Page 72 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“You said we lived too far apart, so I’m staying nearby.” His brows slant. “You didn’t think I came here just to sleep with you, did you?”

“You don’t want to sleep with me?” My words come out stilted and confused.

“Of course I do. But rule number one for getting a woman to fall for you is to always leave her wanting more. Sleep tight, sweetheart. I’ll be in touch.” He heads for his Land Rover.

Fall for you?

Dumbfounded, I watch him drive away, fully expecting him to turn around and tell me he’s only kidding and rush back to me. I don’t know how long I stand there waiting for the headlights to reappear, but it’s long enough for the lust to clear from my head and embarrassment to settle in. I look at my neighbors’ houses, hoping they didn’t witness me practically climbing Clay like a tree.

After failing to distract myself with work, television, and ice cream, I’m lying in bed, wearing Clay’s jersey, overthinking. I can’t believe he’s here in Charlottesville, much less that he just left me on the porch. Why would he leave if he’s here just for the night? Even if he’s here for the weekend, wouldn’t he want this time together? In Paris he wanted more time with me, not less. I can’t make sense of it. Is he waiting for me to ask him to come back?

Ohmygod. I’m such an idiot. Of course he is! He made a monumental effort. Now it’s my turn.

I grab my phone and thumb out a text. Do you want to come over? That makes me sound desperate. I delete it and type, What are you up to? That sounds too buddyish. I start over. Dinner was great. Are you hungry for dessert?

Ugh. I delete the cheesy offer.

I officially suck at text flirting when not prompted by him.

I thumb out, I had a great time tonight. Want to make it even better? That sounds cheesy, too. I go through a half dozen more bad iterations and finally settle on something that feels less pushy.

Me: Hi.

Clay: Hi beautiful. Thinking of me?

Me: Overthinking.

Clay: I’m a lot to think about.

Me: Yes you are.

Me: What are you doing?

Clay: Working off some pent-up energy.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard, and I debate texting, I can help you with that.

A picture pops up of him wearing shorts and a T-shirt, taken in a mirror at a gym. He left me to go work out? That doesn’t make me feel very good.

Me: I didn’t know gyms were open this late.

Clay: It’s a home gym.

Me: You mean at the hotel?

Clay: No. I’m renting a house. It has a full gym.

He rented a whole house for the weekend? I guess that’s what you do when you’re a big-time quarterback.

Me: Are you really here just to see me?

Clay: Yes.

Clay: You said you were too busy for a long-distance relationship. Now we’re in the same town.

Clay: You can get your work done and when you have downtime I’ll be right around the corner.

Shocked, I read his messages again. He did that for me. For me. After I tried to end things. Twice. That takes a minute to process, and happiness blooms inside me.