Chapter Nine #2
He nods, looking back to the door of his office.
He’s standing so close to me, I have to wonder if it’s possessive or not.
He’d do better just pissing a circle around me and barking at Nate if he wants to make things crystal clear.
Not to touch. Mine. But not really…despite Friday and Saturday night, things had returned to being painfully normal between us as of Monday.
Although more photos were leaked on social media.
One was of Alfie leaving Lottie’s house; I had somehow been photoshopped out of the image, probably in a way to sell more fake news.
It looks like there’s conflict and a love triangle.
There’s not even a love line, or circle, or whatever a simple two-person dynamic would be.
There were just two dots, separate, unconnected, even if my dot was sort of trying to reach over to his.
Get a grip, Sinclair.
“Bring your study materials. I’ll help you.”
“To your house?” I’m confused, because there is no freaking way, my boss, Dr. Alfie Adams is inviting me into his home.
“Yes, to my house.” His throat bobs, and for a split second I swear his eyes drop down to my lips. “Miss Sinclair, confirm you’ll be there so I can go and talk to Nate about personal boundaries.”
I stare up at him, so confused with the back and forth yo-yo game we’re playing.
I thought I could push Alfie to his limits, antagonize him until he acts like less of a robot, but really he’s the grandmaster and I’m just learning what all the pieces on the board are.
He flip-flops like a fish on land. Does he want me?
Does he care at all that my insides are so knotted I can barely breathe when I’m around him?
Why does he stand so close to me I could lick up his neck?
Questions that will never be answered because Alfie Adams doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“Sure, I’ll be there.”
“Good. Wear something comfy.” And with that, he strides to his office, closing the door without a backward glance.
How the hell am I going to teach a bunch of eighteen-year-olds now?
◆◆◆
My class finishes up, and the unsettling feeling in my stomach increases. I don’t know why people call it butterflies in your stomach when it is clearly giant moths zooming headfirst into a lamp repeatedly.
I have everything I need with me to go to Alfie’s, so I don’t bother stopping home on the way.
I’m too eager to wait. I pull up at the office, which is a detached building from Alfie’s actual house.
He secured a plot of land that obscured the house from the main road, which means patients can’t see into the home.
I steel myself by sucking in a lungful of cool air.
I’ve never actually been inside Alfie’s house before, even after working for him for three years.
I text Lana to let her know I’ll be out for the evening, and another text comes through from Alfie.
I’m right outside his house. I could just go inside and talk to him, but texting is easier.
He allows himself to push the boundaries of our employer-employee relationship when I’m not standing right in front of him.
Alfie: Making dinner plans with my friends already?
Shit. I forgot to tell him Lottie and Katie added me into a girls group chat for the next dinner club and I’d offered Alfie to host.
Mia: Yes, I hope you don't mind. I said we would host? I think my southern politeness kicked in before I could think to ask you first.
Alfie: I like it. They’re all planning our wedding now - just an FYI.
I snort. Right. Alfie Adams marrying Mia Sinclair.
Me: Tell them I like a deep green and gold color scheme.
Alfie: Green and gold? You’re going to have a groomzilla on your hands. I always assumed I would elope.
Me: Elope? My mother would kill me. I want to get married in the national park surrounded by the moss.
Alfie: Noted.
Why did that make my heart flutter? I need to calm down. This is just pretend, and this is just harmless flirting to get into character.
Alfie: Don’t eat. I’ve prepared something to practice for hosting.
I should tell him I’m right outside, but I’m enjoying this far too much.
And the image of him feeding me something off a spoon whilst stroking my face is almost too delicious to ruin with reality.
I’ve spent more time with Alfie in the last two weeks than in the last three years, and I’m afraid that my fantasy world is slipping into reality like a landslide.
Barreling down the hill until the fantasy has moved from spoon-feeding to imagining myself on my knees as he pulls out his cock and feeds it to me in lieu of the actual dinner he cooked.
I need help.
I need serious help.
Me: What’s the recipe? And please note that what you say will depend on whether I say yes.
Alfie: It’s a surprise. Can’t give you a reason to back out now, can I?
Damn him. He’s making it so hard not to indulge my feelings for him.
Alfie: What time will you be here?
Double-texting, Dr. Adams? How very unchill of you. Maybe he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
Mia: I’m outside.
My boots crunch across the gravel driveway, the cool winter breeze nipping at my skin. I definitely should have worn a coat; my hands are freezing, and this sweater is a lot thinner than I thought.
I knock on the door, hopping from foot to foot, attempting to convince my body that it is warming up already.
Alfie pulls open the door and the smell of oregano, basil and rich tomatoes hit me, my mouth watering instantly.
Considering I was going to have a girl dinner consisting of cheese and crackers tonight, my stomach is doing happy flips.
Alfie stands barefoot, his normally knitted brows are relaxed, his full lips stretched into a smile when he sees me, his gaze dripping down my outfit.
“This is comfy?”
I look down at my body. I am wearing the same emerald green flowy skirt and a tight cami top tucked in as I was this morning, paired with black ankle boots.
It is a casual kind of day for office attire as I don’t like wearing pencil skirts at the university.
It makes me seem too formal and unapproachable to the younger students.
Plus, God forbid I had to bend down in a blouse, and they get an eyeful of my boobs.
“Uh, yeah, I came straight from class and I wasn’t sure how comfy you meant, but you’re in sweats.”
“I cooked a lot. I need the stretch.” He taps his stomach, and it makes that annoying solid sound, you know the type.
Like someone slapping a bit of wood. Cue a swallow at the thought of him ripping off the plain white T-shirt he’s wearing to accompany the gray sweatpants.
Or better yet, me tearing it off with my teeth.
I scoff and roll my eyes, causing him to chuckle, ushering me into the house and closing the door.
Stepping into the entryway, warmth envelops me.
Alfie heads past the stairs and down the hallway to the back of the house, which I presume is where the kitchen is.
I glance quickly up the stairs. There’s a light on in one of the rooms causing a soft glow to warm the stairwell.
Maybe it’s his bedroom light. Visions of a plush king size bed burn through my vision as I close my eyes to imagine what Dr. Alfie Adams’s bedroom would look like.
Swallowing hard, I step away from the temptation to find out and head to the kitchen.
“I put the wood burner on. I thought you might be cold.”
“Thanks, it’s only a few minutes, but I forgot about the long-ass driveway.”
“Hmm, you can borrow a coat when you go home.”
This is not a sleepover with my boss. Why am I even here?
Because my feet may just fuse with the floor so I don’t have to leave.
They’re ignoring my mental reminders that I will be going home.
Not that I thought it would be anything different.
Of course I know that. Will it help if I keep repeating it?
“Thanks, so what’s for dinner? It smells good. I never eat on a Wednesday, I’m always too tired.”
I slip my boots off, leaving my goofy penguin socks exposed.
“Cute.” He smiles, looking at my feet. Damn it, why am I getting so hot? “I made lasagna.”
My lips pull to the side; it’s one of my favorites. Surely that’s just a coincidence. Everyone loves lasagna.
“Sounds good. Can I help?”
“It would be good to look like we’ve cooked together for the dinner party.” He raises his eyebrows sternly.
“Sorry about that. I got excited when I was invited into the group chat. But I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Why don’t you just tell your friends the situation? I mean, it’s not like they’re colleagues. You’ve known them for years.”
“Yeah, that is true.” He hesitates for a moment. “I think it’s best to keep the people that know to a minimum.”
“Sure, that makes sense. Besides, Caleb might have literally pounced on me at Lottie’s the other night if he knew.”
Alfie huffs through his nostrils, pulling away to check on the garlic bread in the oven.
“Would you like a drink?”
I laugh. “Would you like to discuss that reaction, Dr. Adams?”
“Fuck, don’t call me that, Mia.” His voice strains, his eyes dipping to my lips for a fraction of a second before physically shaking his head. “We agreed to keep things informal outside of the office.”
What the hell was that?
Pulling a couple of beers out of the fridge, I twist the cap off and hand it to him, and do the same with mine. I take a long pull, watching him work, his forearms tensing and flexing as the thick corded muscles ripple as he serves up the food.
He carries the plates over to the table, placing mine down first. It takes him three tries to spark up the lighter he had in his pocket, but when he does, he cups the flame with his palm and lights three brand new candles laid out to the side of us.
I sit opposite him, and he breathes a sigh of relief, looking at the food and then to me.
It’s then that I realize three things.
Alfie Adams is nervous. He’s looking to me for approval. And this may be a date.