Bet on It (14)

“Please,” she smirked, and it was so wildly sexy that it made his fingers twitch, “if this were a date, I definitely wouldn’t have worn leggings and a grungy sweatshirt.”

He didn’t give a damn what she had on. When he’d gotten a look at her at bingo earlier, he’d had a hell of a time taking his eyes off her for the sake of decency. Even in her unassuming clothes he could see how spectacular she was. Dark material stretched over the wide expanse of her thighs, her stomach pressed against her sweatshirt, refusing to be hidden. He’d had to stop himself from thinking about what she looked like naked in order to keep his head on straight. All he knew was that the woman was damn gorgeous. She could have been wearing a burlap sack covered in sawdust and his opinion on the matter wouldn’t have changed.

“It’s all right,” he drawled, trying to see how far he could take the flirting. “I wouldn’t bring you here on a first date anyway. You seem like the type of woman who likes a little winin’ and dinin’. You’d have me takin’ you to someplace with eighty-dollar steaks, where they make sure you’re wearin’ a tie before they let you in.”

Aja tilted her head to the side, her lips pursed. “I don’t know why, but I have a hard time picturing you in a tie.”

It was probably because he could count on two hands the number of times in his life he’d worn one. When he was on his own time, he was a jeans and T-shirt type of guy. The Charleston Journal didn’t have a very strict dress code for beat reporters; most days he wore a dryer-ironed button up and slacks to work. On days when his boss wasn’t around he wore jeans and a sweatshirt. Walker didn’t consider himself to be some kind of rough-and-tumble country boy, but he couldn’t deny that the whole suit-and-tie getup made him feel stuffy and claustrophobic. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to get choked to death by the stiff collar of a button-up shirt for the chance to see Aja all dressed up in her Sunday best.

But odds were his wish would never come true. He was in Greenbelt for one reason only: Gram needed him. Her doctor had said that it would take about eight weeks for her fractures to heal. He’d gotten the go-ahead from his boss to work from home in the meantime, but he had every intention of leaving as soon as Gram was self-sufficient. As beautiful as Aja was, and as intriguing as he found her, none of those things could hold up to the bitter taste this town left in his mouth.

If they’d been in Charleston, he would have taken her words as an opening to ask her to go out with him. And he wanted to. He wanted to sit across from her in some place with low lighting and listen to her talk about whatever the fuck she wanted while he admired her. But to what end? In two months, he’d probably never see her again.

He wasn’t the type of guy who could thrive in a long-distance relationship. He craved affection and physical closeness as much as he valued emotional connection. It wasn’t that he was afraid he’d cheat—he liked to believe he had more integrity than that. But he knew that type of arrangement wouldn’t work for him. He could deal with it for a while, but in time the physical distance would cause him to become emotionally distant. He’d pull away slowly, inching towards the end until all he could manage was a terse once-a-week phone call until the inevitable breakup.

He was confident that this would be the outcome for him. Largely because it was almost an exact mirror of how his relationship with Gram had deteriorated once he’d left town and couldn’t feel her hugs or love so keenly.

So no, he couldn’t ask her out on a date. Not if he was trying to be responsible with both of their feelings. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends though. Eight weeks wasn’t a very long time, but it was too long for him to exist with only his grandmother for company. And he sure as fuck wasn’t about to hang out with anybody else in town. They already had a few things in common, and if her presence was any indication, she didn’t hate his company. He could keep his desire for her in check long enough to maintain a casual friendship with her … if she wanted one.

“That’s probably because I only own two of them,” he laughed. “And both are balled up in a drawer in my apartment back in Charleston.”

“I thought you were some fancy journalist,” she said. “The way your grandmother talks, you work for some sophisticated paper and practically wear a three-piece suit to work every day.”

The pride Gram felt for him and his career should have made him feel pleased, but it only served to make guilt bite at the back of his neck. “Not at all. I love my job. I write about sports—mostly baseball. It definitely ain’t fancy though. The last time I wore a tie to work was during my interview.”

“Maybe don’t tell her that, then. Because she’s definitely told everyone at bingo that you’re some kind of Don Draper type.”

He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t know if he’d have it in him to bust up Gram’s vision like that, but he didn’t like the thought of people thinking of him as that particular brand of asshole.

“I’m definitely not that,” he said. “I like to think of myself as more of a Michael O’Neal in My Best Friend’s Wedding kind of guy.”

“You’re missing the sexy scar though.”

He snorted. “Anyway, speaking of friends … I was thinkin’ that we should spend more time together.”