Reading Online Novel

Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(49)



Source: New York Genome Center, New York, NY



After our walk and friend-embrace in Grant Park, I'd given Matt a large berth, deciding it was best for him to make the next move. I would do anything for my friends, other than force my friendship upon them.

He'd texted me three days later.



Matt: Are you dead? Or do you want lunch?



His timing was perfect. I'd been working from home, baking bread for the week, and storyboarding the first draft of my article on his research. While arranging my notes, I'd discovered a few loose ends.



Marie: I'll bring lunch, are you allergic to anything?

Matt: Cats, sadly. And teenagers, happily.

Marie: How about shellfish?

Matt: I LOVE SHELLFISH

 

Grabbing the two jars of crab bisque I had in the freezer, disposable/microwavable bowls, and a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, I met him at his office. We ate while I asked my questions. When we were finished, he suggested I stay and finish storyboarding, just in case I needed additional clarification.

"Will you be able to work with me here?" I asked, scrutinizing his office.

"No problem. Do you need a table?" He turned a contemplative frown to his desk and workbench, both of which were still covered with papers and various machinery debris. As he looked around his office, he pushed his fingers into his hair, sending it into disarray and drawing my attention to the muscles of his bicep.

The man had to work out all the time. He had to.

Unbidden, my attention moved over the rest of him. He was in his usual jeans, Converse, nerdy T-shirt attire, but the pants looked new. They were dark blue, and as a heterosexual woman with a pulse, I appreciated how they rested on his narrow hips, fit the curve of his backside and muscled thighs.

"I actually work best on the floor," I offered, feeling oddly hot.

And, bonus, the floor was free of clutter. And free of Matt.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He shrugged, scratching his neck. "Do you mind if I play music?"

"Fine by me."

We both assumed our positions, him at his desk in front of his wall of monitors, me kneeling on the floor, spreading my papers out in story order. "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground," by The White Stripes played over his speakers and I smiled to myself, but said nothing.

I loved The White Stripes. And I loved Jack White as a solo artist. Matt couldn't have picked better music as the soundtrack for the afternoon.

I sensed Matt glance at me a few times over his shoulder, but I studiously paid him no attention, pleased that I was already engrossed in my work instead of gawking at his physique and bobbing my head lightly to the music.

For a time, we worked, saying nothing. Part of the time I moved the papers around on the floor, part of the time I wrote sections on my laptop. I glanced at my computer's clock just as the song switched from "Seven Nation Army" to "I Fell In Love With A Girl" and was surprised to find forty-five minutes had passed.

Pausing my work, I closed the laptop and placed it next to me. I stretched, arching my back and leaning from side to side.

Matt spun suddenly in his office chair to face me, unsmiling, his arms crossed.

"I have a serious question for you," he said, sounding serious.

"Shoot." I glanced at him briefly, turning my neck from one side to the other.

"If a woman wears a low-cut blouse-"

"Did you just say blouse?"

He blinked once, his expression growing flat. "Can I ask my question?"

"Fine. Blouse, low cut, what about it?"

"If a woman's shirt is low cut, like a V," he drew a V on his own chest, "such that a good amount of her cleavage-"

I snorted. Cleavage. Blouse. Matt talked like my grandmother. At least he didn't say décolletage.

His lips became a tight line. "Well what do you call cleavage?"

"Tits? Breasts? Boobs?"

"Fine. Low-cut shirt, showcasing half a lady's breasts, is it okay to look at said breasts?"

"Yes." I nodded once.

"Really?" The question was an octave higher than his usual baritone.

"Yes. Really. Unless she has a date, then no."

"What? Why?"

"Because she's wearing the low-cut shirt for her date-not for you-and you don't want to get punched in the face. But if she's there on her own and wearing something revealing, she wants people to look."



       
         
       
        

"Huh." His eyes lost focus as he stared beyond me, absorbing this information.

"You find that surprising?" I leaned forward to switch two sheets of paper, rearranging the timeline.