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I clinked my glass to his. “Cheers to what?”
I could feel the first stages of panic lurking in the shadows of my mind. But here in this conversation, I could distract myself in the warm glow of his attention.
Those icy eyes locked onto mine unapologetically. “To meeting good company in the midst of poor company among all this bland talk of companies. To meeting a conversationalist instead of a conventionalist. To meeting a fellow mind whose interest in talking business is limited to minding our own.”
Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “We don’t have any business.”
“Yet,” he said with a Cheshire Cat grin. “Want to make some?”
I shot him a look and almost shrieked because his face wasright there,looking down at me.
He quickly looked away, his sculpted lips shaping into that wide smirk again.
I thought of a cat sitting on a shelf just out of reach. The kind that catch you staring and look away with that ‘myes, admire me’expression.
Frustration flared in my gut. Sam made me want something intangible, then jerked it out of my reach at the very last second. It wasn’t a kiss I wanted. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, exactly. But I knew it had something to do with his eyes.
I wanted them back on me.
And just like that, he tilted his head and they were.
My heart pounded, but my anxiety was nowhere to be found. The shadows are smallest when the sun’s directly overhead.
I looked up into his eyes and instead of shadows, I saw a deep, endless sadness. He blinked and it was gone. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not,” I said quickly. “I’m just… I’m not used to this.”
“Not used to what?” he asked, turning and grazing my arm.
Goosebumps puckered on my skin. “Trying to keep up.”
His lips cracked open to reveal his dazzling white smile. “Really? You’re not having fun?”
“I’m thinking too hard to have fun,” I blurted out.
“What a shame. Thinking hard is one of my favorite hobbies. Beats hardly thinking.”
A beat of silence passed—a gap in the conversation I longed to fill. It was my turnto fill it; he was giving me the opportunity to lead this dance.
I could ask him a question about himself to keep him talking. Anything to keep him here. But every potential question that bubbled to the forefront of my mind seemed juvenile, disingenuous, or stupid.
Nothing felt good enough.
“So…” he said slowly.
Did I want this to be spicy? Sweet? Clever and bitter?
Disgrace flung open my mental cabinets and threw hundreds of potential ingredients to the floor.
My stupid thoughts needed time to pass through a fine filter before I could add them to our simmering conversation. My fingers fidgeted, kneading the base of my naked ring finger.
He quirked a thick eyebrow at me as the silence stretched between us.
This was it. The reason why someone like him would never choose to be with someone like me. I could see it written all over his face—he was rendering me into a shape. I wasn’t an x oroh,but a square. A slow, predictable prude without any charm. My thoughts quickened and I couldfeelthe emotional fissure between us widen. As each grain of time trickled into the abyss, it revealed the naked truth engraved in the bedrock of our flimsy foundation:
I couldn’t keep up with him.
To make things even more awkward, a cool gust of wind whipped through my hair and sent it flying across my face like a cobweb. Andoh my God,did I just see a white hair?!
