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“No! Well, yes, but not in that way.”
“That clears things up.”
“Give me a break, I’m trying here.”
“I thought you were supposed to have an IQ of 172?”
He gives me an impatient look. “That doesn’t mean anything—it doesn’t give you the ability to string words together. Anyway, Stephen Hawking and Einstein both had an IQ of 160 and they were light years smarter than me.”
“Mack, I’m trying to say I understand. I didn’t expect anything more when I came up to your room. I knew it was only ever going to be a one-night stand. I mean, look at me, I’m hardly billionaire girlfriend material. I can’t tell the difference between a Jimmy Choo and a Manilla… whatever it is.”
He tries not to laugh. “Manolo Blahnik.”
“Yeah, well, that proves it. You’ve seen my house. I clean in my spare time. I appreciate that’s practically the plot for Cinderella, but I wasn’t expecting to play out that scenario. I know I’m not your type.”
“You’re just illustrating my point. You assumed that’s all I wanted, and you were right. I’ve never had to make promises of forever to get a woman to sleep with me. But because of what’s happened before…”
“With Felicity?”
“It’s happened several times, but yeah, she was the latest. Because of the way some women have reacted, I’m usually only interested in a one-night stand, and I assume that’s all the other person wants too. I asked you to the party because I wanted you, and I wanted to sleep with you, and I didn’t really give you a say in the matter.”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but you didn’t have to drag me kicking and screaming,” I say, amused. “I haven’t had sex for a while and, the spying aside, I was hoping to get soundly screwed by a gorgeous guy.”
He smiles. But he then says, “Even so, I’m sorry. You deserve better. To be wined and dined.”
I gesture at the table. “Breakfasted?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s kind of old-fashioned.”
He shrugs.
We study each other for a while.
“You wanted me?” I ask eventually. “Past tense?”
His lips curve up, just a little.
At that moment, my phone rings. I pick it up, my heart suddenly racing, but it’s only Dan. I consider letting it go to voicemail, but I haven’t liked doing that since Dad fell ill.
“It’s Dan,” I say. “Do you mind if I take it? I’ll just go outside for a minute.”
“Of course not.” He picks up his cutlery and continues to eat his breakfast.
I get up and go out the front door onto the wharf. It’s warm but breezy, and I give a silent groan at the thought that the wind is going to make a right mess of my hair.
“Hey you,” I say.
“Hey.” He sounds breathless. “Sid, oh my God. I don’t believe it.”
My heart stutters. “What’s happened?”
“You did it. You’re so amazing.”
“I did what?”
“I don’t know, whatever he asked you to do. I don’t know what to say.” His voice sounds hoarse with emotion.
