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“Something like that.”
She takes a long sip of her tea. Lets out another sigh of pure, deep pleasure.
My body whines in response. It’s out of patience. It’s ready to be inside her.
Not happening.
I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Say, my mission here. “Do you want to believe in love?”
“So we’re starting with softballs?”
My laugh is easy on my tongue, but it does nothing to erase the sexual tension in the air.
It hits a whole other nerve.
“You don’t like small talk,” I say.
She nods. “It would make my life easier. I wouldn’t have to give investors a speech about my parents’ perfect marriage and my drive to help other people find the same.”
“It isn’t true?”
“Nothing is perfect.”
“Besides the tea,” I say.
“Even that.” She takes a long sip. “But the imperfections make it more perfect.”
I get that. “It’s the same in art. The imperfections are what make something beautiful. Like this.” I brush a hair behind her ear.
She turns her head to one side, soaking up the gesture.
“The way your hair is always falling to your cheek, defying your attempt to keep it in a neat line.”
“That’s beautiful?” she asks.
Sexy as fuck.“Very.”
“I’m not sure most people would call that an imperfection.”
“Most people don’t know someone as put together as Deanna Huntington.”
She holds my gaze. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“An observation.”
“I’m not as tough as I look.” She takes another sip of tea. “It fools people. It fools Lexi and Dad. And it fooled my ex-boyfriend, too.”
“Stephan?”
She nods. “He wanted someone softer. Someone with vulnerability. It was there. It was always there. He just didn’t see it.”
“Maybe you didn’t let him.”
She doesn’t respond to the accusation. “That’s why I made the app.” She laughs. “It sounds pathetic, that way. I made the app because I got dumped.”
“Like Stevie Nicks.”
She raises a brow.
