Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

47/

i like you honest but inappropriate.

rafael

We spend Thursday morning working side by side at the dining room table; Charlie writing, and me answering emails and checking in with the team at Aegis. Though she’s put her contacts back in, I kept my glasses on. Contacts post-migraine are a big no for me.

When I take my call, I find Charlie peering over her laptop a few times. I pipe in with a few comments here and there, but I mostly listen to the call until the end, when someone asks if I have anything to add. “Yeah, thanks for asking, Miguel. I’d love to see if we can add a few more scholarships to the Dream Big Foundation fund. I’ll match whatever amount you think we can manage.” I see a few nods and continue, “Thanks, everybody. I know I sound like a broken record, but I appreciate the work you’re putting into this. I couldn’t do it without you all. I hope you know that.” I smile at the faces on the screen and find Charlie watching me with wide eyes. “And remember: Never play hide and seek with Asha and Sam. You can’t hide anything from the finance department.” I laugh and watch as most of them give me a pitiful laugh. “Have a great day, everyone.” I leave the call and close my laptop, finding blue eyes still fixed on me.

“Did you just make a finance joke?” She tips her head, and I instantly feel dumb for what I said. An accounting joke while sitting across from Charlie, of all people?

“Ugh. It was bad, I know. I just always like to close on a good note, and I couldn’t think of anything else.” I scratch the back of my neck.

“So, you always thank your team profusely and make jokes when you meet with them?” Her eyebrows raise in curiosity.

“Uh, yeah. I guess. Owen is the serious CEO, and I’m the one who makes jokes. It’s a good balance, I think.” My shoulders rise on a shrug, and I feel the self-consciousness creep in when she doesn’t respond. “Is that bad?”

“Oh, no. No, it’s just different. No executive at my firm has ever made a joke or said thank you during a meeting. It just—” She pauses, her brows furrowing in thought. “It doesn’t surprise me that you do, and it’s nice. You’re nice. To everyone.” With a small smile, she goes back to whatever she was doing on her laptop.

Nice.

She’s told me I’m nice before, and I don’t know what exactly that means. I don’t know if she’s trying to tell me something with this word, but I do know I don’t want to ask her right now.

“You hungry?” I settle on making lunch plans instead.

She places a hand on her stomach and looks up at me. “I am, actually.”

“How does a Greek salad with some grilled chicken sound? I checked the fridge, and I have everything I need for that.” She doesn’t seem repulsed by the idea, but I can tell there’s a debate happening in her head. “Or I can do literally anything else.”

She shakes her head and stands, her lips fixed in a straight line. “I just don’t want you to feel like you always have to cook for me.”

I walk to the other side of the table and watch as she paces back and forth for a few seconds.

“And I also don’t like red onions. But I feel badly telling you that because I don’t want to seem ungrateful.” She winces. Before she can say anything else, apologize or whatever it is she’s about to do because she thinks this is some kind of inconvenience for me, I stop her pacing with my hands on her arms.

I rub a few circles on her biceps. “I like cooking. I like cooking for you.” Giving my words a moment to sink in, I lower my face to hers. “And I don’t like red onions either. Especially raw. Gross.” I make a face, and her smile lifts her cheeks.

“You’re not just saying that?” Her eyes finally meet mine.

“I would never. You can check my pantry if you want. Not a single red onion in there.” I challenge her with raised brows.

She shakes her head. “All right then. But I’d like to help.”

“Yeah? Okay. Let’s do this, carrot cake. Let’s cut up some veggies!” I give her a little shake, and she responds with a giggle. Making Charlie giggle is my favorite thing to do.

“Okay, weirdo.” She rolls her eyes, and fuck, it’s nearly impossible not to throw her over my shoulder and show her what that eye-roll does to me. But we’re just hanging out today. As friends? I don’t know.

It turns out that just spending time with Charlie and keeping my hands off her is exactly as excruciating as I assumed it would be. I’ve thought about kissing her about as often as I’ve blinked these last few hours. I don’t know if she can sense my struggle because she doesn’t seem to be suffering from the same withdrawals. Of course not, though. This isn’t anything more than a practice run for her. At least that’s what she keeps telling me, and no doubt herself. But I’m not sure I’m buying it anymore.

By mid-afternoon, I’m finished with any work things I needed to accomplish, so I leave Charlie to concentrate on whatever she’s doing and excuse myself to get a workout in. I’m antsy as fuck, and I need to move my body.

After a warm-up and a very intense upper body workout, I decide I haven’t had enough and pull the skipping rope from the wall, using my usual playlist with mostly upbeat songs I can skip to. This and running are the two guaranteed ways to shut my brain off and exhaust my body enough to get rid of the constant fidgety feelings.

I don’t realize my eyes are closed until I hear her voice. “You’ve got to be bloody joking me.” It looks like she’s standing with her arms crossed, but I can’t see shit because I took my glasses off before starting my workout.

Just as I place them back on my face, she raises her hands, which are holding her phone, and snaps a photo. “I need proof of this. No one would ever believe you exist otherwise.”

“What do you mean?” I chuckle at her expression, not missing the slight blush on her cheeks and neck. “How long were you standing there?”