“Would joining a dating app be better?” I ask, endeavoring to keep my voice sweet and bright, as if I’m oblivious to whatever the hell is going on and this is a totally normal discussion to be having with a man who once viewed me as his niece.
Dar obviously knows me well enough not to be fooled, or he’s too pissed off not to bite. “No. It wouldn’t,” he snarls, and there’s somehow only a foot between us now. I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. Did I move closer? Did he? “Do you think they know what you need?”
My mouth falls open. “Do you?”
Silence.
All I can hear is our breathing, which is too ragged for two people just standing in an office. I’ve offered him an opening, a challenge, and he isn’t taking it. The longer he goes without answering, the further my heart drops and the more certain I become.
He wants me.
He can’t stand the idea of anyone else having me.
And it doesn’t matter. If Dar doesn’t feel the way I did about him nine years ago, badly enough to risk it, he may as well not feel anything at all.
Is that so much to ask for? To be wanted? For years, I was passed back and forth between my parents like a used tissue. They had their own lives, new relationships, new priorities, and I was just a consequence of their foolish teenage mistake. Then there was Dar, and after him, a string of relationships where I always seemed to care more than the other person in it.
It seems so clear now as I stand here staring at this man, who makes me feel seen, respected, and supported. This man who I realize—with a sensation akin to a kick to the chest—feels like coming home.
Feelings aren’t enough. At some point, you have to act.
I want to be wanted.
I want to be fought for.
And now, I want to get the hell out of here.
Without bothering with goodbyes, I swipe my purse from the top of the desk and slip past the towering, mute statue who watches me go with a tortured expression.
My breaths tear painfully from my lungs as I stride down the hall toward the lobby, shoving open the employees-only door so hard that Luke, King, and Marley—who are chiseling calcified chewing gum off the bottom of the snack bar tables—stare.
“Good job today, guys!” I pause, forcing a bright smile for their benefit. “We got a lot done. I’m taking off, but Darwin will drive you home so you don’t need to wait for the bus.”
I’ve just made it to the front door when a voice calls out behind me, “Savvy!”
Shit.
Ignoring him, I shoulder it open and plunge into the parking lot toward my car.
“Savvy!”
Again, I pretend Dar isn’t calling after me as I shove my hand into my bag, fumbling around for my keys and—of freaking course. I gave them to Marley hours ago when I sent her to get some stuff from my trunk.
Throat tight, I turn to face Dar as he jogs toward me. “I don’t want to talk right now,” I snarl when he stops four feet away, cold despite the unseasonably hot temperatures we’ve had all week.
Grave faced, he reaches into his pocket to produce my keys.
Oh god. As if this moment couldn’t get any more humiliating. He wasn’t even coming out here to talk to me.
“Thanks.” I snatch them from his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll satisfy myself with the vibrator tonight.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t… I don’t know what I was thinking,” he croaks, and I let out a hard laugh.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it.”
“I want to worry about it.” He steps toward me, then freezes, as if his body was acting without permission from his brain.
There’s a big, hollow hole where my heart used to be, and finally, I shake my head. “You can’t have it both ways, Dar.”
He stares. Crickets chirp in the long grass across the street, kids laugh as they walk out of their karate class, the Earth spins on its axis, and still, Darwin Wilder just looks at me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I promise as I turn toward my car, and the bitterness has drained from my voice.
After all, no one is to blame here but me.