Caught Up in Us by Lauren Blakely Read Free Book Online Page A

I intended to be so cool, casual and goddamn witty
that words would become my shield to protect me from any stupid
leftover feelings for him. Vestigial feelings, of course.
    “Know what else I’d ban if I were
president?”
    “Cauliflower?”
    He laughed. Damn, I was on
fire.
    “Actually, I was
going to say those asparagus that have stalks the size of baseball
bats. So you were kind of close. But I’d also abolish the
word mois t.”
    I curled my
nose. “That word must be destroyed. Along with slacks .”
    He made a
slashing motion with his hand. “ Pants . Only pants !” Bryan gestured to the drink
holder. There were three coffee drinks in it. “As
promised.”
    “Someone joining
us?”
    “No. I brought you the black
coffee with a dollop of cream. And I also brought a caramel
macchiato. In case you were just pretending you liked black
coffee,” he said, then flashed a flirty smile.
    “Why would I pretend I liked black
coffee?” I kept my tone serious, even though he’d seen through me,
and against my better judgement, I found I liked it. But I wasn’t
going to let him know that.
    “Who knows? But mostly, I just
wanted to see if I could remember —” he started, then corrected
himself. “I meant, guess. I wanted to see if I could guess what
kind of coffee drink you really liked.”
    I looked from the coffee to the
macchiato to Bryan. I let my hand hover over the first drink, then
the second, as if it were a shell game. “Hmmm. Did he guess right?
I wonder, wonder, wonder.”
    He raised his eyebrows
expectantly. I reached for the coffee and took a drink. It tasted
like bitter sludge. I wanted to spit it out. I wanted to wince.
Instead, I took a long swallow and fixed on a fake smile. “Mmmm.
There is nothing like a coffee to get the day going.”
    He snapped his fingers in a
win-some, lose-some gesture. “Damn. I really thought you were still
a macchiato girl. I even got an extra shot of caramel in it too,”
he added.
    I took another drink. I’d never
liked coffee, but somehow the harsh taste was the reminder I needed
not to give in, even to the fact that he’d remembered the extra
shot.
    Soon, the car slowed to a stop and
the driver came around to open the door. I gave Bryan a quizzical
look. We’d only been driving for five minutes. “I thought we were
going to Philly?”
    “We are. By
train,” he said, then held out a hand.
    I waved him off. I didn’t need
help stepping out of the car. We walked into the train station,
down the escalator, to the tracks, and into the first class car. It
was quiet and air-conditioned, with leather-backed dove gray
seats.
    “Would you like
the window seat, Kat?”
    I nodded, then sat down, wishing I
didn’t find politeness, consideration and manners such a turn-on.
He sat next to me, his leg brushing against mine. I should have
shifted my body, moved a few inches away, but instead we simply
stayed like that, legs touching, as the train pulled out of
Manhattan and picked up speed. He answered emails on his phone, and
I read some chapters in a business book that had been assigned in
one of my classes.
    As we sped through the suburbs on
the way to his factory, I thought about the skater gal, and what I
would ask her if she were my mentor. I’d want to hear the story in
her own words of how she started her business. So I went with that,
closing the book and speaking in my best curious student voice.
Because that’s how I was going to act with him.
    “Would you tell me the story of
Made Here? I’ve read the version on your Web site, but I’d love to
hear it from you.”
    He put his phone away, and held my
gaze, and in that second I felt an electricity, a tightly coiled
line between the two of us. He had a way of making me feel as if he
were touching me, even if we were inches apart. Maybe it was
because he wasn’t afraid to look me in the eyes, or to hold onto
the look. Nor was he afraid to be close. Whatever the reason, the
effect was heady, and it was