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He looks at me like I’m deranged. “Why would I subject myself to that?”
“To prove a point. That romance is possible and romance books are the best.”
“So I would read the book and then agree with you, or you agree with me that it’s bogus?”
“Sure.” I take a bite of pizza.
He chews and stares at me for a while before he finally says, “All right.”
I sit up straighter. “All right? Really?”
“I’ll do it. But you have to do something for me.”
“What?” I narrow my eyes.
“Try to convince me that real love exists for me. Prove your case.” He smirks.
“You really don’t believe that people can find true love that’s real? Come on, Preston. Beth and Evan? Allie and Logan? Mellie and Ty? Everyone around you has found true love. How can you say it doesn’t exist?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe it exists. I just don’t think it exists for me,” he says quietly.
“What happened to you?”
He shifts in his chair uncomfortably, then speaks. “I worked in family law for years. I saw so much bad stuff.”
I stare at him for a while. I’m thinking there’s more. Someone hurt this guy. Him not believing in real love because he worked in family law is like a doctor not believing in health because he’s seen so many sick people. I get it. He’s seen some stuff. But we’ll unpack that another time.
“Okay.” I will leave it alone for now.
“Okay,” he echoes with a small smile.
We eat dinner together, and I almost forget we’re enemies. It feels like a normal meal shared with, dare I say, a friend.
When our server sets down the tiramisu, we chat about our mutual friends and the babies coming. I’m starting to see a little of what everyone sees in him. He might not be so bad after all.
“So just one book?” His warm hazel eyes soften as he looks into mine.
“Yeah, just one.”
“And I’ll tell you whether it’s crap.” He wipes his mouth, and I swear it feels sensual. Every movement he makes affects me and certain parts of my anatomy. He can make eating pizza look sexy. It’s not fair.
“Deal.” I nod and straighten in my chair, trying to pull it together and hoping he can’t tell what I’m thinking.
The server brings the check, and he grabs it before I can. When I reach into my purse, his eyes darken. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I can pay for mine,” I insist.
“I’ve got it, Paige,” he says quietly, and the sound of my name from his lips stirs something in my belly.
When we get up to leave, he places his hand on my lower back for a millisecond before he yanks it back quickly. He walks me to my van.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say as I dig through my purse for my keys.
“It’s no problem,” he murmurs, his eyes on mine.
I lock eyes with him and don’t say anything. He holds our stare, and a moment passes between us before he turns and asks, “Does this mean the pranks stop?”
“Like a truce?”
