That settled it—dating site would happen tonight. And under personality traits would be: delusional, fantasizes about the wrong people at the wrong times, and “dog people need not apply.”
I crossed and uncrossed my legs again, this time making sure I wouldn’t bump Brogan. “I guess I’ll be over tonight?”
“Yes. I have a conference until nine. No impromptu towel meetings again.”
“Probably for the best.” My subconscious side-eyed me. Oh, I’m sorry, did an alien suck your brain through a swizzle straw? In what universe was this a good thing?
He nodded, his expression turning businesslike, sliding back into our roles as they’d been before the other night. Amicable acquaintances. The shift in his demeanor was palpable, the room suddenly stuffier than a sauna. “I think so, too.” He tapped his pen against his desk, but kept his gaze on me. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I stand firm on all my policies in the handbook.” That one word said everything I needed to know.
Laymen’s terms: Not dating you.
“Of course.” I kept my face impassive. The guy was doing me a huge favor. This was exactly what I needed to crush this annoying—okay, so it wasn’t annoying, but lying to myself felt so much better—fantasy of being with him. So what if I’d do unspeakable things, worse things than I’d commit for a Klondike Bar, to catch a glimpse of his dripping wet body in a towel again? Hell, no need to be wasteful with laundry, forget the towel.
I blinked away that thought. He gave me a job, and with it, an opportunity to break into a cutthroat business. Throwing that away for a chance at a weekend romp was both stupid and juvenile. Now if only that memo would hurry up and arrive at the other parts of my body.
The key to his condo was already on my desk when I got back outside. Jackson sure wasn’t in any hurry to relinquish his dog walking duties or anything. Bruce wasn’t that bad. Slobbery and gassy, yes. But any dog who let me hold him while going through a quarter life crisis was okay in my book. Now we just needed to work on him not making a meal out my very expensive wardrobe that I couldn’t afford to replenish any time soon.
Okay, maybe it still sucked, but I didn’t care because that night with Brogan, worrying about my breath and if I’d applied enough deodorant, was a bright spot in the suckage of the past few days.
By the time lunch rolled around, I had scheduled my posts for the week and managed to book a few appointments for Brogan. As a treat to myself, I went to the dollar taco stand a few blocks away, and since the rain had let up for a little bit, I decided to stroll around the park. After shoveling the tacos down, I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom’s number. I hadn’t spoken to her over the weekend because I was trying to give her space, but anything past three days was pushing it. We’d planned for me to head home this weekend, and I wanted to make sure we were still on for a junk food and movie fest.
She picked up on the third ring, her voice sounding way more chipper than it had on Friday. “Hello, love bug.”
“Feeling better?” I said, hopeful for any improvement since last week.
“Much. Just went in for an appointment to finalize the drug combination for the new treatment.”
I smiled, a weight lifting off my chest. “That’s great. When do you start?”
“Wednesday. Are you still coming home this weekend?”
“I was thinking about it. If that’s okay with you.” This would be a much needed distraction from the fact that I wanted my boss and the feelings weren’t mutual.
“Of course. Sorry I needed my space. But nothing a Greasy Guy’s burger couldn’t fix.”
I groaned. “I miss Greasy Guy’s.” I missed eating good food from home. In fact, I missed everything about home.
“Then it’s settled. Saturday, you, me, and Guy’s takeout.”
“It’s a date.”
Anything to keep myself distracted.
Chapter Twelve
Lainey Taylor Rule of Life #4
Never piss off your mom. The wrath is far worse than any shit storm you can possibly imagine.
“I, Lainey Taylor, am a successful, smart, independent woman.” I gave a nod to my reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Men do not dictate my thoughts. Especially men with tattoos and dimples.” If I could magically cash in all the lies I’d told myself in the past few weeks, I’d have enough to pay for Mom’s treatments and still have money leftover to fill an in-ground pool with coins and swim around in my wealth.