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She shifts gears, asking, “You said Zach came into your life several months ago, but did you always want to be a father?”
This is not first-date terrain, but we’re clearly well past small talk. Even though this thing between us can’t go anywhere, I’m already savoring how very different talking with Jules is from talking to my ex. She’s open, she’s real, she’s honest. “I did. I thought Marilyn did too,” I say, my jaw ticking as the memories of my marriage slam into me. “But I was wrong.”
“She didn’t want to after all?”
Setting down my fork, I bite off the bitter truth. “We both wanted to have kids a few years ago. Or so I thought. She told me she was off the pill for all those years.”
Jules turns pale, clearly knowing what’s coming.
“But,” I say, tightly, “she was actually on it the entire time we tried to have kids.”
“That’s terrible.” She clenches her fist on the table. “I hate that she did that to you.”
I love her fierceness. Briefly, I picture her being that way with Zach, protective and passionate. It’s a fantastic thought, but there’s absolutely no room for it in my life, so I shove it away. “But, on the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t have children with her. I just wish I had seen through her lies sooner.”
“It’s not your fault. People should be honest with each other,” she says.
“They should.” Even though I know I shouldn’t act like this is more than a first date, I’m a little helpless with Jules. This is not what I’d expected when I walked into The Scene a month ago, pretending I was someone else. Now I’m letting her see more of me, and wanting that. Fucking craving it. This is bad, but still I say, “That’s why I wanted you to know.”
My heart is beating faster for her, and I don’t even know what to do with this swell of emotion.
“You know what else was on my list?” she asks.
“Tell me.”
“Have dinner with a handsome…Frenchman or American,” she adds with a sexy smile.
Narrowing my eyes, I growl my disapproval. “You don’t belong with a Frenchman.”
Her lips curve up. “I don’t?”
“Not. At. All.”
Her smile deepens, turning more playful. “Are you sure?”
“You’re having dinner with this American. Andonlythis American.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. That’s the item on your list. Dinner with me,” I say.
“Well, youarehandsome and youareAmerican, so it fits…But maybe I should adda bossyAmerican?”
“Yes. You should.” Because I love that list and I want to do all the things on it with her.
When we finish eating, she’s quiet for a beat before she says, in a soft, sensual voice, “I brought something you gave me to Paris.”
Without hesitation, I say, “Let’s go.”
I pay, then we’re out of there.
24
APPROPRIATELY INAPPROPRIATE
Jules
I slick on some red lipstick then press my lips together, giving myself a once-over in the hotel room mirror. There, ready.
