Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Yes, and I’m sure this was precisely what I had in mind.” I waved him off. “Go away. I have a meeting, and you should be catching up on sleep.”
“I didn’t know if I liked him at first,” McGee continued, ignoring me.
I huffed, exasperated. “Yes, so you said the first day. And then he insulted you, and now you’re BFFs who communicate exclusively through insults. It’s a heartwarming story.”
“Nah, I mean, I thought he was funny and all, but I could tell you were into him, and you were acting all squirrelly about New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t sure if I could vibe with the two of you… you know, getting it on. ’Cause that’s a whole different thing.”
“We’re not—” I insisted.
“But then, I saw how he looked at you, and I changed my mind.” McGee paused for a long moment while I looked at him expectantly, and then he braced one tattooed hand on the table and pushed himself up. “Buuuut… you’ve got that meeting, so I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it.”
I opened my mouth. Shut it again. I would regret this. I already regretted it. “How does he look at me?” I demanded.
McGee sat back in his seat and smiled smugly. “Like he’s a hungry man and you’re one of those disgusting yogurts he keeps in the fridge. Like he wants to eat you alive.”
A vivid image of Reagan curling his tongue around his yogurt spoon flashed through my brain, and I squirmed involuntarily. “Nonsense. He’s… he’s my son’s age.” Though I didn’t know what that had to do with anything.
“Still older than me,” McGee reminded me cheerily. “And age is about the only thing he has in common with Brant. Last summer or the summer before, looking at Reagan from a distance, I might have said different. He was kind of a troublemaker, just like I used to be. But I think he’s straightened out now. Somebody gave him a chance to do a job, and he gives a shit about it. I feel that.” He patted his own chest, then shrugged. “Besides, you said Reagan practically handed you that medical company deal on a silver platter because you let him talk, right? That’s not kid stuff.”
This was true. The meeting in Colorado Springs yesterday had been with the owner of a small medical supply company that I’d been trying to acquire. For two years, our lawyers had negotiated terms, but over and over, the owner had killed the deal at the last minute for no discernible reason. Then, at lunch yesterday, Reagan had spent a solid half hour discussing the man’s love of floral arranging, charming him with descriptions of Honeybridge’s annual Box Day event, and making him howl with laughter over stories of his mother’s incessant need to cheat by bringing in flower-box experts to win the grand prize. The signed contracts had been emailed to me last night, along with a sincere thank-you note for “the most delightful business lunch I’ve ever had.”
Still.
“That’s all well and good,” I said, shaking off the memory of Reagan’s contagious smile as he’d described the elaborate small-town festivities. “But it just means I need Reagan to work for me. Not that he and I should…” I cleared my throat. “I do like him. I want to see him succeed and be happy. And you know my track record with relationships. He and I would never work out long-term.”
McGee hooted. “Jesus, who said anything about long-term? I meant road trip nookie. I meant hot and heavy back-seat hookups. A scenic detour down the orgasm highway. A quick pit stop for a full-service lube job. I meant don’t come a’knockin’ if the luxury coach is a’rockin’. I meant sex,” he clarified when I only stared at him in horrified fascination.
“Yes, I got that. Loud and clear.” I shook my head, trying to clear the mental images away. “But it’s still an epically bad idea. Impossible if Layla’s joining us. Besides, I thought you were anti-hookup these days.”
“Oh, me.” McGee waved a hand. “That’s because I’m a sensitive soul, but no one ever sees it beneath my hot-as-fuck tattoos.”
I snorted. “And your overwhelming modesty?”
“That, too.” He smiled. “All I’m saying is you’ve got an opportunity here: a guy you want who wants you back. And sure, there are complications, but it doesn’t have to be complicated if you just stop overthinking. Why deny yourself a little bit of enjoyment? Why deny him that?” McGee leaned toward me. “You know what else you taught me when I was a kid? Opportunity knocks, but it doesn’t pick locks. You gotta open the door.” He winked and slid out of the booth.
As McGee put away his cleaning supplies and went back to his bunk to rest, I signed on to my next call and tried to put his little pep talk out of my mind—to put Reagan out of my mind, to focus on my work and my priorities—but it was impossible. When January texted an hour later to say Layla was still positive for flu and would have to delay her trip by at least a day, I gave up trying. I closed my laptop and decided to make the most of my solo time with Reagan while it lasted, starting with our afternoon on the mountain.