IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(35)

It occurred to me that I hadn’t enjoyed much of anything New York had to offer lately. It made me want to see more. Experience more.

With Conor.

“Have you seen any shows here?” I asked. “I could get us tickets.”

Conor snorted, which caused the driver to chuckle.

I frowned. “What?”

“I can’t picture you at a show, no offense.”

“What? I do take offense. I like shows,” I insisted.

Conor raised a challenging eyebrow. “Okay, then, what was the last one you saw?”

I thought back. “I saw Fiddler on the Roof at the Broadway Theater recently,” I said defiantly.

The driver hooted with laughter before speaking directly to Conor. “Cutie, tell your boyfriend he needs to see something written this century. That show closed two years ago. ”

“Not possible,” I argued, ignoring the assumption we were together—like that. “I went with my sister, Win, and she…” I realized I was getting ready to say she’d been pregnant, but then I realized my niece was almost three years old. How had time passed so quickly without me realizing? I made a mental note to reach out to my sister and ask her to another show. She loved them and knew the words to all the songs.

“Hmm,” I conceded. “I guess it’s been a while.”

Conor leaned into my shoulder, still sporting a grin. “It’s okay. You’re a workaholic. Everyone knows that about you.”

I frowned. “Pick a show. We’ll go while you’re here.”

Conor studied me, his eyes flicking between mine. “Why are you doing this?”

“I assume you don’t have access to Broadway shows in Asheville,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding him.

“No. Why are you suddenly trying to be my tour guide?”

Because I want to spend time with you. Because I think about you all the time. Because it’s easier when you’re around.

But I said none of those things. “You… seemed stressed yesterday during the negotiations,” I said instead. “I wanted to give you a chance to get out of the office and relax while the attorneys hashed out the details.”

Conor’s expression shifted, the openness suddenly shuttering. “You act like I can’t hold my own during a damned business meeting. I’m not a kid. And I do actually have a business degree. Moreover, I own two—”

I reached for his arm without thinking. “Stop. That’s not what I meant.”

Time seemed to stop as we both looked at my hand on the sleeve of his winter coat.

“Sorry,” I muttered, releasing it quickly and folding my hands together in my lap. I clenched my jaw. I was fucking this up. “I just thought you could use a break. And I damned sure thought I could use one. It has nothing to do with how capable you are or aren’t.”

Conor looked away, off toward Central Park West. “What happened between you and Oscar?”

I was taken aback by his question. What did the guy I used to have sex with have to do with anything? “Why?”

He shrugged. “I’m curious.”

“He wanted a relationship. I didn’t. End of story.”

Conor frowned. “But if you were dating, weren’t you already in a relationship?”

“Oscar and I weren’t dating,” I clarified. “He’s just a guy I used to—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t say it. That’s rude as hell. Not everyone is like you, Wells. Some of us do actually prefer a relationship over a convenient fuck.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but what could I say? The only inaccuracy in his statement was the implication that I’d been indiscriminate in my choice of sexual partners, that I was someone who just slept around, jumping from bed to bed. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I’d chosen each sexual partner carefully, making it clear up front what I expected out of the arrangement. I’d never lied to any of them. I’d never promised them anything more. And if I felt like they might have started expecting more I ended it because I didn’t want to lead them on.

I’d broken things off with Oscar because it wasn’t fair to let him want something he would never have from me.

Ultimately, however, Conor was right. I didn’t do relationships. I never had.

I never would.

I pressed my lips together, saying nothing.

Something like disappointment flashed in Conor’s eyes, and he quickly looked away as we approached the completion of our tour.

Great. Somehow in forty minutes I’d managed to make him think even less of me than he had before.

No wonder I wasn’t cut out for this shit.

When Conor hopped down from the carriage, he gushed his thanks to the driver before giving me a perfunctory nod of thanks and walking into the park. I paid the driver and followed Conor, ignoring the driver’s teasing comment about getting Oscar’s number.

“Conor, wait,” I called to his back. “I’m sorry.”

He whipped around. “For what?”

I opened my mouth and closed it before settling on what to say. “I don’t like to talk about my private life.”

His burst of laughter startled me. “You are the master of fucking control. What are you so goddamned afraid of? That someone might realize you’re an actual person behind that Armani suit and take advantage of you? That you might lose out on several million dollars in a multibillion-dollar deal? Lighten up already. Jesus. The deal is already done. We’re not negotiating anymore.”