“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She winks, and I choose to ignore it. “Hey, we need to have a budget meeting tomorrow. The internet bill is going up to freakin’ ninety dollars.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Christ.” The curse slips out immediately, making me wince. Memories of one foster home in particular where a curse word earned you tobacco on the tongue flood back.
Heather and I both have an obsession with knowing where our money goes. You’d think we were Warren Buffetts in the making, the way we manage our funds. As limited as they are.
And it’s another reason we’ve been able to stay friends even when we work and room together. We are Excel spreadsheet sluts.
“Okay.” I nod, heading toward the door from the employee break room out into the restaurant. “I don’t have plans tomorrow. So we can squeeze the budget a little more.”
Heather twists her lips, staring at my outfit. “I like the shirt. It suits you. You deserve to be a Daddy’s girl.”
“Thanks.” I look down at the shirt then back to Heather. “I thought it was cute for fifty cents. And, I was a Daddy’s girl, once. For a while.” I swallow hard, grit my teeth, and try not to get lost in the memory of my dad. He and Mom have been gone for almost twelve years now, but the sting is still there.
I run my hand quickly across the glittery letters topping my boobs. I stopped into the Howard Street Thrift on Thursday after my shift. That’s the day they have 75 percent off everything that’s been there more than a month. It’s usually all crap, which is why it hasn’t sold, but this week I found this white T-shirt with the script letters spelling out “Daddy’s Girl”. I shrug, holding a shoulder to my ear before I reply. “It was my size
, so I guess it was fate. I had fifty cents, they had this T-shirt. Win-win.”
I flash her a smile and walk out into the restaurant, taking a look at my phone. 1:54. My stomach does enough twists and flips for a gymnast’s floor routine. I know Rueger will already be here.
Parked out front.
He’s never late. Never even just on time. Always early.
Just the thought of him ignites a quivering inside me. Not only in my belly or between my legs, either. It’s in some core, deep down inside me. But he’s just doing this for PR, I remind myself. His company sponsors the Count On program, and for some reason, I’ve become his PR poster child.
Or at least, that’s what I figure.
But it’s funny because he never draws any attention to the time he spends with me. I’d think if it were purely PR, he’d have pictures taken or something. Truth is, I don’t care if it’s all just business. Any time I get to spend with him makes me feel good.
Not just good. Special. I can’t explain it.
He keeps me at arm’s length, but somehow, he still manages to make me feel cherished. I suppose I’m just an easy mark for that sort of thing.
I push my way through the crowd inside the deli, squeezing past the never-ending line of customers that trails out the front door. I can feel the tightness starting in my ears.
Yes, my ears.
Then it traces down each side of my neck and spins like vines, trapping me in this feeling that’s somewhere between all-out panic and full-on schoolgirl crush. I know he’s seen me before I spot him, leaning against his classic Jeep Wagoneer, wood paneled sides and all.
“Right on time.” He looks at me with that brilliant, cockeyed smile tipping his full lips, and I’m 100 percent swoon.
“You don’t like for me to be late,” I respond, not even thinking about it before I recite the words. “Didn’t take me long to learn that.”
In the time I’ve known him, he’s been clear about things he likes and doesn’t like. Even making little rules for me, which I secretly adore. I’m sure most women would tell him to go shove his rules up his perfectly taut ass, but not me. It’s just another thing that draws me to him like a moth to a flame.
I watch him shift his weight and push up from where he was leaning to stand tall. His close-cropped brown hair contrasts with the length of groomed, trimmed beard that covers his face. He’s a man of contrasts, his nearly Viking roughness balanced with an impeccable sense of effortless style.
His raw sex appeal balances with a nurturing, warm heart that makes you want to curl up in his lap for a nice hug and a slap on your ass.
Not to mention he smells soooooo good. Like he’s been hung out in the summer breeze to dry after his shower, then sprinkled with just a hint of what I imagine a forest would smell like after a rain.
He takes a deep breath, arms crossed over his gray T-shirt. Today is casual day, and I’m not sure which look I find sexier. I’ve seen him in an array of expensive suits, each of which sends my panties dropping to my ankles. But then he has this side of him, the casual side. Still flawless, but with an air of easy comfort. Always classic Levi 505s, though. Button-fly, of course.
I’ve looked.
Oh, how I’ve looked.
And wondered just how long it would take me to rip that fly open with my teeth.