The last time I worked with Dickson was more than five years ago. Kevin was already sighing in relief before the first syllable stumbled past my lips. I pinched the inside of his thigh under the table. Quick news catch-up . “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I demanded.
Creeper. Extending his hand across the table, he finally peered up to take me in. The guy beside him wore a faded lime green Hollister T-shirt that hugged his biceps and chest—that lean muscular look I’d always lost my breath over. .?” I demanded. Australian. It’s only because I’ve been in rehab, I reasoned with myself. Even though he was mocking me seconds before, I was mesmerized by his eyes. Need. I have changed.
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