The Paid Bridesmaid(24)

Pretty humiliating.

I tried to direct him a different way. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. You didn’t want to ask me what city I was born in or the name of my childhood pet?”

“I’m not allowed to ask you any questions. It was what you said you wanted for your birthday.”

That was seriously the sweetest thing ever. He was being not annoying as a present for me. I could feel my heart doing little happy flips in my chest.

Before I could respond he added, “But I’m not really sure how to have a conversation without asking questions.”

“It is difficult,” I said, staying quiet to make it a bit harder.

“You could ask me questions,” he offered.

“I could. But I don’t think I will.”

“That’s not fair.”

I took another sip of my drink as I shrugged. “I’m not trying to be.”

Camden took that challenge with a little half smile. “Okay. So, you should tell me what sort of things you do in your free time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, being deliberately obtuse.

“A hobby, perhaps.” He was choosing his words so carefully, trying to skirt around the “no questions” situation.

“I do have hobbies. There are things I do in my free time that I definitely enjoy.”

“It would be helpful if you could be maybe seventy-four percent less vague.”

“It would also be helpful if you could be like, seventy-four percent more honest,” I told him.

“What am I not being honest about?” He finally caved and asked a question, either forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to be doing that or he was truly perplexed by my statement.

I reminded myself that this was not the time to confront him about his misplaced suspicions. This was about Sadie and her wedding. It wasn’t my chance to pretend like I was on one of those daytime talk shows where I’d strap him to a lie detector to prove “that was a lie!”

“You know,” I told him, “I said I didn’t want you to interrogate me. I didn’t say anything about not asking me questions. Those two things are different. I know a conversation is supposed to be give-and-take.”

His hand drifted up, like he meant to touch my face, and my cheek tingled in anticipation. Then there was the sinking disappointment when I realized he wasn’t going to follow through.

But he made up for it when he said in a low, rough voice, “I think I’d like giving and taking with you.”

That had me swallowing hard, made my breathing shallow. My body apparently didn’t care that none of this was real. I cleared my throat, trying to relieve the tightness. “I know that asking questions about another person is important. The last man I went on a date with didn’t ask me any questions at all. Well, that’s not strictly true. He did say, ‘What else do you want to know about me?’”

He studied me for a moment, like I was a mystery he didn’t understand. “I find it hard to believe that anyone lucky enough to date you wouldn’t want to know everything about you.”

He’s playing us, I tried to tell my lady bits, but they were not listening. I needed to get all of us off this track. “You asked how I spend my free time. Um, I read. I watch TV. I volunteer on weekends when I’m not working. Boring stuff like that.”

Camden nodded slightly, as if agreeing to the change in subject. “Where do you volunteer?” he asked.

“There’s this shelter downtown that’s associated with the humane society.”

“Do you mean the Herbert and Wanda Leibowitz Center?”

That made me raise my eyebrows. “You know it?”

“Yes. That’s one of my charities. We give them a large donation every year. Why haven’t I ever seen you around?”

“Um, probably because I go to the local shelter and you hobnob with bigwigs at galas.”

He seemed a bit confused, and it suddenly occurred to me that I probably wasn’t supposed to know that he had money. I could easily explain it away by the quality of his clothes or his expensive watch, but to my surprise he didn’t ask a follow-up question.

“I adopted my cat, Belle, from there. She’s part Maine coon. A silver tabby.”

Wow, that “I was just headbutted” feeling was back. Why was it incredibly hot that he owned a cat? So many guys hated cats and considered them to be “woman pets” that it immediately told me three things about Camden that I hadn’t known so far—that he was secure in himself and his masculinity; that he might be a little unconventional; and given the affection in his voice as he talked about his kitty, that he had a big and loving heart.

All three of those things were incredibly attractive.

Camden, not knowing my brain had gone for a walk down He’s Hot Lane, was still talking. “She’s so smart. Too smart for her own good, I think. She knows exactly how to manipulate me into getting treats. I’d show you a picture but . . .”

“But your portable telegraph machine doesn’t take very good photos?” I guessed.

Ignoring my slam on his outdated technology he asked, “What about you? Do you have pets?”

“I travel a lot for work, so it hasn’t really been practical. I have thought I’d like to get a cat. They seem more independent than dogs.”