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“Do what?”
“Move to L.A. as soon as I legally can. You’re right. I can’t have it both ways, and time is running out for me. I have to give it an honest shot––” I’m nervous, talking quickly, this revelation suddenly so clear my heart is racing. “Leave nothing on the table.”
He slow nods in understanding and takes another bite of my ice cream, his eyes glued to the bottom of the container. And as I watch him something tender and fragile unfurls in my chest. Something that scares me.
“What’s with all the women you’re always running from?”
He turns to face me with one of his signature cocky smiles, but there’s something missing. Something he would have no problem hiding from someone that isn’t as adept at pretending and hiding as I am.
“Believe it or not, I’m considered a catch,” he replies without looking at me, his tone irreverent. Though I detect a sour edge.
“I don’t doubt it,” I murmur. “I don’t doubt the women of Manhattan would find you the crown jewel of bachelors.”
He’s gorgeous, smart, a decent human being. On top of that he’s also wealthy and successful. What’s not to like? Not my thing personally––hard not to look like Igor standing next to him. However, I could see how other, more ambitious women than myself would welcome the challenge. He would make quite a trophy.
And that’s when it dawns on me.
“You don’t like it. You’re not interested in women that are attracted to this,” I say, motioning up and down the delicious body draped on the couch with legs spread apart. The spoon pauses halfway to his mouth for a moment, then continues its journey to its sexy destination.
“You’re not.”
Maybe abstinence has robbed me of the ability to decipher all things male because I have no clue want he means. Is he bummed that I’m not into him? I sense a hidden question lurking beneath the surface, but who knows. Maybe I’m imagining it.
His eyes are still fixed on the bottom of the pint of ice cream. Annoying. I desperately want to see what the windows of his soul are telling me and I can’t from this vantage point on the dratted couch.
“No. Nothing about you is appealing to me. Not even a lil’ bit.”
Heavy lidded eyes peer back at me, a smirk decorating his mouth. “I’ve caught you staring at my ass, Jones.”
He thinks he can shake my confidence with this? This is child’s play to me.
“That’s because it’s so big. How exactly does one get a butt to bubble like that?”
His lips purse, pink blooms on his high cheekbones. I smother the urge to laugh in his face. It’s about time I had some fun at his expense.
“Skating. Lots of ice hockey when I was a kid. Tennis.”
“I’ve been to a couple of Rangers games and I have yet to see one that looks like yours,” I say, head shaking. “Yours is abnormally bubblicious.”
A coughing fit ensues, a lot of pounding on his chest. “I think you’ve made your point.”
“Besides, I’m not like other women––” For this, I get a snort. I go to lightly shove his hip with my foot and he grabs my ankle, wrapping his long fingers all the way around it, and squeezes.
That feels…crap, that feels good. Too good, in fact. I retract my leg and he lets go. “I’m done with relationships, and marriage is dead to me. It sleeps with the fishes. I never want to hear the word ever again. Besides I’ve got Garrett and Gabriel and the rest of the boys to keep me company.” If that doesn’t shut this topic down for good, I don’t know what will. I watch the corners of his lips creep up around the spoon in his mouth. “But enough about me. Why no girlfriend––or wife, for that matter?”
“Getting the job with the Titans is the only thing on my radar right now.”
“That savors strongly of bitterness,” I respond, quoting Pride and Prejudice. He doesn’t get it because, poor thing, he’s male. The confused quirk of his brow impels me to continue. “What happened? Did you get dumped in the tenth grade by Whitney the WASP queen for Chet the king of the yuppies?”
His expression turns pensive.
“Her name was––is, Hope. She’s a professional tennis player. And she didn’t dump me for Chet, she dumped me for Jake––my older brother.”
My face falls, all humor wiped away. I didn’t expect him to answer, which is why I’m surprised. My surprise, however, is quickly overshadowed by shame. All of a sudden I feel an inch tall. This has got to be tender territory, and with my mouth’s tendency to run as rampant as a bull in a china shop, I may have trampled it, as evidenced by the look on his face.
“Fancy––” I sigh.
“It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” He shrugs, shoveling more ice cream into his mouth. Eyes still ahead, not a single glance in my direction. After which, he licks his bottom lip and I’m back to ogling him. Somebody save me from myself.
