“Everything okay?” he asks, but I’m already marching out of his office, ignoring whatever he’s saying. If it’s not “happy birthday,” I don’t want to hear it.
***
The next morning, a knock on my apartment door drags me away from a nice little dream I was having about a brutish alien horde. I was their princess, and the continued existence of both our species relied on them impregnating me with a cute little half-alien baby. They were just about to carry me off to their luxurious mating den when…
A second knock has me throwing back the covers, reaching for my glasses, and padding my way down the hall in a groggy haze. A third knock thins my patience.
“I’m coming,” I holler at the door, voice raspy with sleep.
No one should be knocking on my door this early on a Saturday morning, especially on my birthday. If I’m breaking tradition and spending the day alone, the least I could ask for is some extra sleep.
Throwing the door open with a bit too much force, I find Ethan standing there. A gust of chilly morning air hits my skin, making my nipples pebble and strain against the thin tank top I’m wearing. My exposed thighs break into goosebumps under the short hem of my cotton sleep shorts.
“Ethan? What are you doing here” I ask.
Part of me is still annoyed with him about yesterday. Another part wonders if I’m still dreaming. After all, my taste in literature has recently transitioned from big, blue aliens to sexy, stern bosses. Exhibit A: the paperback copy ofBoss’s Orderssitting on the nearby chair. If the title doesn’t make the book’s theme clear, the riding crop on the cover certainly does.
“Celebrating your birthday with you,” he replies, as if that’s obvious somehow. “Can I come in?”
Between the events that transpired yesterday, the current situation with my nipples, and the embarrassing book just waiting to be discovered, I should probably just close the door and go back to bed. But I can’t stop the smile that’s forming at the corners of my mouth or the spark of warmth in my chest, so I pull the door open a little wider and let Ethan inside my apartment.
Of course, I also do my very best to keep my body firmly planted between my boss and that stupid book, even if it means putting my scarcely covered nipples directly in his line of sight. Presumably, Ethan is already aware that I have nipples. But there is absolutely no need for him to know that I also have a newfound appreciation for smutty books about sexy bosses.
“I brought your three favorite things,” Ethan announces. His eyes stay firmly planted on my face. It’s both a relief and an insult. Meanwhile, my nipples stay pointed in his direction long after the morning chill dissipates from the room. There’s nothing I can do to cover them that wouldn’t just draw more attention to the situation.
“Coffee,” Ethan says, passing me an iced coffee from my favorite place. I take a tiny sip, letting the hazelnut syrup wash away the last traces of sleep. Next, Ethan hands me a pink envelope with my name written on it. “And this.”
The card is nice, but what’s inside of it nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.
“Th-this is too much,” I stammer, gaping at the thousand-dollar gift card to a local bookstore. No wonder he didn’t want to give this to me at work yesterday.
“No, it’s not,” Ethan says with ease.
When I glance up at him, I realize how close we’re standing. My eyes catch on his soft, full lips—the ones that were pressedagainst mine a week ago. Not that I’ve been counting the days since I kissed my boss. Nope, I definitely have no idea that it’s been exactly seven days and roughly ten hours since my lips last touched Ethan North’s. And it will be approximately… oh, I don’t know… eternity or so until they ever touch again. Ethan has made that quite clear. And while I agree that making out with my boss is generally inadvisable, certain parts of my anatomy are not on the same page.
Standing there fighting off the aching in my wayward loins, I realize that I’m staring up at Ethan exactly like someone who is thinking about their wayward loins.
Which is… not great.
In return, Ethan is giving me a rather quizzical look, like he’s concerned that I’m having a series of small strokes.
Super.
“What else did you bring?” I blurt out, attempting to ease the lopsided tension in the room.
Ethan’s brow furrows.
“You said you brought my three favorite things,” I clarify.
Way to be greedy, Margot. The man just handed you a thousand-dollar gift card to your favorite store and now you’re asking what else he brought you?
A soft laugh rises from Ethan’s chest. “Oh, the third thing is me. I’m your favorite.”
Yes, accurate.
Aside from Emma, Ethan North has quickly become one of my very favorite people. Maybe he always has been. But instead of admitting this out loud, I click my tongue and contort my face with skepticism. “I was sort of hoping for a cat.”
“I’m better than a cat,” Ethan replies confidently.