Instinct told him she wouldn’t have gone back to that other guy. She hadn’t looked at him the way she did Joe. Abbi wanted him.
He shouldn’t be this wound up. He got offers all the time. But recently he’d been too busy with work to take any of them up on it. And frankly, none had rung his bell.
Maybe he was paying for that period of abstinence now, wanting Abbi as much as an NBA championship ring.
He had no clue where she lived. But he knew where she worked. Without even thinking about it, he was halfway there already. Question was, what he was going to do when he got there?
He could never offer what a woman like Abbi would want. She was a relationship kind of girl—for all her wannabe-vixen attitude. She wanted to be a vixen, because she wanted to snare a guy. For good.
Joe had zero time for a relationship. Zero inclination. There was too much else he had to do and too much he didn’t want. Easygoing fun was so much better than emotional challenge. With his less-than-stellar childhood, he knew he was a first-class emotional fuckup. He wasn’t equipped—or willing—to keep a woman happy for the whole ever-after scene. Hell, he wouldn’t know where to start. He’d failed at fitting into so many homes, any kind of relationship was only ever going to be short-term for him. Better to end this with her before it had even begun. Much as he wanted to pursue her—and that was a first—he didn’t want to hurt her. So the very least he could do was finish it gently.
He stopped in front of the magazine’s headquarters. Yeah, lights were on, on the top floor. He glanced down the street—coffee shop.
Perfect.
…
Abbi ignored the phone. This was Sunday—no one was supposed to be at the office anyway, so whoever it was calling could just leave a message.
Except the phone kept ringing. Four times, then stopping before it went to voicemail. Again and again and again. Until in irritation she snatched it up, ready to leave it off the hook. But as soon as she lifted the handset, he spoke.
“I know that’s you, Abbi.”
Without thinking she put the receiver to her ear and answered. “How do you know?”
“It’s Sunday. Everyone else is in bed recovering from their Saturday night, whereas yours got cut short. How’s it going?”
Despite everything, she couldn’t stop the spurt of adrenaline—and anticipation—sizzling along her veins. “Okay.”
Truth was she’d slept so badly she’d come in ultra-early and had run all her tests. Everything was good to go for tomorrow and she was done. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Then come downstairs for a break.”
She hesitated. She shouldn’t. She should say no. But curiosity beat the mortification. “Only for a quick break.”
She was a glutton for punishment.
Joe was leaning against the side of the building, right beside the after-hours door, looking hot—literally—in a slick tee-and-sweats combo. He’d been exercising this early on a Sunday morning? That was sick.
“Peace offering.” He straightened and held out a cup, steam swirling out of the narrow sipper hole in the to-go lid.
Peace offering? He better not be here to apologize.
She took the cup and glanced at it dubiously. But it smelled good. Sweet. “Hot chocolate?”
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t have thought a gym instructor would advocate anyone consuming liquid sugar.” And he was looking so very gym instructor today in the loose workout gear. Tanned and fit and ready.
He was hot—and not just in the literal sense. But she refused to squirm at the sight of him. He didn’t want her; she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by making her lust even more obvious than it already was.
“Studies show women who consume chocolate daily have a higher libido,” he said.
She paused, the cup an inch from her lips. “You made that up.”
“Google it. Add it to your app info. Women will love you for it.” He glanced at the cup. “You going to test it?”
Her libido didn’t need to be any higher, actually. She was already melting. But she couldn’t resist taking a sip.
His mouth quirked and he looked right into her eyes. “I’m sorry about last night.”
The chocolate lost all flavor and she swallowed it in an awkward gulp. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t feel like you have to be nice. It’s okay. You’re not interested. That’s fine.”
He stared at her so long she wondered if she had a huge chocolate milky mustache on her upper lip.
“What makes you think I’m not interested?” he asked.
The only thing to do was laugh it off. Make a joke out of the awful truth. “I kiss like a dead fish.”