Page 19 of Learning at 40

“Play?” he questions.

“You know, remember what it was like to be a boy again.” Isn’t it that men never really grow up? The little boy is still inside them even when they’re over twenty, forty, sixty.

He’s silent a moment, pondering perhaps before he says, “I also want to thank you for making Anna smile.” I’d learned earlier that Ben, the friend who passed away, was Anna’s husband. Also, Anna and Zack’s mothers were best friends, and it’s another connection between the couples. In addition, Ben’s younger sister recently married Logan, one of the friends. Their friendships interweave in so many ways, it could make a person envious.

“It was nothing, handsome,” I say, uncomfortable with so much gratitude.

“You called Mason handsome earlier today.” He pauses, directing those silvery eyes at me. “I didn’t like it.”

Oh. Oh! “Is that why you’re really here?” He can’t possibly be jealous of me giving his flirtatious friend a nickname. Mason’s face might be handsome, but his ego is big enough to fill the lake.

“I’m really here because I’d like to make up the other night to you. The one when I watch—”

I hold up a hand to stop him. “Are we really going there again?”

Zack swipes a hand through his hair while the other dangles his wineglass outside his leg. He averts his eyes. “I’m a bit out of practice at this.”

“Out of practice with what?” I tilt my head.

“Flirting.” His eyes quickly shift to mine and away before he lifts his wineglass and takes a hasty drink.

“Oh, are you flirting with me?” I tease, arching a brow and fighting a grin. He’s so flustered, and it’s kind of cute although cute does not do him justice. With his finger-combed hair and shifting silver eyes, his frustration flatters me.

“See, I’m shit if you can’t tell.” He softly chuckles and turns his head in the direction of the lake. His eyes pinch. Vulnerability vibrates just beneath his overwhelming sense of confidence, and that hint plucks at my heartstrings.

“What exactly is it you think you need to make up to me from that night?” He has no idea I didn’t complete my mission in the yard.

“You shouldn’t have been alone.” His eyes narrow in on mine. “You deserve to have someone between those thighs, worshipping you with fingers and lips and tongue.”

Oh my. I pull at the collar of my dress. “You might be better at this than you think.”

A gleam sparkles in his eyes as his hand lands on my thigh and strokes upward, massaging the top of my leg. Instantly, my skin hums. My center pulses.

“How long will you be in town?” I ask, surprising myself. Where am I going with this thought?

“Two weeks from last Sunday.” He’s already a few days into his stay. “I could offer a ten-day fling.” His fingers squeeze tighter on my leg, but it’s his voice that throws me off. He’s too monotone to sound flirtatious.

“Are we negotiating something?” My voice rises before I bite the inside of my cheek and lean forward. His knees tap the outsides of my thighs, and he takes another sip of his wine. Could I do this with him? Could I accept the terms of ten days? I study him as he swallows. The roll of his Adam’s apple. His sculpted cheekbones. The artful scruff on his jaw. Another question comes to mind.

“Don’t you think you should kiss me before you decide you want a fling?” I’m teasing him. Maybe flirting with him. Definitely encouraging him to take the first step.

He stares at me, his gaze dropping to my mouth where I lick my lower lip, and he mimics the motion as if he can already taste the moisture from mine on his.

“My grandfather used to say if you want something, you should ask for it.” My voice drops as I speak. I don’t think Grandpa was implying kisses exactly.

“I thought I just did,” he counters.

“Let’s be specific.”

“I don’t like confrontation.”

Are we arguing? “Aren’t you a lawyer?” I learned earlier today he’s a prominent attorney in Detroit as well as a business partner in a new venture with his friends. Tipping up my wineglass, I take a fortifying drink while I wait on his answer.

“I am, but I don’t like to argue outside the courtroom.”

“This is a negotiation then. Or a compromise, perhaps.” My heart beats faster. What am I doing? I am not supposed to be flirting with him.

“I don’t want to have to think.” His directness doesn’t surprise me. Blunt could almost be his middle name. He continues to stare at me. His gaze is hard while hesitant in one searing look.