Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (i am reading a book TXT) 📗

Only this time, my churning stomach isn’t caused by the yummy fragrance but by my foolish behavior.

It’s not just my poor choice of words that makes me feel guilty. My hasty comment betrayed that I’m more than interested in Devon’s private affairs.

As the doors close, the air seems to densify around us, and I struggle to breathe.

Elevators always accentuate social weirdness to an unbearable level. Maybe it’s due to the restriction of space, or the neon lights, or the feeling that I’m not anchored to the ground.

Without knowing why I’m even speaking, I begin to prattle. “Did you know they did an experiment where a man stood with his back to the elevator door while everyone else faced forward?”

Devon’s impassive face tells me he couldn’t care less about what I’m jabbering.

But since speaking seems to ease the lump in my throat, I continue, “You know what happened? Everybody got nervous because the man was acting differently than expected. People made self-soothing gestures, and they only calmed down once the man turned to look at the door, too.”

“Self-soothing gestures? Like?” Devon lifts a brow.

“Mhmm, like hugging oneself, playing with one’s shirt, fiddling with the strap of a bag or…” I chew on my lip, thinking what else I could add.

I’m glad my story finally gripped Devon’s interest and distracted him from his grim mood.

“Chewing on one’s lip?” Devon reaches out and brushes his thumb against my mouth without actually touching me.

His finger is so close I can feel his warmth on my lower lip.

I swallow. “Yes, that too.”

“Are you nervous now, Laia?” Devon takes a small step toward me.

Why is it so sultry in here? Did somebody switch off the air-conditioning?

“I’m not nervous,” I mumble.

Devon captures my gaze and inches a half-step forward. “Still not nervous?”

I shake my head because I can’t trust my voice.

Devon is standing in my closest socially acceptable circle. One more step would put him into unacceptable proximity. One where I’d feel his breath on my cheeks…

Devon takes another half-step.

“And now? Not nervous at all?” he asks.

Yesssss. “No,” I whisper, while I peek up at his face

“Strange…” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes not leaving mine. “I would have thought standing this close to someone who’s supposed to be only about seducing women…an ultimate playboy…would make a person with your impeccable moral standards uneasy.”

“My impeccable moral standards? What are you talking about?”

Devon sniffs. “You’re not the only one who’s made assumptions about the other. I also sized you up, Laia, based on our talk on Friday.” My name is but a soft caress from his lips.

“And what conclusions did you draw?” I force myself not to drop my gaze.

I brought this confrontation on myself, and I don’t want to be the usual coward and back out of it without understanding what Devon thinks about me.

“I think you’re someone who won’t settle for anything but perfection. You want your relationships to be magical, the swipe-me-off-my-feet, make-me-swoon-and-promise-the-sky kind of thing. I wonder how many times you found that kind of bliss…” He brushes a tendril behind my ear. “Not too many, right?”

His fingers sear on my skin, and there’s that coquettish glint in his eyes as if he were challenging me into something—something that I realize I want more than anything.

I gawk at him, while a crazy urge to bend forward builds in my chest.

Am I such a hot mess because I have no real experience with men? Is my decision about waiting for the right one biting me in the butt and turning me into a horny teenager?

However disturbing this idea sounds, I still like it better than the other option. The one that would mean that my desires are explicitly related to Devon’s persona.

And my budding feelings for him.

“No. I didn’t find whom I’m looking for yet,” I say. “But true love is worth waiting for.”

His eyes widen, and his lips part a little. “Waiting? Are you saying that you…? That you never…?”

My silence answers his question.

A troubled frown settles on his face.

“I’m sorry, Laia. I don’t know what came over me.” He shakes his head. “It must’ve been your comment about me being a playboy…it made my blood boil. I wanted to…” He rubs his neck, dropping his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

He recoils to the opposite wall of the elevator.

How did I end up in this conversation? I never meant to discuss my virginity with him.

But it’s not only what I revealed to him that squeezes my belly like I’ve been kicked in the guts. It’s the realization that Devon acted provocatively because I infuriated him with my judgmental remark.

I’d contemplated how it would be to kiss him, while he was only taunting me with his player charm to school me.

“It’s okay,” I say, but almost gag on the humiliation that closes up my throat.

Devon holds out his hand. “Forgive me?”

“Yep. No problem.” I put my hand in his, though I know it’s bound to make me feel worse.

And it certainly does.

The buzzing in my palms and the leftover flutters in my chest make it clear I’m more than just a victim of my hormones. There’s something more to my reaction.

The elevator beeps. Devon lets go of my hand and dashes out.

I stay behind and press my hands on my cheeks. How could I assume Devon was being genuinely flirty with me?

So dumb of me. 

No, I need to stop whining. This is something the old Laia would do. But I’m trying to build a new me, a stronger and more resilient one. And to do that I need to find the positive points in everything.

I take a deep inhale.

Looking at it from another angle, this humiliating exchange with Devon has been useful. It showed me that even if I were to disregard us being opposites, I still couldn’t become his love interest.

Which is no surprise. He dates women like Vanessa, Morgan, and those others from the tabloids.

This is an empowering realization. I don’t have to interpret my unsettling feelings about Devon.

I should be ecstatic that this burden