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Oh, grow up, Lena, I scolded myself. You set the rules of sex only, don’t start bitching when he follows them.
Jeremy came back into the kitchen a few minutes later carrying the bottle of wine he had brought with him. “Care for a drink while I’m here?”
He didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave, so I got two glasses out of the cabinet and set them on the counter. Jeremy filled them almost to the brim and handed one to me.
He clinked his glass against mine. “To great sex,” he toasted.
It seemed an incredibly inelegant toast, but appropriate.
“Sure, here, here,” I muttered, downing half the glass.
Jeremy sipped on his, clearly not as eager as I was to get my buzz on. “So, did I interrupt anything? What are your plans for the evening?”
Were we doing chit-chat now?
“We don’t have to do this, you know.” I finished my wine and put down the glass a bit harder than necessary.
“I can’t ask a simple question?” he asked shortly.
I turned around and leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. “I mean, does it matter? It’s not as if you’re going to stick around to find out what I was going to do. And that’s okay. I have no expectations. You don’t need to pretend with me. The sex is fantastic. I won’t turn down a roll in the sheets because you didn’t ask me what my favorite color is.”
Jeremy didn’t say anything. He stared at me as if he were trying to read a very complicated text.
“Green,” he said finally.
“Excuse me?” I blinked in confusion.
“Your favorite color is green. I heard you tell Meg when she came by to talk about dresses for her wedding or something.” He lifted his shoulders nonchalantly.
“Uh, yeah, that’s right.” He’d thrown me off balance. It was unnerving. Not able to stand the discomfort, I turned on my Wi-Fi speaker, the jangled strains of my favorite band filling the void.
“You like System of a Down?” He looked at me as if I had grown an extra head.
“What? Did you expect me to listen to pop music or something? There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Wyatt.” I bobbed my head in time to the music.
“I’m figuring that out.” And he sounded pleased with that. The song ended, leading into something from Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors album. Jeremy started laughing outright.
“What now?” I demanded, wondering if I should be offended by his amusement.
Jeremy wrapped his arms around me and held me close, kissing the tip of my nose. “I love that you surprise me, Ducate. You’re a fascinating woman.”
I smacked at his chest. “Because of my taste in music? It seems you need to redefine what you find fascinating.”
Then we were laughing and dancing to my weirdly eclectic music collection, our bodies swaying along together in the middle of my kitchen.
He kissed me before I realized what was happening. It felt natural in a different way than sex with him was. This was easy. This was familiar.
This was as scary as hell.
I quickly pulled out of his arms, turning off the speaker and filled up my wine glass again. “Do you have plans tonight? I mean, what does Jeremy Wyatt do when he’s not tearing it up on the dance floor?” I teased, trying to keep the tone between us light.
I noticed that Jeremy filled his glass with water, which made me put down my wine, feeling like a lush. I was a nervous drinker. Which usually led to me becoming a sloppy drunk. Neither of which was particularly attractive.
“I don’t usually do much in the evening. I work out. Swim laps at the health club. Read the Financial Times. That’s about it.”
I made a face. “Sounds boring.”
“Oh, so I’m boring now, huh?”
I twirled a piece of hair around my finger. “Don’t you ever—I don’t know—watch TV and gorge on potato chips?”
Jeremy’s face became oddly still. “I’ve never really been a TV watcher. I don’t even own one.”
“You don’t own a television? What’s wrong with you?” I scoffed.
“I’ve never watched much TV. I don’t think that makes me strange.” He sounded defensive. As if I had pushed a button I hadn’t known was there.
“Not even when you were a kid? You’re telling me you didn’t wake up on Saturday mornings for cartoons? What kind of nutty child were you?” I asked with a laugh that he didn’t share. His mood had completely changed. I wished I could go back and not ask about TV. For some reason, it seemed to upset him.
Jeremy blew out a noisy breath and rubbed his forehead. “My childhood wasn’t like that.” He looked up at me, his eyes hard and intense.
“Like what?” I asked softly, feeling like we were swimming in uncharted waters. “What was your childhood like then?” Could I ask that? Was it my place? Did I have a right to pry? The truth was I wanted to know these secret, painful parts of him.
