Too Hard to Resist

by Robin Bielman

  “No argument from me.”

  She lets out a breath. “I guess I needed to get that off my chest.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So, we good?” I’ll stay and talk all night if she needs to.

  “Yes.”

  Five minutes later, I watch her drive away before I get in my own car. Everything she said tonight is true, but there’s one thing I’m still stuck on.

  Her.

  “I never realized until now how hard the brain has to work to make the body do what it asks. Or maybe how hard the body has to work to ignore the brain.”

  —Thalia Chaltas

  Sax/Hastings

  Workplace Strategy

  Scorecard

  Sax – 1

  Hastings – 4

  Chapter Eighteen

  Madison

  On Thursday morning, I call in sick to work. I can’t face Elliot today. Not after everything that happened last night. I’m embarrassed to admit his hands up my dress was the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. If he’d asked to finger me, or lick me, or fuck me, I would have immediately said yes to any and all of it. But things got real when I looked down at his lap and saw how hard he was. I panicked, straightened out my sex-rattled brain cells, and swiftly put distance between us by moving back to the other side of the desk. My self-protective mode kicked in.

  After that, I somehow got everything off my chest that had been bothering me. But what I didn’t—couldn’t—tell him was that I’m half in love with him, and turning off those emotions is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  How do you stop falling for someone you see forty-plus hours a week?

  You start with calling in sick, then returning another guy’s text to let him know you’re playing hooky for the day and would he like to meet up?

  Brooks has texted me a few times since our first date. He checked in to see how I was after my fall in Tahoe and sent me a link to the cutest baby panda video to cheer me up. He’s texted to say hello. Yesterday he tossed out a few dates to get together again.

  My phone chimes with a text back. While my heart isn’t pitter-pattering or anything, I like the idea of spending more time with him. How about lunch? he asks. There’s something I’ve been meaning to try. Are you up for some walking and taste testing?

  I’m up for anything to get my mind off Elliot. Sounds good!

  Can I pick you up?

  My mom is home and I’m not ready to introduce her to Brooks so I text, Is it ok if I meet you?

  Sure. Give me 5 to confirm we can get in and I’ll text you the address.

  Okay.

  When Brooks texts back it’s a date and to meet him in two hours at the corner of Hollywood and Vine, my mind immediately goes to Elliot and our fun afternoon finding stars’ homes. That corner is full of tourists visiting Hollywood, which makes it an unusual meeting spot for locals.

  I read for a little while, shower, then dress in a comfortable heather gray ruffle sleeve T-shirt dress and my bow platform sneakers. The colorful floral-print, mini shoulder bag I finished sewing over the weekend completes my outfit.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” my mom says when I step into the kitchen to tell her goodbye, “where are you off to? I thought you weren’t feeling well.”

  “I’m meeting a friend for lunch.” I kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you later.” I hurry out the door before she questions me further.

  Brooks is easy to spot at our meeting place. He’s got the all-American football quarterback look going on in jeans and a well-worn New Orleans Saints T-shirt.

  “Hi,” he says. “It’s great to see you again.” His eyes rake over me in an appreciative way.

  “You, too.”

  “It looks like our group is right over there. Come on.”

  The “group” is eight other people and a tour guide. “Hi, everyone,” the guide says. “I’m Cynthia and for the next four hours you’re going to be treated like a VIP while we explore a bit of Hollywood and visit several different restaurants for some unique tastings.”

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Brooks whispers, his arm brushing mine.

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “We’ll cover roughly seven blocks,” Cynthia says, taking backward steps to begin the tour. “If you look down, you’ll notice we’re on the famous Walk of Fame…” She shares some fascinating history, past and present, talking nonstop. This is exactly what I need today—the sun on my face, some culture, new foods to taste, and a cute guy with dating potential at my side.

  Brooks’s hand grazes mine, but he doesn’t try to hold it. We joke and laugh as we put our feet and palms in several of the famous movie stars’ concrete prints. Actresses had really small feet fifty years ago. I feel like a giant.

  I eat like one, too. The first two restaurant stops offer amazing crepes, artisanal pizzas, and mac and cheese potpies.

  The third stop on our eating tour is a charming hole-in-the-wall and organic herb garden serving vegetable and corn tostadas and salt cod churros, which sound gross, but are delicious.

  “There’s a breakfast tour in Santa Monica we’ll have to try next,” Brooks says.

  “Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I say, not sure how I feel about next time.

  “Damn right. And it’s pretty much the only meal I know how to make.”

  I laugh. “Good thing you can eat it anytime of the day then.”

  “You have no idea how often I eat french toast for dinner.”

  “I love french toast.”

  He smiles at me. “Good to know.”

  I’m flirting with him and it’s unintentional. I love bread. Period. I like Brooks. There’s nothing about him that isn’t likeable. He’s handsome, attentive, sweet. But he’s not pushing thoughts of a certain someone else out of my head.

  On our next two culinary stops we indulge in gelato pops dipped in dark chocolate, then old-fashioned milkshakes.

  “Mint chocolate chip shakes are the best,” I argue, drinking very loudly from my straw, as if slurping will prove my point.

  Brooks’s eyes drop to my mouth. “I can tell you think so, but try this.” He nudges my shake away and puts his Oreo cookies and cream shake under my chin. I wrap my lips around his straw and take a sip.

  “It’s okay.” I scrunch my nose to tease him. “Try mine.” I reach my arm out so he can taste the best. I watch his lips circle my straw. Lips should inspire a desire to kiss, right? After nearly four hours of eating, drinking, talking, and flirting, kissing should be a high priority.

  “It’s okay,” he mimics.

  “Okay, okay? Or just okay?”

  “I didn’t know there were varying degrees of ‘okay.’”

  We follow our group out of the shake shop. The sidewalk is crowded, and I feel like we’re walking upstream, against the majority of pedestrians. “All ‘okays’ are not treated equally,” I say like it’s a legit thing when I’m making it up on the fly. “There’s the ‘satisfactory’ okay and the ‘tolerable’ okay, neither of which you could possibly mean about my delicious shake. Then there’s the ‘fine’ okay and the ‘good’ okay. Should I continue?”

  “Absolutely. I’m curious to see how many you can come up with.”

  “Umm…”

  He puts his arm around my shoulders. “Just kidding. You can stop. It was the good kind of okay.”

  “I know.” I lean into him. The two of us share a similar ridiculous sense of humor. He makes me feel comfortable, like my brother does.

  Not like someone I want to kiss.

  There’s only one person I want to make out with. He also happens to be the one person I can’t think twice about.

  Brooks walks me to my car when the tour is over. If there were even a tiny spark, I’d be all over kissing him and making plans for another date.

  “Thanks for a great afternoon. I really enjoyed it.” I lean against my car door and look up at him. Come on, spark…ig
nite, flash, glint—something. Please.

  “I did, too.” He leans closer, cants his head. He’s in no rush. He’s giving me time to say “no.”

  This is slow motion torture. Kiss him? Don’t kiss him? That I have to debate it gives me my answer. I will never treat someone with even the tiniest bit of disrespect. Brooks is great and deserves great in return. It’s not right to be with him if my thoughts are with someone else.

  I turn my head so he kisses my cheek.

  He awkwardly pulls back. I sag against the car in relief. “I’m sorry. I think you’re awesome and I really like you, but not in a romantic way. I wish I did, I really do. It would make my life so much easier if I could fall for you,” I ramble. “Plus there’s something I need to confess to you about your mom.”

  His brows wrinkle. “My mom?”

  “Yes, it’s a funny story I’d like to tell you the next time we meet. As friends?”

  He stays quiet.

  “I know this really good breakfast place.” I take his hand and lace our fingers, swing our arms in a sign of friendship. “My treat.”

  “Has any guy ever said no to you?” He squeezes my hand before breaking contact. “Honestly, I’m not happy you’re friend zoning me, but I like you enough to deal with it.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “I’m getting that.”

  “I’m glad we can be friends.”

  “You sure you don’t want to at least give me a shot at kissing you into changing your mind?” he teases.

  I glance at his mouth. Not even the tiniest tingle of anticipation runs through me at the prospect, even though I can appreciate he has very nice lips. “I bet you’re a great kisser, but…but I’m kind of hung up on someone else even though—”

  He holds up a hand. “Got it. I thought there might be something going on with you and Elliot…was that his name?”

  “What? There isn’t anything going on with Elliot and me. I mean, why do you think that? Is it obvious there’s some tension between us? Do you think anyone else has noticed it? Why would you say that?”

  Brooks laughs. “Slow down there, speed talker. It was just a hunch. But I recommend you stay silent on the subject until you’re more chill about it.”

  I press my lips together and nod.

  “Workplace relationships can be tough. I’ve been there and it didn’t end well.”

  “I’m afraid this one won’t, either,” I admit.

  “Then it’s a good thing you’ve got a friend to lean on.”

  “Thank you.” I wrap my arms around him. I’m grateful to have someone to talk to who doesn’t know Elliot.

  He hugs me back until I let go. “See you around,” he says, helping me into the car.

  “Definitely.”

  I get home and go straight to my room. I take a long bath, read some more, and skip dinner because I’m still full from lunch. I pass on Jeopardy! with my parents, instead logging into my work email to see if I missed anything important. My inbox is oddly empty of new messages. I expected to see at least a couple from Elliot, since he likes to email me daily notes so he doesn’t forget things. I also imagined he’d send a text or two to see how I was feeling and he didn’t do that, either. He must have had a busier than normal day without me there. I waste the next two hours on the internet, trying not to feel guilty for missing work. When I lay my head on my pillow, I get a fitful night’s sleep.

  The guilt isn’t strong enough to get my butt to work in the morning. I need another day, plus the weekend, to lock away my emotions before I see Elliot. I call Hazel to once again feign illness.

  A half hour later, my phone rings. It’s Auggie. Concerned there’s something she needs from me right away for work, I don’t hesitate to answer it. “Hi, Auggie.”

  “Hi, Madison. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.” I’m feeling the “so-so” kind of okay, so total truth right there. Elliot has me lightheaded and a little overheated at times. Ergo, a good argument for sick.

  “Is it the stomach flu?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “The reason I ask is Elliot called in sick yesterday and today, too, so I thought maybe you guys ate lunch or dinner together and both caught a touch of food poisoning or something.”

  “Elliot is sick?” My pulse picks up. Is he the same kind of “sick” as me? “Does he know I haven’t been at work, either?”

  “You haven’t been in touch?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know if he knows. He talked to James this morning, but you know men, they don’t always share like girls do. Madison?” My name comes across the phone line softer than the rest of her words.

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you know you can talk to me off the record about work stuff.”

  I can’t believe Elliot and I both called in sick to work. I bite my lip in worry. He must really be sick, not faking it like I am because I need time away from his gorgeous face. “I know.” I do. Auggie is someone I can trust, but I can’t burden her with a secret like this when her boss is the head of the company.

  “Well, feel better and I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Thanks. Have a good weekend.”

  Leaning against my headboard, I toss my phone to the side and imagine Elliot at home in bed, his shirtless ex-baseball player’s body, his long muscular legs, his athletic shorts tied loosely around his hips as he goes over financial reports. He’s insanely hot when he’s in work mode.

  I pick my phone back up. I’ll send him a quick text to make sure he’s okay. Hey, just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling. I stare at the screen, hoping to see those three tiny dots wave at me right away. They don’t. After a few minutes without a response, I try one more time. Hi Elliot. I hope you’re okay. Lemme know.

  When an hour passes and I still haven’t gotten a reply, I wonder if instead of being shirtless and going over financials, he’s in sweats and shivering under the covers with a fever. And if he’s at home, he’s home alone. Mateo is out of town with Teague on a road trip up the California coast for work. Levi is on location for a TV shoot. I know this because I’m supposed to spend the weekend at Harper’s for some girl time.

  I quickly throw on clothes and put my hair in a bun on top of my head. I can’t wait another minute thinking Elliot could be sick with no one there to help take care of him.

  I’m at Elliot’s front door ringing the doorbell fifteen minutes later. Relief washes over me when he opens the door looking fit and healthy. Athletic shorts hang down from his trim waist, a white T-shirt stretches across his chest. His hair looks like he recently rolled out of bed and ran his fingers through it. “Madison? What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on you since you called in sick.”

  “I’m fine. I told James I was exhausted, not sick, and asked if I could work from home for a couple of days.” His eyes slide down my body, slowly, like I’m a road map and there are lots of places he’d like to visit. “Did you go to work like that?”

  I glance down. I’m wearing white capri leggings and a pink hooded cropped sweater with white Chucks. I’d fit right in at work—especially for a Friday, but he knows my nine-to-five attire is dressier. “No, of course not. I called in sick. Yesterday, too.”

  His head pops up, his focus on my face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His brows furrow in concern. “And sorry, come in and sit down.”

  He sweeps me inside before I have a chance to decline. Not that I would have. Now that I’m here, we might as well talk, even though being alone with him in such a casual way sets off flutters inside my chest.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, sitting next to me on the couch, his elbows on his thighs. “I’m happy to say you don’t look sick.”

  We’ve been honest with each other so far, so there’s no reason not to be now. “I’m not. I, uh, just needed a couple of days to myself.” He cocks his head, seeming to ask for more so I add, “After what happened in yo
ur office.”

  His eyes close for a moment. He leans back into the couch. “That’s why I stayed home, too. Exhaustion had little to do with it, but I couldn’t exactly tell James I’m having dirty thoughts about my assistant and needed some time to rein them in.”

  I’m dying to ask what kind of dirty thoughts. Instead I say, “Once again we’re on the same page. I mean with the staying home, not the X-rated thoughts.”

  He runs his fingers along the stubble on his jaw. He has nice, big hands. I bet he knows exactly what to do with them to make a girl—

  “X-rated? I didn’t say that, Pink Cheeks. You sure you haven’t—”

  “I should go.” I start to stand.

  “Don’t.” He stays me by gently gripping my wrist. “I… Let’s change the subject.”

  I wiggle back into the couch cushions. “Okay, why didn’t you answer my texts?”

  “I didn’t know about them. I dropped my phone in Socks’s water dish. It slipped out of my pocket and I didn’t notice right away. It’s drying in a bowl of rice, but I’m not optimistic about it surviving.”

  “That a bummer. I’m sorry. Who’s Socks?”

  “My cat.”

  “You still have the kitten?” I ask excitedly.

  “I do,” he says, his eyes softening at the mention of her. “We’ve hit it off, so I took her to the vet to get checked out and adopted her.”

  I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, Socks is walking lazily into the room. She is so cute. Black with white paws and pointy ears. She curls right up next to Elliot. I know nothing about cats, but it’s obvious she’s in love with her owner.

  “I’ve never had a pet. My brother has really bad allergies, so we couldn’t get a dog or a cat. And the idea of any kind of reptile in the house freaked my mom and me out. I did win a goldfish at a carnival once, but it died after a day. I was so sad, I refused my dad’s offer to get me an aquarium.” I look down at Socks, her little whiskered face on Elliot’s thigh. “I did get to bring a mouse home from school for the summer, once. I was so excited when my name was picked. We all wanted to bring Minnie home. She died, too, though, after a couple of weeks. We buried her in the backyard and bought a new mouse for the class. After that, I was afraid if I brought any kind of animal home he or she would die.” I take a breath to stop my rambling. Kitten on Elliot’s lap = he’s hotter than usual. “Can I hold Socks?”