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Okay, so that’s a little dramatic, even for me. I’m not dying, as far as I know. I’ve just come to the conclusion that I’m not “love-marriage-family” material. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m fourth-date material at this point. And I guess I’ve finally gotten sick of going out with women who can’t hold my attention, even if it’s just to keep up with appearances.
“Oh, I can’t imagine that,” Mrs. Guillory remarks, although she says it low enough to imply she didn’t mean for anyone to hear it.
My smile transforms into a cocky smirk. I’m used to garnering this kind of attention based on my looks, but I don’t mind. If checking me out gives her joy, then who am I to deny the woman a small slice of happiness? And I happen to think blurted-out compliments that were never intended to be said aloud are the highest form of flattery.
“I’d have been a poor date, anyway. Look at all these distractingly beautiful women at our table,” I offer, aiming a wink at Mrs. Guillory and making the other men roll their eyes.
Jada, our receptionist, gently nudges my ribs with her elbow. She doesn’t mind telling me when she thinks I’m full of it, probably because she’s even better than I am at using her customer-service flirt to get what she wants out of a client.
“Speaking of beautiful women, isn’t she a friend of yours?” I hear Jada whisper. She gestures with her eyes, and I glance up in time to catch Loren Reed walking by in a short, flowy dress and heels. My heart immediately begins thumping against my ribs, and my lungs struggle to keep working. Then I notice the man beside her, matching her stride and tilting his head down to listen as they make their way to a table.
I blink and remind myself to breathe as I continue watching. Her companion pulls out her chair, and she smiles up at him when she sits. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the night we spent together a couple of weeks ago, and I’m honestly not prepared for my reaction. The fact that she’s obviously moved on confirms she was being honest when she said our hookup didn’t mean anything to her. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here dateless, tracking her movements like a desperate creep.
Jada’s not wrong, either. Loren looks amazing. I’ve always thought she was beautiful in her own right, as if it were just a matter of fact. She’s also one of those big personalities in a small package, with her own distinct style and a natural confidence that allows her to pull off nearly anything she wears. Some of her fashion choices seem a bit quirky at times, but she’s definitively cute, dare I say appealing in a sexy-librarian kind of way.
It also turns out that she looks just as good in nothing at all. And that our bodies complement each other extremely well.
Like,really,reallywell.
Shit.
Now I’m thinking about things I really shouldn’t be again.
I clear my throat and bring my attention back to the table. “Uh, yeah, she was Tenley’s maid of honor the other day. And we graduated together,” I finally reply to Jada.
“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully in response. Then she turns to her husband. “Pretty girl, isn’t she?”
Aaron shrugs and looks back and forth between us. “Sure. She doesn’t seem like Blake’s type, though.”
“She’s not,” I reply too quickly, and Jada lifts an eyebrow.
“You don’t think she’s attractive, then?”
I sniff indignantly. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, good. Because I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you just looked at her,” Jada says plainly.
“I wasn’t looking at her any differently than I look at all the other women around here,” I lie, actively fighting the urge to turn my attention back to Loren. “If anything, I was just trying to recognize the guy she walked in with.”
“Uh-huh,” Aaron starts. “And that’s not bothering you, either?”
I swallow hard, my eyes skirting over to them again. I’m not jealous. But seeing Loren with another manisa blow to my ego, especially when I’ve already been struggling to mend the cracks she left by walking out on me that morning.
Unlike most of my experiences with women, it hadn’t just been physical with us. I divulged more to her that night than I had to anyone in my life, mostly because she made me feel so comfortable, so understood. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I didn’t need to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. So I let my guard down, most likely setting the stage for the intense connection I thought we’d shared that night.
Waking up the next morning with Loren in my arms had me thinking all sorts of crazy ideas, like maybe all that teasing and taunting we’d done over the years had actually been flirting. Maybe my lingering attraction to her hadn’t been one-sided after all, and this could be my chance to turn over a new leaf and give a real relationship a try. It’s not like I was ready for a serious commitment after a single night together, but I couldn’t imagine a more convenient opportunity to prove I was capable of more than serial dating and casual sex. And the idea of making that transition with Loren was even more appealing because she’s always been able to keep me on my toes.
I’d been wrong, though. The way she flinched and curled away from me when I attempted to hold her was like a punch to the gut. She immediately ruled out the possibility of me having any real interest or romantic feelings for her, probably because I’ve only ever been good at objectifying women, and reminded me that I’d never be worthy of love or a family of my own. And I still haven’t come to terms with her accusing me of only sleeping with her out of pity, then rubbing it in by implying she was the one who felt sorry for me.
Poor Blake the Snake, right?
It wasn’t the first time I’d made a fool of myself by assuming Loren was the one person who saw me as anything more than my reputation afforded, but I’ve learned my lesson. I’m sure as hell not setting myself up for it to happen again—with any woman.
I furrow my brow as I glance back to her table. Loren’s eyes meet mine, and her lips part in shock before she looks down.
Her date reaches over and brushes his hand over her shoulder, making me feel something deep in the pit of my stomach. Then the waiter approaches, and Mr. Touchy-Feely continues holding her arm while they speak. But I can’t stop staring at the spot where he’s rubbing his thumb over her silky-looking skin. I’m doing my best to look as unaffected as possible when he says something that triggers a head tilt and a laugh from her, but my best isn’t all that great right now.
She leans in closer to him, and I can’t take it anymore. I stand abruptly, mumbling an apology before I basically storm over to the table without a clue as to what I’m doing or why I’m stopping to stand directly behind her. Maybe I’m worried that this guy might make a real move on her, or maybe the urge to touch her is just too strong. At least her date has the sense to drop his arm when he sees me rest my hands on the back of Loren’s chair. Though, now I’m stuck having to avoid ogling her nearly bare shoulders and leaning in to check whether she still smells like roses.
