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But still she found herself thinkingDamnthe second she sipped from the mug he handed her. Because said mug was a proper one with a big body and a sturdy handle, and the liquid inside was the color of oak tree bark, and the whole thing was so hot it burned her tongue a bit on the way down.
Oh, and he’d obviously used the right brand.
Tetley’s, she suspected.
And it was good. It was better than good.
She’d drunk the whole thing down before he’d even gotten halfway with his, much to his amusement.
“Liked that, did you?” he asked as she set the mug next to her on the step she still sat on. And what was she supposed to say—no? The evidence that she had was right there in front of him. Though honestly even if it hadn’t been, she wasn’t sure she would have lied. He’d given plenty of concessions to her. He’d admitted secret things about himself, and not held back on certain things. So she could do more, too.
“You bet your sweet bippy I did,” she said.
And she was well rewarded for it, too.
He almostsmiled. Sparks briefly lit up his gaze.
Before he remembered he was supposed to be stoic and shut it down.
Though even that wasn’t completely a thing. He was a little less closed shut than before. And when she suggested they go back to the topic they were discussing, he didn’t refuse. Or at least, he didn’t refuse entirely. “As long as I get a say-so on what goes in the book we can talk about whatever you want,” he said, and when he did she thought for the second time that day:
Because he likes doing this.
Just not if anyone else is going to hear.
“I’m only going to put in what you approve.”
“Then why are you scribbling everything down?”
“Just in case you change your mind about pretending to be what you’re not,” she said. And yes, she was being a little cheeky. Sure, she wasn’t exactly serious. But even so, she saw something flash across his gaze. A flicker of reaching light, a hint of relaxation to his features. Like he was letting himself think, for just a moment, that something along the lines of what she was describing could actually be that easy.
Before he remembered he was a tight little clam. And tried to seal himself up.
“Well, I’m not going to. So don’t,” he said.
“Should I stop recording you, too?”
“Oh my Christ, you’re not recording this.”
“Of course I am. How else am I supposed to capture your voice?”
“I don’t know. Watch some interviews where I talk a lot.”
He spread his hands, like that was self-evident.
Even though he bloody well knew.
He knew, the little shit. And now she was going to prod him about it. “You understand full well that there are no interviews where you talk a lot. People stopped even having you on the radio because it meant a good half an hour of dead air every time. Even when the chat was only supposed to be ten minutes long.”
“That’s some bloody exaggeration right there.”
“Are you sure? Because you know I have the one you did with Chris Moyles here in my phone. And I could just play itnow, so we can compare what I’m saying to what actually happened. You know, in case I really am being unfair.”
Thatgot him. She could even see him going over the very thing she was talking about in his head. Remembering it, in all its excruciating detail. Because it had been excruciating, that was for sure.
And it was probably why he then blanched.
“Actually, you know what? It’s fine,” he said. “We don’t have to do that.”
