Page 143 of The Storm

One look from Blue, and suddenly I’m nineteen again and hopelessly in love and stupid enough to believe we could never hurt each other.

What the fuck are you doing?

I look away.

This is why him taking this job was a terrible idea. That invisible tether between us might be bent out of shape and have cut marks all over it, but it never really snapped.

That’s a problem.

A fucking frustrating problem.

“By all means, waste both of our time with personal calls. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be,” I say.

There’s nothing familiar in the look he sends me now. Instead of warmth and happiness there’s careful distance. Whatever he might be feeling is buried under caution now. Under hurt.

I feel like shit immediately, and then I hate that I feel like shit.

I don’t want to care.

“It’s…” I rub my hand over my face and blow out a breath. “It’s been a really long day.”

It’s a fucking copout. Not an apology, even if he deserves one from me for the way I just snapped at him.

“Yeah.” He glances out the windows quickly as if to confirm that it is indeed the evening already before he turns the iPad on again. “I put everything in a calendar app.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. “I already sent you the invite, so it syncs to your phone, and then you’ll have an overview about what’s happening on any given day.” He drags his fingers through his hair distractedly and clicks on a couple of dates at random. “It’s color coded. Just to separate things. Football related. Travel. Engagements. Stuff like that.”

I lean closer and raise my brows at the neat rows. “I don’t think Callum’s ever been this organized in his life.”

“Yeah,” he says with a small laugh. “What’s up with that? He seems sort of competent when he’s on TV, and then…” He shrugs instead of finishing that thought.

“Then you realize he once missed a flight because he got distracted in the candy aisle.”

Blue laughs. Really laughs. The sound hits me right in the chest.

“Really?” he asks. He’s still grinning.

I forgot how much I like making him laugh. No, that’s a lie. But I remember more clearly right now than I usually allow myself to.

I nod.

He keeps on grinning. Once again my gaze gets stuck on his. Silence stretches between us. Silence and eye contact.

He clears his throat and looks away.

“I’ve never had a boss like him. He’s…”

“Like an oversized golden retriever,” I finish for him.

“Kind of, yeah.” He avoids my gaze again. Clears his throat. Again. “How did you… How did you end up with him?”

His voice sounds strange. There’s a forced lightness to it that doesn’t mask the tension, and I don’t understand why it’s suddenly so thick. We’re on neutral ground for the moment, aren’t we?

“Bridget,” I say. “She ambushed me. Told me, ‘I know this guy. He needs you.’ Turns out she was right.”

Blue’s gone as still as a statue. Almost as if he’s hanging on my every word, only it feels like kind of the opposite. Like he’s zoned out, but also very alert, somehow.

“Blue?”

He jerks his head back toward me.