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“Gigi.” I lean forward, propping my elbows on the table. “She just wants it so much more than I do. And dammit, I want her to have it, even if it upsets Abby.” I wince. “I’m a terrible brother.”
Graham laughs. “You are a terrible brother. And apparently a huge softie when you’re in love.”
“Shut up.” I snort and grin, waving him off. “I just met her. No one falls in love that fast.”
He nods. “Yeah. There’s probably some other perfectly logical explanation for you wanting to put her dreams first. And the way your face gets all moony when you say her name.”
I narrow my eyes. “Smug isn’t a good look for you, in case you’re wondering.”
“It’s a great look, I’m positive. I’m enjoying this so much.” He laughs again, relishing my suffering.
That’s what I’ve been doing since Gigi left my place yesterday—suffering.
I can’t stop thinking about her, and not just in an I-want-her-back-in-my-bed-ASAP sort of way, either.
I want to hear her voice, know what she’s thinking. I want to see her smile and hear her laugh. I want to see what flirty little thing she’s wearing, and I’m absolutely looking forward to being the man who gets to take it off her when the day is through.
And I want to do whatever it takes to make her happy, even if it means disappointing my sister and going against my fiercely competitive instincts.
And I fucking know what that means.
I know, even before Graham says, “Here’s the thing I’ve learned from falling for my best friend. Love doesn’t always adhere to your preconceived notions.”
“But there are still tons of things I don’t know about her,” I say, though the argument feels flimsy. “Like, what kind of music she likes. Or if she’s ever been to Paris.”
Graham rolls his eyes. “Right. Because no love ever survived a difference in musical tastes, or one person having seen the Eiffel Tower and not the other.”
“The tower is the least exciting part of Paris,” I grunt and slump lower in my chair.
He drops his voice to a stage whisper. “True. But also, if she says she likes Matt Nathanson tunes, just tell her to put him on. He’s catnip for women.”
“Always classy, you are.”
He smirks. “And so are you.”
I motion for him to keep talking. “Go on, wise old married man with your musical advice. Convince me I might be mad for this amazing, sexy, utterly delightful woman at this scandalously early date.”
He grins at the description. I acknowledge his smirk with an eye roll. And he asks, “Can you talk to her? Really talk?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“And she listens?”
“Fabulously.”
“Is she nice to waiters?”
“Very. She’s nice to everyone. Except me, of course, when she thought I was a dirty liar who’d tricked her into letting down her guard, but once I explained things, she wasn’t stingy with her forgiveness.”
Graham claps his hands together. “There you have it. All you need to know.”
I wrestle with disbelief before I can reply. “Fine, I concede I’m falling for the woman, but what kind of crap advice is that, Graham? ‘Can we talk?’ and, ‘Is she nice to waiters?’” I snort. “I’m sizing up a major commitment for fuck’s sake, not hiring a new bookkeeper. Though, she’d be amazing at that,” I admit. “She’s wild with numbers. and it’s sexy as hell.”
Graham frowns. “Okay, numbers can be sexy, but my advice isn’t crap. The sex is amazing, or you wouldn’t be in deep this fast. And, being practical, the two of you have more than a few shared interests.” He ticks off on his fingers. “Great sex, common interests, and solid conversation with a woman who’s as kind to the people serving her tea as she’d be to a friend. What more do you need in a life partner?”
Life partner…
That phrase would usually make me gag a little. Or, at the very least, make me take a moment to reflect that my history with relationships isn’t great. I probably shouldn’t rush into anything. Lessons learned and all.
But Gigi would be an amazing partner. And spending a hell of a lot more time with her—maybe even a lifetime—isn’t a scary thought.
It’s more like the first sip of a perfectly cream-and-honeyed cup of Lapsang souchong, a tempting treat that makes me eager for more.
“Not to mention that she’s insanely gorgeous,” Graham says, taking a sip of his tea.
I look up fast. “What? You saw her? When? When we were leaving the party?”
“No, outside. Maybe twenty minutes ago.” He motions toward the street. “She and Abby were chatting on the corner by the shoe store before I came in. They looked friendly.”
I jump to my feet then immediately sit back down. “I can’t force my sister to tell me everything Gigi said to her and then announce I’m dropping out of the competition. That would be madness.”
