Page 23 of Puck Me Twice
“I’m not working. I’m allowed.”
He sighs, turning on his heel and disappearing into the next room. The click of his dress shoes on the floor sends sparks of electricity up my spine. I love a man in a suit. I love a man who knows how to dress.
Following him, I enter the most gorgeous kitchen I have ever seen.
Like the other room, everything is white. White marble countertops, tall white cupboards, and gleaming silver appliances anchor the kitchen. The cabinets are even tall, like they were custom made for him.
Which—frankly, with his salary? They might be.
Sven reaches into a cupboard, withdraws two glasses, and fills them from the water dispenser in the fridge door. He hands one to me and then sinks onto a black wooden stool across the bar from the range.
“Why are you here?” he asks again. This time he sounds cautious.
“We’re dating,” I tell him.
“Yeah? And?”
“And we need to date.” Nodding emphatically, a tuft of hair slips out of my ponytail.
Sven leans forward, tucking the strand behind my ear. “Is that what you want?”
My mouth goes dry.
“I—”
“This is your idea,” he says gently. “But I don’t want to get you in trouble with work.”
“The declaration form is on file. We’re fine. It’s all above board.” I shake my head. “Is that why you haven’t talked to me in two weeks?”
He shrugs. “What do you want me to say?”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
Finally, I shake my head. “I’m too drunk for this conversation.”
He mutters something under his breath.
“What was that?”
He shakes his head.
“No, really, tell me.”
Sven glares at me. The full force of his green eyes bore into me like they can see inside my soul.
“I said, I’m too autistic for this conversation.”
nine
. . .
Sven
She blinks. She does it a few times.
“You’re autistic?” she asks.
