Page 15 of Never Say Never

"Is that a line you use often?"

My head fell to the side as I tried to think of which line he was referring to. "What?"

"We can act like it never happened. You want me to forget it all?"

No. I bit my tongue, reminding myself that it was my team leader I was talking to. Not only that, he was actively trying to bring each of my brothers down.

"It's to put you at ease."

"Does it work on others?"

I laughed, playing off how uncomfortable it made me. "I'm not forgettable, so no."

"You're not wrong."

"Huh?" Did I hear him right?

"Fine, dinner." York cleared his throat. "It can't hurt, right?"

"Right." I wasn't so sure about that anymore, but regardless I'd gotten York Washington to agree to a dinner. "Let's meet in the upper west side in an hour?" I checked the clock on my computer screen to make sure I could make it there in time.

"Yeah, why not?” York said. “Should I wear something specific?"

"Wear whatever you would on a date."

York's silence was telling. "I haven't been on one of those in a while. At least not a successful one."

"The bad ones don't count. Just like anyone who cums in the first two minutes of sex, it just never happened."

"Your logic is severely warped. I'd suggest a psych eval but I know all of them are no longer able to see you."

I groaned. Sleeping around hadn't been an issue before, but I hadn't thought in a million years I'd be getting this close to my boss either. "About that."

"You don't have to explain, Paul. I know what kind of man you are."

"That's not all I'm good at. I can show you a good time in and out of bed."

"I'll see you in an hour." York hung up the phone, and I was left still reeling from the fact that he’d called at all.

Jumping out of the desk chair, I headed toward my closet with little to no plan. I knew why I needed to get close, and it had everything to do with work, but I couldn't crush the excitement bubbling under the surface. One small taste of York had only fed the fire of desire I'd carried around for him since we met.

My email chimed on my computer, pulling my thoughts away from York for a split second. A quick glance let me know the chick in the filing department wanted to meet up for drinks. Sleeping with her to get the restricted files was easy, but meeting up with her wasn't going to fly.

I sent a quick reply that was straight to the point. They knew what kind of guy I was. No strings attached, but for some reason every now and then there was someone who swore they could change me. Make me into the loving, doting man they craved. I wasn't anyone's husband material.

Another chime came through. I didn't bother to check her response, instead, I finished getting ready. I opted for the black button up, rolled up my sleeves, and paired it with dark slacks. My hair was still bright blond, like I was some fuck toy from California instead of the dark brown tan that I was steadily missing. I popped the blue contacts in. One look in the mirror, and I let out a series of curses.

"I look like a gangster wannabe." Like I grew up in a mansion and never saw a real fight a day in my life, let alone killed anyone. The shirt was off and tossed halfway across the room before I strolled back into the closet. I put on and threw off five more shirts. Work attire was out as well. I needed to make sure York didn't think about the job for a second while we were at dinner. The moment he did, I knew he'd walk away. He was a by-the-book kind of guy.

I grabbed a light brown sweatshirt off the hanger and moved to the mirror holding it up to my body trying to see if it worked. A black chain and matching watch and it would go together. I grabbed my black loafers and checked the time before spritzing myself with my cologne. Time wasn't on my side, but I couldn't very well not show up to dinner not looking like a wet dream. I brushed my hair back, hating the bleach blond more than ever, but knowing damn well I couldn't do anything about it. A few strands artfully fell forward and I left them before racing out the door. I made sure to throw all four locks, and headed out. Five flights of stairs did little to take off the edge of energy bouncing around inside of me.

I spotted my reasonably priced Toyota, a car meant for a normal man. Paul Gallo was the embodiment of normal. I personally would have preferred something more flashy, but that was meant for another lifetime. Before I knew it, I was driving through New York traffic with ease. My mind was on one person as I headed toward the upper west side. Everything passed in a blur. Traffic lights were nothing more than obstacles I attempted to avoid, and traffic was a pain.

I checked the time on the dash more times than I slowed down for pedestrians. I flipped a few off as they thought it was the perfect time to walk in the middle of the goddamn street. My knuckles blanched as I tightened them around the steering wheel. The thought of running them over, even the sweet old lady, was tempting, but then I'd be even later than I already was.

I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. Now it looked like I asked him out and stood him up. Ringing took the place of Run DMC. York's name was on the screen, and for the second time today, I was shocked.

I didn't hesitate as I clicked the green button to answer.