When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(42)

He’d sounded defensive, and of course she picked up on it. “But it’s usually the other way around, isn’t it? Do you give them that old line, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”

“Never say that when you’re breaking up with someone.”

“Now you tell me.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “So how do you do it?”

“I’m upfront from the start. I don’t have anything against marriage for other people, but I enjoy my life the way it is. I don’t like committing to the kind of beer I drink, let alone to marriage. I’m selfish like that.”

“I can’t believe in your long, serial monogamy journey, you don’t run into women who think they can change your mind.”

“They’re easy to identify. Also, not every woman is in a race to the altar, as you know. Plus, I have good taste, and most of the women I date are smart enough to see right through me.”

“You’re not that bad.”

He leaned toward her. “I’m too self-centered for marriage. And even thinking about taking on the responsibility of having kids makes me break out in a cold sweat.”

“So you’ve never had one of those dramatic breakups? Tears and screaming matches?”

“There’ve been some hurt feelings, but nobody sure as hell ever killed herself!”

“Lucky you.”

An older couple came through the door and headed for the whirlpool. The man had a furry gray chest, and unlike Olivia’s sleek swim cap, the woman wore one of those old-fashioned bathing caps with rubber flowers all over it.

The noisy bubble of the whirlpool kept them from being overheard, but he still lowered his voice. “Maybe you should have been upfront with him earlier, but waiting too long to break up with someone isn’t a crime. This is on him, not on you.” He could see she didn’t believe him. “You know what your trouble is?”

“No. Be sure to tell me.”

“You’re a perfectionist. You want to be the best at everything you do. Singing, acting, dancing, promoting watches, and relationships. In your mind, there’s no room for error. No room for mistakes. But whether you want to accept it or not, you’re human.” He realized she could shoot those same words back to him. But she didn’t.

“So am I forgiven for deceiving you?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

He cocked his head at her. “On how serious you are about that night of sex you offered me if I forgave you for your grievous betrayal of our friendship.”

“I don’t think I was serious.”

“You’re not sure?”

She shrugged, looking more like an insecure teenager than a seasoned opera singer.

“So just to make certain everything’s out in the open . . . You want to get down and dirty with me, but you’re worried that could lead to a relationship. Which you don’t want.”

“Definitely not.”

“Hardly an insurmountable problem since neither do I.” He tugged on one end of the towel draping his neck as he briefly debated how far to push her. “Here’s my suggestion. Las Vegas. The last night of the tour before Chicago. You, me, and a bedroom. We have all the sex we can pack in before morning. And then . . .”

“Then?”

“We fly to Chicago. Hang out together for two weeks until the gala. After that, I dump you forever.”

She smiled. “Go on.”

“This gives us something to look forward to—Las Vegas—and it also solves the relationship problem you’re worried about.” It didn’t solve the problem of the danger she was in, a complication he still wanted resolved.

She thought it over. “Just to clarify . . . You’ll look past my small deception, but only if I have sex with you?”

“Your brutal, hurtful deception. And, as a gentleman, I’m deeply offended that you believe I’d bargain with sex. Unlike you.”

She tilted her head so her hair fell over one shoulder. “I’m forgiven, right?”

“As long as you promise to be straight with me from now on.”

“I promise.” She made a cross over her heart that was such a little girl move, he wanted to kiss her. “We have three days of interviews in Chicago, then a two-week break while you laze around and I work hard in rehearsals. Assuming I have the voice to show up at rehearsals.” The distress he’d hoped never again to witness clouded her eyes. She combed her fingers through her hair. “But as soon as those rehearsals start, we’re done.”

“Hold on. Once the gala is over, we’re done. It’s our last obligation to Marchand, and no way are you depriving us of those two weeks of sexual bliss.”

“Wrong.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “We have sex the last night in Las Vegas. Sex for those three nights we’re in Chicago before rehearsals start. And then you dump me on Sunday night, right before my rehearsals start on Monday morning.”

“Fine. I’ll compromise. We have the last night in Las Vegas. Three nights in Chicago. And the two weeks while you’re in rehearsal. I’ll have dinner and a back rub waiting for you when you come home. The night of the gala, I dump you.”

“Exactly how is that a compromise?”