10

The music app must have been open and he must have accidentally touched it. Shit. George Michael's “Father Figured” plays, and his brows rise as the suggestive chorus begins. My mouth goes dry, realizing the content of the lyrics. I quickly grab my phone and turn it off. He lets out a laugh. What a max. Then he straightens up, clearing his throat. '80s music, huh? I run my hands through my hair, sliding the phone into his back pocket. “Yeah, I wasn't kidding. After a moment, I look up and see him looking at me, the trace of a smile in his eyes. His gaze darts to the side, and he leans over, picking up one of the architecture and decor magazines I didn't see that had fallen out of my bag on the kitchen table. “And it's Aaron,” he says, handing me the magazine. — No, Mr. Browns, okay? He's so close I feel butterflies in my stomach, and I'm unable to look at him. I pick up the magazine and wave, still unable to meet his eyes. He goes back to his duties, and I turn to leave, but I stop an