The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(6)
“He really tried to get in your pants?” Kylie asked, her eyes wide and a quasi-jealous smile curving her lips.
“Tried is the operative word. A stretch pass with no completion,” Eloise joked.
Kylie laughed at the hockey metaphor. “El, I know an ambitious gal like you thinks she should date an equally ambitious, successful guy. But that’s precisely the problem – everybody in the corporate game is too ambitious. You’d never have time for each other, or worse, be constantly trying to outdo each other. Maybe you should date someone a little more...” Kylie paused and waggled her chin searching for the right word. “…bohemian. Like a barista.”
Eloise raised an eyebrow. “Bohemian?” she repeated, as though confirming she heard right. “Okay, Kyles, I promise I’ll marry the very next poet, painter, or latte artiste I meet, how’s that? Deal?”
Kylie smiled broadly. “I’ll put it in your Outlook calendar. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll make you pinkie swear.” With a curt nod, she twirled an about face and returned to her own desk just outside Eloise’s door.
Eloise chuckled and watched her exit. I can’t imagine what I’d do without her. Kylie truly was the closest thing she had to a friend besides her sisters. And today, she really needed one.
***
The next time Eloise looked at a clock, it was nearly five. She rubbed her fingers at the nape of her neck to loosen the stiff muscles and eyed the lotion on her desk. Jesus. She felt dry and achy all over. She did a quick few yoga stretches, then reached for a squirt of her favorite coconut-melon lotion. The refreshing fragrance wafted up to her nostrils as she rubbed it into both hands, helping to clear the day’s events from her mind. Time to go home. In her haste to make the interview this morning, her jungle of houseplants had gone unwatered, and she’d forgotten to pick up her copy of Inside Sports, a weekly gossip rag she’d planned to start reading to keep up on the underbelly of the NHL.
Instead of going directly to the underground parking ramp, she took a detour to the newsstand on the corner. She flipped up the collar of her cashmere trench against the crisp February air and quickened her step. It was dark already. Eloise had never completely shaken her fear of winter nights in Minnesota and hugged her warm coat a little tighter to her body as she walked. Scanning the racks quickly, she grabbed her paper and moved to the checkout.
“That’ll be three dollars, lady,” the clerk said.
As Eloise rummaged in her leather clutch for some singles, she automatically salivated at the item sitting right next to the cash register. The one item she could never resist. Her stomach rumbled as she ogled the lone package of powdered mini-doughnuts, clearly the last one at this newsstand. She’d barely had lunch, and the lure of white sugary scrumptiousness was too powerful to ignore. “And these,” she said quickly, her hand darting out to grab her favorite, guilty pleasure.
Before she could reach it, a large gloved hand closed on the same cellophane-wrapped treasure. Startled, her irritated gaze trailed up a long arm and found it connected to a tall man wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. In the dark? Did he have some kind of visual impairment? No way. This guy was a solid mass of impenetrable muscle. His upper lip and jaw sported an untidy bit of sexy scruff. Eloise darted her gaze around the perimeter, checking for gangbangers.
“I’m sorry, ladies first,” the man said in apology when he saw her, releasing the package and indicating she should take it.
“Oh,” Eloise said. “No, I think you had it first. You take it.”
The man’s lips curled into a brilliant white smile. “Play you for it,” he said, holding up a fist. “Rock-paper-scissors?”
The clerk sighed impatiently. “You still want the newspaper, miss?”
Eloise had difficulty dragging her eyes away from mister man candy, even more mouth-watering than the treat they’d be sparring over. A doughnut war. In spite of his unshaven state, he looked no more than thirty or so, and that smile had certainly dispelled any concerns over his homeys lurking nearby, sporting pearly white teeth and a charming dimple in his right cheek. At closer glance, his distressed jeans were True Religion. She glanced over at the clerk.
“Yes, thanks. Just a sec.”
“Ready?” man candy said.
“Ready,” she answered.
“One, two, three …” their closed fists pumped the chilly air. Eloise’s gut told her to go with rock, and frowned in disappointment as his hand went flat, but her heart rate spiked as his open hand closed over her fisted one. A frisson of electricity crackled between them and traveled from his gloved hand straight up her spine. He smiled, and her knees wobbled. One platonic touch and she was already gone.
Long gone.
“Paper covers rock,” he said. “I win.”
“That’s a buck either way,” the clerk muttered.
Man candy fished a dollar bill from his pocket and tossed it to the clerk. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose with one gloved finger, and with his other hand slid the doughnuts toward Eloise. She stared. Eloise shook her head to try and knock some sense back into her numbed out brain. She’d never felt this way in a man’s presence. Ever. And she didn’t like it. Eloise Robertson did not fawn over the hot guy. She didn’t fawn over any guy.
“My gift to you, pretty doughnut-lady. I like a woman who can handle processed carbs and sugar. Makes me think there are other things she could handle just as well.”