IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(55)

“That’s one thing I have plenty of to spare,” I responded, forcing a smile. I waited a moment, feeling the weight of my own words sink in and find purchase before adding, “But we weren’t going to talk about that. Sorry.”

Conor sat back and took a sip of the Balvenie, meeting my eyes over the rim of his glass. “Mm. Nutty.”

His rich voice went straight to my balls as I suspected had been his intent. His eyes bore into mine, making promises I wasn’t sure his body was ready to keep.

“You like that?” I asked. “Drink much scotch at home?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not really. I’m not that manly. I wasn’t joking about the pi?a colada and sidecar. Make it fruity and I’m yours for life.”

I laughed and made a mental note. “There’s a bar near your hotel that does a killer tequila sunrise.”

He grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

“Or the cosmo. You know it was invented here. I could take you to Long Island Bar.”

“Now you’re exhausting me. I think I’d rather stay here and drink two-hundred-dollar glasses of scotch with you. It’s less effort. Especially if you pay.”

We continued bantering back and forth in an easy manner. When he finished his drink, I quickly waved for another.

“Trying to get me drunk?” he asked with a raised brow.

I shrugged. “I’m not comfortable being the only one at the table with a buzz on.”

“Afraid I’m going to take advantage of you while you’re incapacitated?”

I barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been incapacitated. Or taken advantage of.”

“There’s always a first for everything,” he teased.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Is there?”

Conor narrowed his eyes, considering me a moment. “Hm. I guess not. Mr. Always In Control is always in control. Why is that? Are you like that in your personal relationships too?”

His question put me on the spot. I stared down at my glass, twisting it between my fingers. I wanted to be honest with him, but I knew he wouldn’t like the truth. It would only serve to confirm what he thought he already knew about me.

The urge to not hold back with him surged forward, and I took a swallow of scotch before answering him the best I could.

“I wouldn’t say I have to be in control so much as I’m very… selective with the people I choose to trust,” I told him.

“Why?”

I shrugged, still studying my glass. “Typical reasons, I guess. I’ve been burned before.”

I waited for him to press for more details, but instead he studied me. I tried not to shift under his gaze, uncomfortable with the thought of what kind of conclusions he might be drawing about me.

He took another sip before asking, “What does someone have to do to gain entry into your trust tree?”

I felt my jaw tighten as unbidden memories flashed. “Don’t fuck me over. Don’t use me. Don’t lie to me or mess with my family.”

He let out a soft whistle. “There’s a story there. Do you want to talk about it?” His face held empathy, and I already knew him to be a good listener from our day in the city together.

“No.”

He threw back his head to laugh, exposing his creamy neck where he’d obviously missed another spot shaving that morning. I wanted to lick it.

“You’re a man of few words, Glacier Grange. What does it take to melt you, huh?”

I loved this teasing side of Conor. If two drinks made him flirty, how many would it take before he’d relax enough to let me touch him? I stretched out my leg until my shoe ran alongside his. He didn’t move his foot away, so I left mine there.

Our eyes met and stayed together, which made my heart begin to thunder wildly in my chest. I wasn’t used to feeling off-kilter with a man, but every minute I spent with Conor Newell left me breathless and unsure. It was time to regain some control over the situation. I wanted him to be the one on edge, not me.

I let the amber liquid swirl around my glass as I met his eyes. “A hot man in bed is good for melting things,” I said, causing him to bark out another laugh.

“Touché.”

Before I followed this path too far, however, there was something I needed to ask. “Yesterday you said that some people prefer a relationship over a convenient lay,” I said carefully. “Does that mean you have a special someone back home?”

Nothing in my research on him had turned up anything about a partner, and I hadn’t gotten the impression from NotSam’s texts that there was someone in North Carolina warming his bed. But I wanted to know for sure.

His cheeks flushed. “No.”

“But you’d like there to be,” I pushed.

He blinked and looked away, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “Sometimes. It would be nice not to have to…” Conor stopped talking and looked down at his drink and shook his head.

I leaned forward. Close enough that he couldn’t avoid me. “Nice to what, Conor?” I asked softly. I liked the feel of his name in my mouth and vowed to use it more often.

He met my eyes again and swallowed. “Not to have to always carry life’s shit on my own.”

The need to protect and comfort roared just under the surface of my skin. Everything inside of me ached to carry his burdens for him. To use my immense power and wealth to shelter him from the burdens of the world.