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Her brow furrows. “No.”
“No?” I arch a brow.
Her lips curve into a sad smile. “I don’t know. The bossy, one-word-response stuff works for you. I thought I’d see if it works for me. I’d really rather not wait for you for years like a peasant girl waiting to see if her sailor will come home from sea.”
“And you shouldn’t,” I say, my chest tightening. “You should try to find someone wonderful. You deserve someone wonderful. But if the stars happen to align, I just thought… But right now, I can’t…no matter how much I might want to.”
Her lips press together for a beat before she nods. “Okay. I understand. Thank you for being so honest with me.” She takes a step back and the loss of her warm curves against me feels like a tiny death, a thing I’ll mourn when I’m alone on the sleeper sofa tonight. “I should get Clyde’s litter box set up.”
“I’ll do it,” I say. “You didn’t sign on for dirty cat work.”
“I didn’t sign on for any of this,” she says as she moves toward the duffle bag where we arranged the cat’s supplies. “But I’m very adaptable and great at rolling with the punches. And I have fun while I do it.” She turns to pull out the litter and the plastic pan, adding as she arranges them on the tile close to the door. “Might be a good thing to remember when you’re seeing the world through the lens of someone who likes to have a firm plan for the future. Some of us don’t mind a little chaos. We actually enjoy it.” She stands, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she rolls up the top of the litter bag. “Though maybe not quite this much chaos. The resort billboard I was looking at downstairs mentioned something about required reading. And a test after breakfast tomorrow? Are we going to make fools out of ourselves if we have no idea what they’re talking about? Will there be a participation grade?”
I force a smile, appreciating what she’s trying to do. Giving us an out to move on from the awkward moment when I rejected her, yet again. But hopefully she knows it wasn’t something I wanted to do. And it sure as hell wasn’t easy. “Don’t worry about it. It’s one of those love languages books. I read one a few years ago and remember enough to fake it. It’s all bullshit anyway.”
She looks up from beside Clyde’s carrier, where she’s just removed the blanket and opened the gate. “Why? Because you don’t believe in love?”
“Because there’s no scientific data or research to back any of it up. It’s just something some guy made up.”
“Having cats in the house is something some guy made up, too,” she counters, stroking a cautious-looking Clyde as he checks out his new space. “And look how awesome this is.” She smiles as Clyde belches and pounces on a string sticking up from the carpet. “I think he’s cured me. I’m not scared of animals at all anymore.”
“Or you’re just not scared of Clyde.” I open the suitcase, extracting my clothes and pajamas, and setting them on the coffee table.
“Yes, my sensible friend, that could also be the case, but sounds much less exciting.” She stands and wanders closer. “And my love language is being told I’m good enough and smart enough and prettier than Elle Fanning or Elle Woods. In case you were wondering.”
“All true.” I close the suitcase and set it on the ground beside her.
“You don’t know who either of those people are, do you?”
I flash a guilty smile. “Um, no. But I’m still sure you’re prettier. How could you not be? Look at you.”
Her eyes narrow. “I will accept these words of flattery because I’m a little in my feels over striking out with all my best seduction moves. But next time, you’ll need to do your research.” Before I can reply, she grips the suitcase handle and breezes toward the bedroom. “Let me know if the sofa bed sucks. You can sleep in the bed with me in here. I promise I won’t interfere with you while you’re asleep. I’m very tired and have no interest in any nighttime activities aside from catching up on my beauty rest.”
Clyde belches as if in agreement and pounces on a sock hanging over the edge of the coffee table. When it falls down onto the carpet, he jumps three feet in the air, and zooms across the room to climb the drapes, belching the entire way up.
“Same, Clyde,” I mutter. “Same.”
It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Thirteen
NORA
All my best seduction moves.
What a joke.
I have no seduction moves, at least none that work on Matty. The closest I got to breaking through his walls was when I was pretending to be his hypercritical, grossed-out-by-sex wife.
Which, honestly, tracks. That’s how I came up with the idea in the first place. There’s just something about being put down by the opposite sex that makes the insecure, but horny, inner sex fiend perk up and take notice. It’s how I ended up dating Wendell Windham for a few months right after high school.
Old Wendell wasn’t much to look at—he had a horrific name and a habit of chewing with his mouth open—but he was in my fashion-merchandizing class at the community college, so we had similar interests, and he was just sogoodat putting me down. He handed out insults like bespoke mints on my pillow before bed, always with a smile and a wink, so I wasn’t sure if he meant the snarky things or not.
I found the uncertainty and the quest to prove I wasn’t childish or airheaded oddly captivating. Apparently, a part of Matty finds negative feedback captivating, too.
As I wash my face, change into my pajamas, and tuck myself into bed, I consider doubling down on the tactic tomorrow. I’ll have the entire morning with him. If I do a really good job, I might get him so worked up, he’ll agree to letting me tag along on his Sweetwater-soothing mission without making a fuss.
But even as the idea flits through my head, I dismiss it. I don’t want to be mean to Matty. And I don’t want to keep throwing myself at a man who is determined to hold me at arm’s length. I just have to face the fact that this isn’t going to happen. Even if it makes my heart shrivel.
