Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 179189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 896(@200wpm)___ 717(@250wpm)___ 597(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 896(@200wpm)___ 717(@250wpm)___ 597(@300wpm)
And if not, I’m almost a hundred percent sure I will bite hers instead.
Chapter 10
Lesley
“So this part is where we’ll put the squeakers, and this part will have some rope attached to it. And we’ll use this fabric here to cover it all up.” I grab his hand. “Here, touch it.” I let him feel the material I bought, but his hand immediately pulls away.
“You don’t like it?” I ask.
“It’s great. Love it,” he says, grabbing his rum and Coke and taking a sip.
“Aren’t you even a little bit excited?”
“Oh yeah, very excited.” He smirks, taking another sip.
I squint. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re not even listening?”
“You’re making a squeaker with a rope attached to it. It looks fantastic. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”
“Finished product? Isn’t that what your production department does?”
“Yeah, of course. Don’t sweat it.” He laughs it off and takes another sip.
I grab his glass and pull it my way. “Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”
“I am,” he says.
“Doesn’t look like you are,” I say, frowning. “I did my best.”
“Looks can be deceiving …” He winks. “You of all people should know that.”
My eyes narrow. “What?”
He shrugs. “Never mind.” He clears his throat. “So tell me what you wanna do when you finish this internship.”
“What I wanna do?”
“Yeah … you mentioned a business of some sort,” he says.
“Oh …” I laugh it off a little, feeling like this suddenly veered into the dangerous zone. “That’s nothing. Just a dream.”
“Well, tell me then,” he says with a smile, leaning on the palm of his hand. “I’m listening.”
“Uh … I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes are all over me, and for some reason, it freaks me out a little.
To ease the tension, I quickly take a large gulp of my drink, barely able to swallow it.
“I think I already know.”
I sputter from shock, spitting all over the table. “Fuck.”
TJ laughs. “Well, that was quite a show.”
I snatch some of the napkins and dab off the table, trying to clean the mess I made. That’s when I realized I spat half of it over his shirt. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” I dab him with the napkin.
His fingers graze over mine as he grabs the napkin and says, “I got it. Don’t worry.”
I nod, still a little mesmerized from his touch.
He gets up from the stool and walks off.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Bathroom, obviously. Why, wanna come?” he muses.
The words ‘wanna come’ resonate in my ears because they sound so dirty when coming from his mouth, even if it still doesn’t mean the same thing.
But the prospect of going into the men’s bathroom isn’t exactly enticing.
That, and I really shouldn’t go into a bathroom with him. Alone.
“Um … no thanks,” I reply, taking a sip of my own drink.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and walks off.
I shake my head at the sight of him, jazzing off to the music as if he’s walking and dancing at the same time. He’s such a strange person. Just like me. We have some kind of connection that I can’t explain, which is exactly why I can’t take my eyes off him.
Stop it, Lesley. You’re here for work.
Why do I have to keep reminding myself?
The beat drops and the music becomes louder, and I find myself swaying along on my stool, wondering when TJ will be back so we can continue talking about this new toy I made. I mean, even though the music is great and the drinks are awesome, we’re still here for business, after all.
Suddenly, someone taps on my shoulder, and when I turn around, TJ’s holding out his hand. “C’mon.”
“Where?” I ask.
He grabs my hand anyway and pulls me off the stool. “Dance.”
“What? But we’re here for work.”
“Who cares?” He smirks. “Let’s have some fun.”
“But—”
He twirls me around so hard I can barely talk. Instead, he makes me squeal with his antics, flipping me around the floor as if he’s trying to show me his best moves. They’re playing “Swalla” by Jason Derulo, and TJ’s arms and legs are going everywhere. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or to burst out into laughter, but I love it.
He holds me and forces me to dance along with him until I finally let my hips loose and just dance along to the beat. It’s fantastic to be able to let off some steam and feel free while doing it. Although I have to say … it is weird when you realize you’re dancing with your boss. Then again, he’s never acted like one to me either.
And damn … he’s wrecking the floor, making other people look at us like they’re watching a show. It isn’t because he’s such a great dancer, but because he honestly does not give two fucks about what anyone thinks of his dancing. He’s just having fun, and it’s so damn infectious. I can’t help but smile and dance along with him.