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My stomach clenches waiting for his response. I almost expect him to tell me he was married once before. At least engaged. That he had found his soulmate—a tall, gorgeous blonde bombshell of a woman who broke his heart and left him to a life of lonely one-night stands.
He stares over my shoulder, eyes tracing the design in the backsplash behind me. “It’s been long enough that I can’t even remember. I dated a few girls in undergrad here and there, but that’s about it.”
My jaw drops. “But undergrad must have been at least ten years ago!” I do the math in my head, “or even longer. Fifteen years?”
He averts his gaze across the bar. “It hasn’t been my thing. The girls I tend to meet lately are fun for a while, but no one I want around long-term.”
I figured he was a bachelor, but his response still surprised me. “How come? Healing from a broken heart?”
He smirks as if I have made the most ridiculous suggestion. “No one has ever interested me enough to break my heart.”
Ouch.
“Now that you mention it, I’m betting there is a very specific type of girl you go after.”
“And what do you think that is?”
I prop my elbow on the bar and rest my chin in my hand, studying him for a minute before I respond. “Well, for one, I’m sure she’s beautiful, probably younger. At one time your preference was probably a college girl, one who isn’t looking for a marriage proposal because they haven’t even committed to a major. Or maybe a fresh graduate, interning at the hospital before moving across the country for med School, anddarn it.” I snap my fingers. “Just not the right time for a long-distance relationship.”
He side-eyes me as he tips his glass back, finishing his beer, and I know I have him.
“Or better yet, the tourist. Someone coming to the city for the weekend, looking for a good time, and I’m sure you are more than willing to accommodate. I’ll bet they smile a lot and nod along with whatever you say as if you are God’s gift to women.”
“You smile a lot.”
“That’s about the only thing I have in common with those women.”
He doesn’t respond at first, but his gaze hovers over my face, focusing on every feature as he works his way down. My hair, my eyes, my mouth. He pauses somewhere near my neck before his eyes return to meet mine. “You could run circles around those women.”
My heart pounds against my ribcage, sweat wicking the back of my neck as I become increasingly self-conscious. “That’s … that’s not what I meant.” I try to backtrack, hoping it doesn’t appear like I think I’m better than anyone else.
“I know,” he says, “but that’s what I think.”
“I’m sure they are great women.”
He shrugs. “At one time, I thought they were, but lately my tastes have changed. And for the record, I’ve never banged an intern or anyone at the hospital. Have you ever heard the phrase don’t shit where you sleep?”
“That’s romantic,” I deadpan.
“Well, what about you? Dr. Hendricks has his opinions about you, but I want to hear from the source herself.”
I shrug. “I’ve been single for years, and I plan to stay that way for a while.” I couldn’t even tell him the type of person I was in the past without hating the words. I was a pushover. Insecure. I slowly became a shell of the woman I was raised to be, and I hated how far I let it get before I left.
“I’ve decided I don’t need to be in a relationship, and I certainly don’t need to find some random person at the bar and bring him home. Would you believe I’ve never had a one-night stand? It’s always freaked me out. What if he’s a serial killer? What if I think we’re having a good time and I go back to his place, open the fridge for a drink, and find it filled with severed feet?”
Ryan tips his head back as he chuckles, and I take the opportunity to study his chiseled jaw, the start of a five o’clock shadow peppering the side. His thick hair dips into the lip of his collared shirt at the nape of his neck, and I want so badly to twist the dark locks between my fingers.
He truly is the most handsome man I have ever seen. But it isn’t his classic Prince Charming profile that calls to me. It’s the way he carries himself. His knowledge. His dedication to the field and the standards he holds himself to mean more to me than his looks.
“If you think about it, you could date someone for months and never know how many feet are in their fridge.”
“More motivation to stay single, I guess.” I finally discard my folded and tattered napkin on the bar, adding it to a pilesomeone else had left before me. “So, tell me, Ryan. How many women in the greater Chicago area are running around with a key to your apartment, and freedom to check the fridge for feet as they please?”
I can see his eyes roll even though he continues to stare ahead. “You certainly think you have me all figured out, don’t you, Lainey?”
Sometimes, I think life would come with less stress if I were a man. A good-looking, successful man who oozes confidence, and who doesn’t question himself with every step. A man who could take a stranger home, show them the best night of their life, and be able to walk away the next morning. A man with a high body count is praised, while a woman who does the same is shamed.
“Before you judge me,” he says, bumping his knee against mine to grab my attention. “I’m not taking home someone looking for love. The women I’ve been with in my past were very aware of what the deal was.”
