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Jonas: That's not why I'm asking.
Me: I have to go. Bye, Jonas.
I quickly silence my phone and shove it into my bag before pressing my hands to my stomach. It aches as if I ate something that isn't sitting right with it. I guess a cold, hard dose of reality will do that to you.
"I'm never going to another sex club ever again," I mutter to myself.
"Crap," I whisper, comingto a dead stop when I see Jonas leaning up against the side of my car in the parking lot. Even with a hat pulled down to obscure his face and sunglasses on, there's no mistaking him. He's too darn big to hide. And too damn beautiful.
He's all rugged, masculine grace dressed up in jeans and a blue Henley. The fabric hugs his broad frame, clinging to the brawny muscles it encases. And good grief, the man is all muscle. Everyinch of him is hewn from thick slabs of defined muscle like Glycon's Farnese Hercules sculpture. Only he's not cold, lifeless marble. He's hot-blooded, warm, and vital.
When he had his arms around me last night, for a moment, I knew what heaven felt like. When his lips touched mine, for a moment, I knew what it tasted like too. And then reality knocked me back down to earth.
I slowly make my way toward him, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
"If my boss sees you out here, we'll be the next big story," I say when I reach him.
"Fuck your boss."
My eyes widen as his prowl all over my body as if he can't keep them off me.
"You're ignoring my texts," he growls.
"I'm… I am," I say instead of lying to him.
"You're mad at me."
"No." I quickly shake my head. "I'm not mad at you."
"Then why are you ignoring me?"
I bite my lip, deliberating. What is it about him that makes me want to spill all my darkest secrets? I feel comfortable in my own skin around him in a way that's unusual. I've always been curvy, and I never cared about that. My worth isn't tied up in my weight or the size of my ass, despite what society might want me to think. And God knows, they want me to think it.Especiallydoing what I do. I never read comments because of the vitriol spewed about my weight. But with Jonas, it goes deeper than simply being comfortable with my own body. I feel…safe in a way I never have before him. Like I can be myself and say what's on my mind.
I don't feel like I have to edit every word that comes out of my mouth.
"I don't want to be an apology date, Jonas," I say quietly. "You may think I'm the bad guy or that I set out to ruin lives because of my job, but that isn't who I am. I have no interest in unmasking anyone who was at that club last night, least of all you."
"Why?" he asks, pushing away from my car. He steps into my personal space, so close I feel his aura kissing mine. I feel the heat of him sweltering even in the cool air swirling around us. He tips his head down, and even behind his sunglasses, I see his gaze scouring my face, searching for his answer. "Tell me, angel."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters."
"It doesn't."
I step to the left to go around him. He moves with me. I step to the right, and he moves in time. It's a carefully choreographed dance that no one taught me, yet he dances it with a wicked smirk on his lips.
"I can do this all night, baby girl."
"Don't your freaking legs ever get tired?" I complain, giving up with a huff. He probably could do it all night. He has hockey-ninja skills. They take ballet and figure skating, and who knows what other types of training to prepare for life on the ice. I still trip walking across flat surfaces.
"Not when I'm chasing you."
"If I agree to have dinner with you, will you go away?"
"No."
I gape at him.
