If you’d asked me this morning whether I’d be saying that specific combination of words together any time soon, I’d have laughed in your face.
A giggle bubbles up into my throat as Ares takes my hand to guide me back through the laundromat and out to his SUV.
I’m never showing him my house, or any of my clothes. Okay, he has to see my clothes, but as I slide into this freakishly shiny beast of a vehicle, I’m reminded of my very humble upbringing, compared to his… not at all humble anything.
It’s flashy inside the car, too. It’s almost as shiny as the exterior with lots of bells and whistles, and the more I stare at everything in Ares’s world, the more I feel like this was a huge, giant, gar-freakin-gantuan mistake.
I can’t date him. I can’t be his girlfriend. I can’t fit into his world of… peopling and riches.
I shiver. The idea of going to one of his hockey parties chills the blood in my veins. I’m not a party girl, and he’s all parties all the time. I don’t even like Champagne. Ew.
This will never… ever, never in a billion years, work. We need to call it off before it has a chance to fall apart.
Looking up and out the windshield I realize we haven’t yet left the parking lot of GTFO. When I turn to face Ares, he’s staring at me, concern marring his beautiful features.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He reaches over and tugs my hand away from my shirt and cups it with both of his. “You tell me,tesoro. You’re twisting the hem of your shirt like it owes you money and muttering under your breath like Lady Macbeth.”
I raise my brows, and his face turns pink. “She’s the ‘out damn spot’ one, right?” He’s adorable when he’s vulnerable, unsure of himself.
“She is.”
It’s damned spot, not damn, but I’m not correcting him out loud. His shoulders release as though finding out he wasn’t wrong was a big deal.
“You want to tell me what thoughts are racing through that head of yours,mi cariño?”
Clamping my mouth shut, I shake my head. Nope. I do not. The idea of letting him hear the level of anxiety that’s rattling around in my mind… yeah, no. That’s definitely a hard no.
He slides a knuckle under my chin and turns my head so I can face him. “Habla conmigo.”
I try to inhale a deep breath, but it snags in my chest. My shoulders are tight, and my palms are sticky. He’s probably groaning internally at having picked up my hand at all. This isn’t going to work. We should part ways and call it a day.
Wait, we should each take our pie and part ways, because there’s no way on Earth I’m smelling these smells and not tasting the goods.
Tori would love to share some pie, especially if it comes with a side of tea about the happenings in the stacks. If she knew about that pie place and didn’t tell me, I’m going to have to advertise for a new best friend.
He’s still staring at me, patiently waiting in silence, pointing those kissable lips right at me. I want to kiss him until he forgets that he asked me something, but I can’t. That would only be delaying the inevitable.
“This isn’t going to work, Ares.”
His frown deepens, but he stays quiet.
I sigh, pulling my clammy hand from his and placing it onto my lap.
Boundaries. Space. Defenses. Protection.
“You’re… well, you, and I’m… not.”
It all sounded great in the library when it was the two of us, and I was beyond desperate to have his hand in my pants, caught up in the lust. But in the cold light of day, it’s ridiculous.
“And who am I, exactly?”
“You’re the rich, hockey playing son of a rich man. You drive flashy cars, party hard, and do…stuffwith people in alleys and libraries.” I sound like an idiot as soon as the words are out of my mouth, but he’s kind enough not to laugh in my face.
He purses his lips. “And that means we can’t be together because…?”
“I hate parties, I drive an old car, I come from a family that doesn’t have much money and certainly doesn’t have any social standing… heck, I don’t even know the rules of hockey.”
