Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(41)

“When do you have to get back to LA?” The line of his cheekbone—it was so distinct under her fingertips. So sharp, like his jaw. “I need to work for the rest of the night, in preparation for the cleaning company tomorrow. But other than that, I’m free.”

When his forehead crinkled this time, she smoothed the lines. “My flight leaves tomorrow morning. I wish it didn’t.” Then his face relaxed, his grimace lifting into a hopeful smile. “But I’d planned to work out in the hotel gym first thing in the morning, before showering and checking out. Want to join me? We could grab a quick breakfast afterward. The hotel has a decent buffet.”

She dropped her hand to her lap, the nape of her neck prickling in warning.

“You want me to work out with you?” she asked.

Before this moment, she’d thought—

It didn’t matter. He was treading familiar ground now, digging the same poisoned well deeper and deeper yet, and she’d abandoned that particular spot long ago.

She wasn’t going back. Not for anyone, and especially not for a man whose company already came fraught with endless complications and contradictions.

“Uh, yeah.” His voice was quieter now. A bit uncertain. “Early tomorrow morning. If you’re interested.”

Her stomach was roiling, her cheeks hot with anger and stupid, stupid embarrassment.

One more chance. Just in case she’d misunderstood.

“Tell me, Marcus.” Her legs. They were touching his. She angled her knees away from him. “What do you recommend from that breakfast buffet?”

Head tilted, brow lowered, he was studying her closely.

“Um . . . I usually have the oatmeal. Hard-boiled eggs. Fruit.” The words came slowly. “But there’s—”

“I appreciate the invitation.” To her pleasure, her smile was probably colder than the wind on his bare chest earlier, her words clear and calm. “On second thought, though, I think I’ll be too busy to do anything tomorrow.”

Tomorrow and for the rest of her life.

Her lips were trembling, and she pressed them tight. Breathed through her nose until the hurt stopped twisting her gut inside out.

Oh, wow, someone prodding me to work out! How novel! she wanted to cry gaily, arms spread wide in false surprise. And how grateful I am for the suggestion of healthy food alternatives! Without your help, how would a woman of my size ever know about the importance of exercise and nutrition?

But she didn’t think she could keep her voice steady, not while saying something that revealed so much of her scarred heart. There was no point to wasting her energy on sarcasm, either. He probably wouldn’t even register it as such. They never did.

My body is a tool, he’d said. Like body, like owner, apparently.

She should have known. A body like his, a face that pretty? Of course he cared about appearances more than what lay underneath. Of course.

An erection didn’t mean he respected her. It didn’t even mean he liked her body. Just that their pheromones were compatible, probably to his abject confusion and dismay.

She loved shiny things, always had. But he wasn’t a diamond. Just fool’s gold.

Marcus Caster-Rupp could fuck off to exactly the same place as all the other people—roommates, colleagues, so-called friends—who’d seemed to offer unconditional affection at first, then eventually coaxed her to visit the gym, presented her with the gift of a high-tech scale, bought her a membership to a weight-loss organization, offered her helpful nutritional tips.

Over the course of two decades, she’d occasionally dated and fucked men like him. Before that, she’d lived with people like him for eighteen years.

Enough.

She was done being fat-shamed. By him. By everyone.

Tonight, she was pouring a glass of wine and explaining exactly that to her friends on the Lavineas server. Sharing hurts she should have acknowledged long before, telling them truths she wished they’d understood without her having to say anything.

She’d try to do it gently, because they were her longtime friends, unlike the man sitting across from her in this cab. But she was doing it. Period. No matter how hard it was to expose herself that way, and no matter how badly they might react.

“Okay.” At least Marcus was sensitive enough not to argue, not to reach for her again, even as those blue-gray eyes watched her so carefully. “That makes sense. You’ve got a lot going on.”

“I really do.”

She pulled out her phone from the inside pocket of her purse. With a few taps, she made herself a note to pick up wine along with the necessary cleaning supplies.

“Maybe—” His body still wasn’t touching hers, but he’d edged a bit closer again. So close the heat radiating from him threatened to melt her resolve. Too close. “Maybe I could fly back later in the week? Help you unpack and get settled? I’m between jobs right now, so . . .”

That shyness, that incompletely masked hurt in his voice, was a ploy. An act. It had to be.

She didn’t need to respond to it with softness anymore.

“Whenever someone helps me unpack, I always have trouble figuring out where everything went.” Phone deposited safely back in its pocket, she zipped her purse shut. It made a satisfyingly final sound. Then she turned to look out the window. “I’m not sure what my schedule will look like for the rest of the week, so I shouldn’t make plans. Thank you for the offer of help, though.”