Page 34 of One Night with Number Nineteen

Lainey marches in front of me, cutting off my gaze of her desk, equally messy and scattered with papers, stacked with books, with receipts and water bottles and a bag of half-eaten cheddar and sour cream chips.

She glares at me, her chest rising and falling on a breath. Then another.

Then one more.

Finally, she opens her mouth. “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

“Your office is messy.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens again. “Excuse me?”

“Your office”—I sweep my hand out at the room—“it’s messy. The rest of your house is so clean, I just thought…”

She shakes her head. “What?” Another shake. “No, that doesn’t matter.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You told everyone about what happened yesterday?”

“Were you going to try to keep it a secret?”

She scowls. “That’s not the point. Faye’s upset and blaming herself, and it’s not her fault.”

“You’re right. It’s the asshole who assaulted you’s fault.”

Her eyes were flashing, her mouth open, ready to retort, but my words have her freezing. “Wh-what?”

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Something flashes across her deep brown eyes. “Yes, of course I do.”

“So…”

“It wasn’t your story to share.”

I want to remind her I was there, I was part of it, that it was my fist plowing into the fucker’s face, but I stop before the words come out, stop because I catch something in those gorgeous eyes of hers.

“I’m sorry.”

She blinks, her arms falling to her sides. “What?”

“You’re right. I should have let you tell everyone.”

Another blink.

Another blip of befuddlement.

And maybe now that she no longer looks like she wants to stab me with a pen, I should slip out, should go home, get some real sleep.

But…

I can’t make my feet take me to the door, can’t make myself turn and leave.

Instead, I shift closer and inhale the scent of her shampoo.

“Tell me about your book?”

Her lips part, eyes widening, and fuck me, but I need to kiss her.