Forces of Nature

Time To Go To Work (teaser)

I was his boss!

Well, technically I was the boss of his boss several times over. Just how high did the chain of command go before you reached the top? Not that I could use that as an excuse for the way Tyson was being treated at work.

Hey, sorry to hear your basic rights as an employee are being abused, but maybe you could cut a girl some slack seeing as I'm soooo far removed from the situation I had no idea it was happening right under my nose. No, I'm not blind, it just never occurred to me that my company would hire a racist prick.

Yeah, right. That conversation would go over splendidly.

"Noah?"

I startled, both at Tyson's voice and at his fingertips sliding across my cheek.

"You good? You kinda look like you've seen a ghost."

I blinked at him, trying to quell the panic tightening my chest. "Hmm? No, yeah, yes, I'm fine, perfect, everything's dandy, I was just –"

The sound of a phone ringing cut across me, and also gave me one hell of a fright. I yelped, and would have thrown myself completely off the bed if Tyson hadn't been caging me in with his arms braced either side of me.

Giving me a bemused look, Tyson sat back on his haunches and dug his phone out of his back pocket. His free hand landed on my thigh, and I zeroed in on the heat I could feel through the flimsy barrier of my tights. It was a welcome distraction, or it would have been if it hadn't also brought with it the realisation that I was lying on Tyson's bed, completely topless and with my pants pulled down just enough to expose the top curve of my butt.

Holy teenage hormones, Batman!

Had I really been this close to showing Tyson my birthday suit? The answer to that was obvious. But while I hadn't minded in the heat of the moment, I was feeling more than a little self-conscious now that things had cooled down a little.

Frowning at the display, Tyson murmured, "It's my sister. She knows you and I are hanging out today, so she wouldn't call unless –"

I waved a hand at him. "Emergency or not, she's your sister. Answer it, it's fine, I'm fine, we're fine." And for the love of all that was holy, could I just stop babbling?

Squeezing my thigh, Tyson got to his feet, deftly buttoned his jeans, and walked out into his tiny living room to answer the call. The second he was out of sight I shot up off the bed like I'd been electrocuted, yanking my pants back into place and scanning the room for my bra and shirt. The latter was nowhere to be found, but my bra was sitting on the floor right beneath my foot. I was so frazzled and frantic that I snapped myself with my bra strap twice before I managed to get it done up, and in lieu of going on an extended manhunt for my lost shirt, I snatched up one of Tyson's long sleeved Henleys from his clean washing pile and slipped it on over my head. It hit me mid-thigh, and I had to push the sleeves back to free my hands, but it served the purpose of preserving my modesty as I slipped from the bedroom and went in search of Tyson to spew some kind of excuse at him so I could flee.

Never let it be said that I was mature. Or that I liked confrontation. Or that when in fight or flight mode, my desire to fight won out.

As it turned out, I didn't need to flounder for an excuse. Thank goodness, because the only thing my panic saturated brain could scrape together was: I have to leave right now because my dog ate my homework. If I blurted that out, not only would I paint myself as the world's lousiest liar, but I'd also look sketchy and like I was hiding something. Which I was, but that was so not the point.

I nearly collapsed in gratitude when I padded the entire six feet that was Tyson's main living area and he turned toward me, pocketing his phone. A scowl marred his handsome features, and he swiped a hand through his hair in agitation.