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“Good,” Leo said. “Your turn. Why do you think you need help finding a boyfriend? From where I’m sitting, all I see is an attractive, successful woman.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I guess I just get weird around guys. I start overthinking what I’m saying. I stumble over my words. Sometimes, they ask me about work and I go off on tangents about dashboard software and I only stop when they keel over, dead of a boredom-induced heart attack.”
And then there was sex. She knew she was bad at it, so anytime a guy touched her, she’d freeze up with nerves and awkwardness. Was she making too much noise? Moving awkwardly? Did her boobs look weird in that position? Had she forgotten to pluck those stray hairs that grew around her nipples? Was it going to hurt? And then oh, yes, itdidhurt! Should she ask to stop? Would her partner be mad?
It was exhausting. She didn’t know how people actually enjoyed being intimate when there was so much to worry about.
Leo’s face softened slightly, his green eyes reading something in her face that she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know. “Tell me about dashboard software,” he said, voice velvety and low. “I promise not to keel over.”
She clicked her tongue. “Stop it.”
“I mean it. I don’t even know what dashboard software is. Tell me.”
“Well,” Amelia answered slowly. “All data analysis really starts with a problem, or multiple problems. So the creation of a dashboard is just a way to present solutions—or information—relating to that problem. I think a lot of people who are good with numbers get too bogged down in them, and they forget that the layperson needs information available at a glance. So with dashboards, we can—” She frowned as Leo shifted on the sofa, leaning his head back as he stretched his long legs out. He folded his arms over his stomach. His eyes were lazy as they held hers. Amelia huffed. “See? I’m boring you.”
“I’m not bored. I’m just getting comfortable.”
“This is the problem. I start talking, and I don’t know when to stop.”
Leo reached over and grabbed her hand. He tugged it, threading his fingers through hers. “A guy worthy of you will love listening to you,” he said, “even if you’re talking about dashboards, or numbers, or the best textile to use for socks.”
“Bamboo, obviously.”
He laughed. Green eyes glimmered as they met Amelia’s, and he didn’t let go of her hand. “What’s the next topic in your color-coded rubric?”
She tugged at her hand, but he held it fast. “I’d have to check.”
“Bullshit. You remember every cell of that spreadsheet.”
It took all of Amelia’s willpower to hide the smile that wanted to burst through. She bit her lip. “Clothes and makeup,” she finally admitted.
“Your clothes are perfect. Your makeup is great. Next item.”
Sitting up, Amelia clicked her tongue and glared at him. “That isnotan adequate response! How is that supposed to help me?”
Leo gave her a heavy-lidded look, brow arching the tiniest bit. “Am I the expert or not? Your clothes are hot. Your face is beautiful. You looked great with makeup on at the wedding and you look great now.”
He’d called her beautiful again. Not knowing how to respond, she frowned harder.
His voice was soft and low when he continued, “You shouldn’t change them just for a guy. Take my advice or leave it, sweet cakes.”
“Okay, no. You’re not calling me sweet cakes.”
He still hadn’t let go of her hand. “What’s the next item on your list? We’re burning through them. This is easy.” Another grin.
Oh, he thought he was funny, did he? Amelia hummed to keep her frustration at bay. “Next is kissing.”
Leo froze beside her. His hand turned to granite around hers. Then, as though he were speaking through gravel, he asked, “Kissing?”
“I’ve been told I’m a bad kisser. It’s an area requiring improvement, so I’d like to learn how to be better.”
Another pause stretched, and Amelia turned to meet Leo’s gaze. His jaw was hard, and his eyes were focused on her lips. “Kissing,” he repeated.
“Yes. Kissing. Have you heard of it?”
“Who told you you were bad at it?” His eyes remained on Amelia’s lips, and heat began to swirl in her lower belly.
She shrugged, finally succeeding in pulling her hand away from his. “It doesn’t matter.”
