Jo Leigh - Playing Her Cards Right - Choose Me

Falling for Charlie was not acceptable.

She really needed to get out of bed because if he moved the hand against her thigh even a little bit, she couldn’t be held accountable for her actions.

Where was her dress? By the window. Somehow, the room wasn’t filled with light, which it should have been because the last time she’d looked, there’d been nothing but glass between them and Central Park. Yet, it wasn’t dark, either. She hadn’t opened her eyes, but there was some kind of pale gold thing happening behind her lids, so …

The lamp that had been on while they’d been …

She inhaled quietly, regrouping. It didn’t matter what Charlie was doing. She was in control of her actions and her thoughts. She’d throw back the covers, get out of bed, pull up her dress, slip on her heels and go to the bathroom. She wouldn’t have to look at him at all.

Crap . The back of his fingers brushed against her thigh. Just that quickly, her resolve vanished and her body tensed. Things were happening against her will. Nipples hardened. Kegel muscles contracted. Not to mention the thunder of her heart.

It was one time, Kingston. One night. You had champagne. It was like being in a fairy tale. It’s not real. Things like this don’t happen in the real world. It’s over. Stop being a moron and get out .

After a silent count to three, she did it. Tossed covers, pulled up dress, screw the zipper, picked up shoes, darted to the bathroom, slammed the door, breathed.

Cursed herself from here to Sunday because while she was in the nice, safe bathroom, her purse with all her stuff was in the living room.

She sighed and leaned on the door, barely restraining herself from banging her head against the wood until she passed out. Her makeup was already a disaster so crying wasn’t out of the question.

What were the odds he had a spare toothbrush in this humongous room? The shower alone was bigger than what she laughingly called a bedroom.

She could wash her face with whatever soap he had, and rinse her mouth with something that would at least hide the morning breath for a while. All she had to do was be somewhat presentable for a cab ride home, then she could start forgetting about Charlie as she hustled to get ready for work.

Coffee. Coffee would help everything. No, aspirin and coffee. That’s what she needed, and her world would fit neatly back into place.

A knock on the bathroom door made her jump so hard her dress nearly slipped all the way down to the floor. “Um, busy,” she said, yanking it up again.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, and God, his voice rippled through her like a slow fire. “I thought you might want your pocketbook.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay. Yes.” She turned, holding up her dress with one arm as she opened the door an inch. It wasn’t quite enough. Another inch, then another, and finally her purse was inside. She snatched it as if it were connected to a mousetrap. “Thanks. Be out in a minute. Don’t mind me.”

Silence followed. Bree didn’t know if he was there or not, but she didn’t move. She pressed her ear against the door.

“Okay,” he said, making her jump again. “I’ll go make coffee.”

“Great. Thanks. Sounds great.” She winced at her stupid mouth, and reconsidered the whole banging her head against the door thing.

Finally, she turned around, resigned that there wasn’t enough aspirin and coffee in the world.

“WHAT’S THIS?” BREE ASKED.

Charlie looked down at the hundred-dollar bill he was holding out to Bree. “Cab fare.”

“A hundred? You think I live in Connecticut?”

“Wasn’t sure. Look, I’m sorry I can’t take you myself, but the blog …”

“It’s fine. Really. I’ve got it,” she said as she held up her to-go cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re not going to be late for work?”

“Nope. Not if I get a move on.”

She hadn’t looked at him. Not once. At least, he didn’t think so. He’d been avoiding looking at her, so there was no certainty, but it felt like she hadn’t.

If nothing else had told him the night had been a colossal mistake, this morning’s awkwardness would have. It was epic. Both of them stumbling, mumbling, embarrassed and basically acting like idiots. The problem was he couldn’t tell why she was behaving like he had the plague. He’d thought the night had been great, and the sex had been fantastic. Too good.

Maybe that was just him, though.

Naw. It had been spectacular, and he knew what he was talking about. She was being weird for another reason. He’d like to blame the excessive cab fare move, but the weird dance had started when she’d first gotten out of bed.

She was making her way to the front door, although she didn’t simply turn around and walk. She took a few steps back, checked behind her, then moved another couple of steps, and it made him want to kiss her.

Shit.

She had to go. Now.

He surged ahead of her to the door and opened it. “I’m sorry I can’t see you—” He stopped before he repeated the whole sentence.

“Of course. And I have …” She was right in front of him now, looking up at him with those green eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “It was the best night ever. I’ll never forget you. It. The party. Doing … stuff.”

Her cheeks had turned a really dark shade of pink, and yep, so did the tips of her ears. The urge to move a few inches, lower his lips to hers once more was stronger than he was prepared to admit.

“I had a great time, too,” he said, his voice cracking on the end. “We should …” He stopped himself by biting his tongue. It hurt quite a bit. But he’d almost said they should do it again.

“Well, I’ll be off. Down the elevator. To get a taxi.” She stepped through the doorway sideways. Almost hiding behind her coffee, only spilling a little.

“Right. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He went to shut the door as she called for the elevator. Then stopped. It would be rude to shut the door. On the other hand, she looked desperate.

He split it down the middle. Left the door ajar, but walked away. To the kitchen. He didn’t breathe until he heard the ding.

Holy crap.

BREE SAT IN HER CUBICLE, shuffling papers from one stack to the next. She’d been at the office for two hours and she hadn’t accomplished a damn thing. Most of the morning had been spent rehashing last night, analyzing to death every single thing Charlie had done or said. Sneaking peeks at the picture she’d taken, of his trading card.

In the harsh fluorescent lights of BBDA, the events featuring Charlie seemed more like a dream than something that could have happened to her. But there was an ache in her body that wasn’t a result of working out at the gym. She’d tensed her arms so hard gripping the headboard that her muscles had burned as she’d showered this morning, and there was that thumbprint bruise on her hip. Plus her memories, of course.

She had no business thinking about him. The night. Him. Really now. It was over. Done. A recollection that should bring her pleasure instead of this sense of loss. How could she have lost something she’d never had? Never could have?

God, the whole morning sucked. Her thoughts had been wild enough before she’d seen that he hadn’t posted his blog yet. He should have. His routine was like Old Faithful, like atomic time. Instead, three other people had posted—one fashionista, one celeb tracker and one foodie.

So in addition to obsessing over the fact that sex had been no more than a part of the overall standard package rather than a romantically wonderful moment between the two of them, now she was pretty convinced that she had somehow jinxed Charlie. And she had a headache.