Page 72 of Sexy

“Huh,” he says, laughing out the word. “Classic self-loathing, Tiffy. You don’t think you’re good enough. You’re so sure I could never like you for real, you decide to fuck it all up and ditch me first before you can get hurt.”

“What are you talking about? We fucked last night, nothing more.”

“Really? That’s all it was? You didn’t feel any connection with me at all?” He pauses again, but I get the feeling he’s got more to say and I can’t help but be intrigued. So I stay silent. “Because I did. It was fun, Tiff. But it was more than fun. It was nice. And I was seriously hoping you had real feelings for me. Because I’d like to get to know you better.”

I don’t know what to say to that. A childish insult just seems wrong. What if he is sincere? Would I want him?

He’s definitely hot. So yeah, I guess there’s that. But his personality, God, what do I do with that? He’s a callous player. He thinks love is a game. He’s out for himself. And he’s a stripper, for Pete’s sake. How will a man like him care for me? He’s a I’m-gonna-walk-out-on-you kind of guy if ever there was one. I just know it. The minute I depend on him, those true colors will come through and he’ll leave me. Just like my real father did to my mother. Cole is the stable choice. Just like Randall was the stable choice for my mom. “It’s not about me being good enough for you, Fletcher. It’s whether you’re good enough for me.”

Silence.

And then hang-up beeps.

I just stare at the phone. What the fuck was that? Since when does he have feelings? Like any feelings? He’s Mr I Have No Feelings! And we have one night of great sex and I’m supposed to believe he’s changed? How the fuck does that make sense?

Just put him out of your mind, Tiffy. He’s no one. He’s using you. He’s the worst kind of player. Because maybe he does have an inkling of emotion in him beyond lust, but I just know he’s a flight risk. I can see it now. I tell him what he wants to hear, we have a few great weeks of hot sex, and then he’s on to the next project. That’s all girls are to him. Projects.

“Fuck that. I’m not a project.”

But I am. Because I made a deal with him to get Cole.

No. It’s not the same, Tiffy. Nothing he did helped me. Cole wasn’t interested in me when I was flirting. He was the opposite of interested. He only became interested when I was real. When I put myself out there without any help from Fletcher and made my move. I’m the one who got him excited about having dinner with me today. I’m the one who took a chance. And Fletcher had nothing to do with that. Cole likes me when I’m me. Fletcher just likes me when I’m naked.

I take a deep breath and pull on some shorts and a tank top. I’m going to the spa. I’m gonna relax for the whole day, and then get prettied up and meet Cole for dinner. I’m not gonna waste my chance with the possibility of a maybe from Fletcher Novak. No way.

Chapter Twenty-Six

My spa time is anything but relaxing. My conversation with Fletcher dominates my thoughts. Why now? Why, when life seems to be going just the way I planned, does he have to try to convince me he’s changed his stripes?

I don’t understand. I’m not equipped to understand, if I’m being honest. I’m not a player. I should never have gotten mixed up with Fletcher. He’s way out of my league.

And that thought stops me again. Do I really think that? Is he right? Do I think he’s too good for me and all that shit I spewed at him this morning was just a way to cover up the fact that I feel unworthy of a looker like Fletcher?

“Owww,” I whine at the masseuse.

“You need to relax, Miss Preston. Your neck is bunched up tight as a fist. Let go and let me help you.”

I let out a long sigh and try to relax my shoulders. God, even the staff thinks I’m uptight. “You know what? I’m just not into it today. I’ve had enough.” I sit up, clutching the towel to my chest. Marie, the masseuse, looks hurt. Like she did something wrong. “It’s not you, Marie. I just have too much on my mind. I can’t relax right now. How about I come back later this week and we try this spa day again?”

“OK, Miss Preston,” she says, gathering up her oils. “You just give us a call when you’re ready and I will clear my schedule for you.” She squeezes my shoulder. “But don’t let it go too long. Stress isn’t good for you.”

I smile, get up off the table, and let her walk me to the door. “Thanks. I’ll try.”

I leave the massage room and go back to the lockers to take a hot shower and wash off the oil. The water feels good, but it’s not enough to calm me down. My heart has been beating fast since I hung up with Fletcher this morning. I just can’t get his words out of my mind. What are the chances that he’s genuinely interested in me?

But then I hear my dad’s voice in my head again. You will never know if people like you for your money or just for who you are.

He’s right. Fletcher seems to be preoccupied with money. So much so that he took me on like a charity case to keep his job. There is a very real possibility that the only reason he’s interested is because of who I’m related to.

But I don’t know. That little speech he gave me out on the rocks seems to contradict all those assumptions. He’s scrappy, he said. He can take care of himself. He doesn’t need my job offer and he’s got other jobs already lined up.

So how do I fit these pieces together?

I don’t know.

I just get out of the shower and tug a new pair of shorts and a tank top back on. I grab my purse and slip my feet into my flipflops and head to the stairs that will take me back to the main lobby.

As soon as I get there, I smell food from the bar and realize I haven’t eaten all day. Maybe that will ease my nerves? Some good old comfort food from the bar. I ease my way past the bustling waitresses and the customers and make my way to an empty booth in back. A waitress I haven’t seen before nods to me and holds up a finger, telling me she will be over in a minute.