It's Just a Little Crush Page 14

  Yes, that’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time, but I can’t let him know that. “Don’t you ever stop?” I scold as he disappears up the stairs, leaving me trying unsuccessfully not to think about his naked body in the shower…

  I don’t have to wait long. After a few minutes Blake is trotting back down the stairs, smelling fantastic, freshly shaved, every hair in place, and wearing the sharpest suit I’ve ever seen, well, at least since the one he wore yesterday. That is so unfair. I can primp for hours and not look that beautiful.

  “You ready?” He grins at me, fastening the last button on his sleeve. He is absolutely unbearable when he knows he looks good.

  On the short ride to my house, I begin to realize that the events of this week are catching up with me. My head starts throbbing. It feels like someone is pounding me with a large, blunt object. I clasp my forehead and let out a soft moan.

  “What’s the matter?” Blake glances at me, seeming concerned.

  “My head. I’m dying here.”

  “You need some caffeine.”

  “What I need is some sleep and a little less stress in my life. Caffeine will just make me wired.”

  “Better wired than tired. Here you are.”

  “Thanks, Blake. See you at work.”

  Before his car even stops rolling, I jump out and run inside my house, straight to the shower. It’s 9:30 already, so this has to be the fastest shower of my life. I’ve never been this late to work before, of course, not counting the morning after we found Hannah. I feel a little bit refreshed after my shower, but I’m still dragging. I wrap a towel around myself and search for some clean underwear. Damn. I forgot to bring my laundry up from the basement again. I hate doing laundry, mainly because I have to do it in my gross basement. It’s dark and wet and dirty. Going down there used to scare me as a child, and frankly still creeps me out. For as perfect as Grannie kept the main floor of the house, she didn’t ever seem to give a hoot about the basement. As long as I can remember, it’s been a disgusting mess, and I certainly didn’t take it upon myself to clean it when I moved in. It just wasn’t worth it. I didn’t even bother to get rid of my grandfather’s old rusty tools or Grannie’s collection of canning jars, neither of which I’m ever going to use. I’m not about to spend a minute longer than I have to down there.

  As I psyche myself up to make the trip down my creaky, slippery basement stairs, I hear a noise in the kitchen. It sounds like Bob is playing in his water bowl again. I realize that he must be starving since I neglected to feed him last night, thanks to my sleepover. I round the doorway into my kitchen and am horrified to find a man crouched in the corner. A piercing scream escapes my lips, and the man startles and whips around. It’s Blake. What is he doing in my house? I thought he left!

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I ask, “Why are you in my house?”

  “Nice towel, Hart,” he murmurs as he ogles me up and down. Before we were friends, this was one of my Blake-fantasies. Blake (looking drop-dead gorgeous) finding me dressed in only a towel, running his eyes over me, then running his hands over me… I don’t have time for a melt-down right now. I snap my mind back to reality.

  “Answer the question, perv.”

  He leans down to my cat, who is gazing up at him affectionately (I didn’t know Bob could do that), and strokes his back. “I thought Bob here would need some food and attention, since you abandoned him last night. Don’t you, Bob?” He turns the cat over on his back and rubs his belly. If I’d done that, I would have come back with a bloody stump. Blake really can charm the pants off every living creature.

  “I didn’t know you liked cats,” I say, like it’s a bad thing.

  He gives me a puzzled look.

  Still annoyed, I continue, “I appreciate the help, but will you please get yourself to work? I’m sure everyone is already gossiping about the fact that last night we left the visitation together, abruptly no less, and now neither of us show up for work the next day. I would be chatting about it right now if it were happening to someone else from work. Go!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m going. Calm down, woman!” He shoots me another slow glance up and down before he disappears out my door.

  ***

  I arrive at work at 9:50, thanks to my three-minute commute. There are times when living in a town the size of a postage stamp really pays off. Blake actually did what I asked and is already sitting at his desk. I slip in quietly, hoping not to be noticed. Obviously not quietly enough, because Bethany sneers, “Needed a little extra beauty sleep?” as I walk past her desk.

  Julia also spies me right away and makes a beeline for my desk. “That’s two nights in a row! Are you two using protection?” she demands, mom-glaring me.

  I hiss, “Julia! Stop it! We are not having sex!”

  “So why were you both late? And don’t think I didn’t see you dragging him out of the funeral home last night, too.”

  “Would you give it a rest? I need to get to work or I’m going to get fired. Let’s go to lunch today. I promise I’ll tell you what’s going on then.” I turn away and start logging on to my computer.

  Sarah leans her head out of her office and yells, “Lizzie Hart—in my office.”

  Crap, crap, CRAP! I had so hoped Sarah wouldn’t notice my tardiness. I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of Sarah’s employee ball-busting sessions, but it looks like my luck may have run out this morning. She has a way of making people feel an inch tall without ever even raising her voice. I have to say I’m in awe of her sharp-tongued sarcasm, but I’m equally afraid of what exactly she’s going to say to me.

  “Sit down, Lizzie,” Sarah orders. “What time is it?” she asks sweetly. I am so about to get demolished.

  “Ten o’clock,” I reply quietly.

  “And what time does our office open?”

  “Nine o’clock,” I whisper.

  “May I ask what you were doing this morning that was so important you couldn’t make it to work on time?”

  Cuddling Blake Morgan. Ooh—can’t say that. I’ll play the sympathy card. “You know I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, since I found Hannah.”

  Sarah nods.

  “Well, last night I finally got a good night’s sleep and ended up over-sleeping a little,” I lie.

  “Did Blake Morgan help you with that?” she asks, a steely look in her eye.

  I can feel my face getting hot. I’m sure it’s turned a lovely shade of red by now. “Uh, no… I was alone.”

  She smirks. “Sure you were. I assume I don’t need to go over the inter-office dating policy with you, Lizzie.”

  “No. We’re just friends. And I won’t be late again. I’m sorry.”

  “Get back to work, then. And don’t even think about taking a lunch today.” Sarah turns back to her computer, finally finished with me.

  I walk slowly back to my desk, feeling my throbbing headache coming back with a vengeance. My phone rings loudly, startling me, as I sit down. I pick it up and say automatically, “Liberty Chronicle. This is Lizzie.”

  “What happened?” comes Blake’s hushed voice over the line. I glance over and can see him watching me.

  “She busted me for this morning, and now I have to work through lunch. Did she call you in before I got here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell her we were together last night?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. She must have figured it out somehow. What happened then?”

  “She asked me out again.”

  “What?” I squeal, louder than I intended. A couple of my co-workers turn to glare at me. I smile apologetically at them and whisper, “What do you mean ‘again’?”

  “Tell you later.” He smirks at me and hangs up the phone.

  Now my head is throbbing and spinning. Sarah asked Blake out? Again? So either they had gone out before, or he had said no before and she was asking again. And she was lecturing me about inter-office dating! The worst part is that I can totally see
them together. She’s beautiful, smart, and confident, and he’s…well, he’s perfect. They would make one gorgeous couple. And, between Sarah being my boss and wanting Blake for herself, I’m not seeing me having much of a shot with him. Dejected, I get back to work.

  ***

  Unlike me, Blake was allowed to take a lunch today, and upon returning he tosses a bag on my desk as he walks past. Inside is a burger and fries.

  I call him on his desk phone and murmur, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he answers warmly, watching me intently from across the room. “I feel responsible.”

  “That’s because you are responsible,” I shoot back as I slam down the receiver.

  I can hear him snickering from across the room.

  Just as I take a big bite of my burger, Julia comes up and says, “I’m ready! Where are we going for lunch?” She takes one look at my full cheeks and demands, “What’s up with that? Did you forget already?”

  I swallow before answering. “Didn’t you see me get called to Sarah’s office this morning? She said I’m not allowed to go to lunch today, so Blake went and got me something. Seeing as how it’s his fault…”

  “So I was right! You did spend the night with him!” Julia whispers gleefully.

  “It’s not what you—” I begin, but Sarah appears and interrupts me.

  “I thought I told you to get to work,” she barks as she breezes past my desk.

  Ever my friend, Julia sticks up for me. “It was my fault. I was the one who came over here and started talking.”

  Sarah ignores Julia and walks straight out the door.

  “Wonder who pissed in her Wheaties today?” Blake deadpans from across the room.

  “Well, Sarah can’t keep you from going to dinner tonight. We can talk then,” Julia says on her way out the door.

  Everyone else has gone to lunch, so Blake and I are the only ones left in our area. He wanders over to my desk, looking wounded.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

  “I guess that means you won’t go to dinner with me tonight,” he sighs, throwing himself down into Paul’s chair and rolling over to my desk.

  “You’re a big boy. You can eat dinner by yourself,” I reply, not taking my eyes off my computer screen.

  “Will you at least come over after you get done? I’ve got your favorite show on video.”

  I tear my eyes off the screen. “CSI? Which season? One? That’s the only one I haven’t seen.”

  “No,” he says with a puzzled expression. “I mean our surveillance video from last night. We never finished it, remember?”

  “Oh, that,” I grumble, disappointed. I really don’t want to watch any more of that boring video, so I change the subject. “So tell me about your date with Sarah.”

  “I’ve never been on a date with Sarah,” he assures me. Whew! Am I glad to hear that. “She asked me out about a month ago, but I was seeing Hannah at the time.”

  “So you would have gone out with her if you weren’t otherwise occupied.”

  “No,” he says quickly. “No. Nothing good can come from dating the boss.”

  “So you would have gone out with her if she wasn’t your boss.”

  “Maybe. Why do you care?” He eyes me suspiciously.

  “I don’t,” I retort. I need to change the subject again. “By the way, did she say anything to you about me?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because in the middle of her rant she accused me of being late because I was sleeping with you. She probably put two and two together when she saw us at the funeral home last night, then we were both late this morning. Julia noticed, too. I’m sure they weren’t the only ones. My lecture from Sarah this morning makes a little more sense now, knowing you turned her down earlier.”

  “She thinks I won’t go out with her because I’m with you. Well, Hart,” he says, getting up, “sorry for putting a target on your back.” He grins smugly as he swaggers back to his desk.

  ***

  The rest of the afternoon passes excruciatingly slowly. I have spent the day playing catch-up, thanks to only being at work about half my normal hours this week. It’s stiflingly hot in here, so I’ve removed my suit jacket, making my outfit not nearly as cute. I’ve sweated off all of my makeup, and I even had to resort to twisting my hair up into a makeshift bun with two pencils because it’s been plastered to the back of my sticky neck all afternoon. My jaw hurts, and I realize it’s because I’m clenching my teeth while I am trying to speed read and correct two days’ worth of articles in one afternoon. I’m a wreck! Oh, and Bethany has of course come over a couple of times to make sure I know just exactly how hideous I look. I rub my jaw and reach for some Advil. My phone rings again, and I glance over at Blake. He has his phone up to his ear and motions for me to pick up.

  “What?” I bark into the phone. I am in no mood for jackassery.

  “You look hot,” he breathes, his expression sultry, like he’s mentally undressing me. I slam down the phone without replying.

  Sarah leans her head out her doorway and calls sweetly, “Blake, I need to see you in my office, please.” I make sure I’m studiously concentrating on my computer screen in case Sarah happens to glance in my direction.

  A few minutes later, Blake comes out of her office seeming a bit unnerved. He sits down at his desk and shuffles some papers around. Then, he abruptly gets up and stalks back toward the breakroom. A minute later I get yet another phone call. I answer, and it’s Blake, again.

  “What do you want now? Are you going to ask me if my refrigerator’s running? Some people have work to do, you know,” I grumble.

  “Lighten up, Miss Sassypants. Meet me in the breakroom.”

  I make my way into the breakroom, and Blake shuts the door behind me. “I’ve been dying to do this all afternoon,” he says huskily as he plucks the pencils out of my hair, letting it fall down around my shoulders.

  “Is that why you called me back here? To do a bad re-enactment of your surveillance porn?” I snarl as I snatch my pencils back and push him aside.

  He blocks my way to the door. “Wait. I’m sorry. The jerk in me comes out when I’m rattled. I needed to talk to you. Sarah just asked me to take her to the funeral and sit with her, to be a…comfort to her.”

  “She asked you out to a funeral?” I snort, not being able to contain my laughter.

  “It isn’t funny,” Blake says through gritted teeth.

  “Not to you, maybe,” I chortle.

  “Hart,” he says earnestly, taking hold of both my shoulders, “how in the hell am I going to make it through Hannah’s entire funeral without you, when you were the only thing keeping me from blowing my top in the mere minutes we spent at the visitation? I can’t do this by myself, and I doubt Sarah would stand for me sitting in between the two of you.”

  Blake can be so incredibly vulnerable and sweet sometimes. I feel flattered that he believes he needs me to get through the funeral. It floors me to think that I’m the only one in the entire town who knows this side of him.

  “You can do this,” I say soothingly, taking his gloomy face into my hands. “Just get through the funeral, and I’ll come over later and we can break stuff or something.”

  Blake manages a half-hearted smile.

  I continue, “Anything it takes to make you feel better.” I pull his face toward mine and kiss his forehead.

  “You are amazing,” Blake says, his voice rough.

  “Yes. Yes I am,” I agree with a smile. I let him go and begin twisting my hair back into a precarious bun like before. “Do me a favor and wait a few minutes before you come out—I don’t want to restart the rumor mill.” I couldn’t resist adding over my shoulder, “Or get caught by your date.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Girl! You are a hot mess!” That’s the way my cousin Becca greets me at the funeral. She, like always, looks like a model ready for the runway. Why didn’t I get some of her “look perfect all the time” genes?


  “I’m well aware of that,” I reply sullenly.

  “What happened? You’re all sweaty and stuff. Did you walk over here?”

  “No, I didn’t walk over here. I had a bad day.” I start ticking things off on my fingers. “I had no sleep, I got grilled by a cop, I was late to work, people were gossiping about me, my boss reprimanded me (twice), I didn’t get to go to lunch, it was hot in the office, and I was stressing about the mountain of copy I have to go through. Now I have to attend a funeral for a friend, who I found dead. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yep. Come on into my office, and I’ll try to do something with the mess on top of your shoulders,” Becca says as she steers me down the hall.

  Becca’s private bathroom is stocked with all kinds of makeup, hair products, and hair appliances. No wonder she’s always fabulously perfect—she keeps a mini beauty salon at work. She opens a door inside the bathroom to reveal a small closet full of beautiful clothing.

  “Here, put this on,” Becca orders, throwing a red blouse my way. “Your outfit could use some help.”

  “What’s wrong with my outfit? It’s cute.”

  “It’s so last season.”

  “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong,” I retort. “I’ve had this for three years.”

  Becca rolls her eyes and goes to work on my sweaty, tangled hair. She quickly dry shampoos, combs, curls, and sprays it. She has made it clear that she won’t let me even peek in the mirror until she’s totally done with me. After she’s satisfied with my hair, she gets to work on my makeup.

  “Now, you’re not going to put too much on, are you? I like a natural look,” I warn.

  “I put makeup on people for a living.”

  “Yeah, dead people.”

  “And if I can make dead people look good, think of what I can do for you. Sit still.”

  She finishes my makeup and puts a final coat of gloss on my lips. After she caps the gloss back up she says, “You know it might sting a little.”

  “Sting? What do you mean—OUCH!” I think Becca has just set my lips on fire! It starts burning and searing deeper and deeper into my lip tissue, like I’m being stung over and over and over again by a whole hive full of bees. I look around wildly for a tissue or water or something—anything to get this stuff off me! “Get it off, get it off, get it OFF!” I shriek.