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“I don’t think your lack of commitment has anything to do with being hurt or the topic of conversations you heard, growing up. I think you’ve gone after the wrong kind of women, and I think you’ve done that intentionally.” She blinked, marrying her lips as though there were something on them. “A bachelor lifestyle ensures you don’t feel guilty when you work too much or when your friends ask you to go on vacation or when you get up extra early to go to the gym and stay longer than you planned. The right woman would change that, so you seek out one-night stands over substance.”
She glanced at her fork and back to me. “You’ve only ever seen lettuce. Globs of butter that accidentally hang from the corners of lips don’t happen because the women don’t know you, so they’re certainly not going to feel comfortable indulging in front of you.”
She moved her hair to the side, the locks still a bit crazy from when I’d pulled them earlier in her bed. “You like to know you can have what’s in front of you, that nothing is off-limits. You don’t know the terms compromise or sacrifice because you, Mr. Dalton, are used to getting your own way. Control isn’t only a desire; it’s how you live your life. Maybe that’s the lawyer in you, maybe it’s that you’re the oldest of three, or maybe it’s that you fear what would happen if you ever lost your grip. So, as I said, your aversion to commitment isn’t due to some dark, ugly past, like some of the bad boys I’ve met. No, your reason is actually quite simple.” She took a long drink of her juice, watching me the entire time. “You just haven’t found the right one.” She smiled. “How’d I do?”
If I wasn’t exerting so much control, I would have dropped my fork.
“Oh, yeah,” she continued. “I nailed it, didn’t I?”
Every fucking word.
I didn’t know if that was terrifying or a relief.
“How the hell did you come up with all of that?”
Her grin grew, as she was obviously satisfied with my response, and she resumed eating. “Creatives are observant people. You know, the kind who goes to a party and ends up being the resident therapist, doing all the listening instead of the talking. Apparently, I have the face that anyone can say anything to.” She licked a river of syrup from her mouth before it reached her chin. “People flock to me, especially the tortured souls. I’m not intuitive. I watch and hear, draw a conclusion, and I’m almost always right.”
I held her gaze, flipping back through all the years I could remember in detail. “You’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met, Kendall.”
“That’s the best compliment you’ve ever given me—and lately, you’ve given me a lot.” She dug through the side of a pancake until she found what she wanted—what I assumed was the lemon curd—and surrounded her lips over the tines. “I definitely don’t want to be ordinary or trite. Most of all, I don’t want to be expected.”
I exhaled. “You’re far from that.”
When she set her fork down this time, I could tell how happy my response had made her.
Before I could add to it, the waitress was back. “Can I get you anything else?”
Kendall looked at me, and when I shook my head, she said, “Just the check, please.”
The waitress went to drop the billfold on our table, and Kendall snatched it before it even hit the wood.
“My treat.” She reached inside her tank top, removing a credit card that had been tucked in her bra.
I held out my hand. “No.” When she didn’t budge, I reached for the check, and she moved it out of my way, handing it to the waitress. “Kendall, I insist.”
“Not a chance. You’ve already done so much for me. It’s truly my pleasure.”
Aside from my mother, a woman had never paid for any of my meals. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Kendall controlling that decision, but it was far too late to fight her on it.
The waitress returned with her credit card and receipt.
After Kendall signed her name, she said, “Ready to go?”
I stood, my hand going to her lower back as we walked out of the restaurant.
“What do you have planned for today?” she asked as we headed down the sidewalk.
“Probably hit up the gym at some point, and I have a little work that needs to be done before tomorrow morning. James is filming out of town, so Jenner and I are taking Brett out for dinner.”
“That’ll be fun.”
“Even though we go in with good intentions, it always turns into some form of debauchery.”
“Now, that should be your motto.”
I laughed as I looked at her and realized her building was only a few paces ahead.
She turned her back to the high-rise and faced me. “Thanks for brunching with me. Knowing I converted you makes me the happiest girl alive.”
“Converted me?”
She put her hands on her narrow hips. “Into loving pancakes. Sweetness is a religion, my friend.”
She was so fucking adorable.
“Get inside,” I growled.
“And if I don’t?”
I went to rake my hand through my hair, but my fingers hit my hat instead. “You’ll never get a goddamn thing unpacked today.”
Because I would carry her to my car and have her suck my cock as I drove us to my place, where I would wear out every inch of her fucking body.
Relentlessly.
She took a few steps back, grinning so large that it tugged at my lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She blew me a kiss and turned, shaking her ass in those yoga pants. After a few seconds, halfway to her front steps, she glanced at me over her shoulder, unsurprised that I was still staring at her. “See ya around, Mr. Dalton.”
