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I took a deep breath. That had come out, rolling off my tongue, almost like it was a speech I’d planned ahead of time. I said it with an edge to my voice that made Blake stare at me for a second.
“Sorry,” I said.
He shook his head. “No problem. Answered my question.”
“It’s just... I know what it’s like to be cast aside. Betrayed. Made to feel like shit,” I said softer, hoping no one nearby would overhear. “It’s good for my soul to read about a man and woman who treat each other the way people in love should treat each other. I know it’s fiction, but it still feels really good to read it.”
Blake stared at me for a long moment. Then he leaned close. “What kind of fucking idiot would ever let you get away, let alone cast you aside?”
I felt myself blush at the compliment. I didn’t really know how to respond to hearing something like that. My body responded, though, reminding me how Blake’s hand felt sliding between my legs.
“The last one’s name was Zander,” I said finally. “And I almost fell in love with that idiot. Good thing I caught him cheating before that happened, huh?”
Blake’s frown was so deep and intense, I might have flinched back from it if I hadn’t known it was for Zander, not me.
“Good thing,” he agreed softly. He stared straight ahead, no longer leaning over to read along with me. I couldn’t get back into the book because I kept thinking about what he’d said about anyone letting me go.
A few minutes later, he seemed to realize I hadn’t turned a page.
“Would you date one of the men you’ve read about in those books?”
I laughed softly. “Are you kidding? Yes, I would absolutely date a book boyfriend.”
“Book boyfriend?” He said the words like they were alien sounds.
“Yep. The best kind, I think. Always there when you need them, but you can close the book and put it aside whenever you want. A book boyfriend won’t ever let you down.”
He took a sip of his water and seemed to settle into his seat a little more. “So, tell me what your ideal book boyfriend would be like. Let me guess. A dancer probably. World class ballet dancer. Owns a studio. Wealthy, maybe born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Probably foreign, with an interesting accent. Someone who could talk politics with your dad and sweep you off your feet on the dance floor after some state dinner or political function. Probably with a house somewhere in Europe. Paris, maybe.”
I gaped at Blake. “How much thought have you put into this?”
“Not much. Just guessing.”
“I’m glad you didn’t spend too much time thinking about it, because you couldn’t be more wrong.”
His frown was genuine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Your ideal book boyfriend, then. Go.” He still saidbook boyfriendlike it tasted bad in his mouth. It was almost charming.
It’s not like I’d thought about it too much, either. I didn’t sit around spinning fantasies about the heroes in the romance novels I read. But the qualities of an ideal man sprang to the tip of my tongue like I’d worked it all out in detail a long time before.
“A hard worker. Somebody who does what he’s passionate about and gives it his all. Conscientious. Moral. He’d be strong, confident. I guess the strong, silent type. But not too silent. A good sense of humor. Ride or die for his friends or family, because nothing matters more than the people he loves. Good with kids. A good—”
Dancer. I’d almost said a good dancer. But I realized that everything I’d said, right down to the dancing, described Blake Donovan to a T.
“A good man, all-around,” I finished, clearing my throat and glancing away from Blake’s intense stare.
He took a deep breath. “I see.” Blake rubbed the side of his hand over his mouth. “I thought you were going to describe him. Six-foot-two, blue eyes, that kind of thing. But that’s all…good. Yeah.”
All the things I’d listed were far more important to me in a man than his appearance.
I realized if I had tried to describe my ideal man’s appearance, I’d feel even more awkward than I already did. And I could save myself a lot of breath by simply holding a mirror up to Blake’s face.
“He’d probably have some advanced degree in anthropology. Or philosophy. Something that would make him a great conversationalist. Especially at those political dinners. Someone who could hold his own against the hoi-polloi,” I lied.
I didn’t care about any of that. But I had to add something that didn’t sound at all like Blake before things got more awkward.
