The Kiss Quotient(57)
He searched her eyes for a long moment. “Okay.”
“I’ll pay for it, of course—”
“Wait until you see it first,” he said, bringing her hand up to his mouth so he could kiss her knuckles.
“I’m going to love it.”
He shook with another laugh. “I think you will.”
Dinner arrived, and conversation—real conversation—continued at a steady pace as they ate food spiced with lemongrass, makrut lime leaves, basil, and red chili peppers that burned her lips. She asked Michael about his favorite designers—Jean Paul Gaultier, Issey Miyake, and Yves Saint Laurent—and learned he’d gone to fashion school in San Francisco. He asked when she’d discovered her love of economics—high school—and when she’d had her first boyfriend—never. He’d gone steady with a girl in fourth grade, spending time with her primarily on the school bus. Stella ate more than she normally would have. She wanted to drag this out.
When the bill came, she grabbed for it, but Michael handed the waiter his credit card with adept smoothness. She narrowed her eyes.
This wasn’t the first time he’d insisted on paying for things with her, and it made her intensely uncomfortable. Living expenses like these were inconsequential to her, and he clearly had money troubles. Why wouldn’t he let her pay? How could they work around this? She had no idea how to discuss monetary things without insulting him.
On their way out of the restaurant, Michael said, “I need to stop at my place to pick up my clothes. I forgot about it until you reminded me.”
“Does that mean I can see it?” Or was she making assumptions by thinking they were spending the night together?
“If you really want to. It’s nothing special.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking charmingly ill at ease.
“It can’t be worse than my place.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“My place is empty and . . . sterile.” People called her that when they thought she wasn’t listening.
He ran his fingers across her cheek and down her hair. “It just needs furniture. Come on, then. It’s really close to here.”
By really close, he might have said he lived in the apartment complex right next door. It would have saved her from trying to find a place to park. After circling the packed parking lot unsuccessfully, he told her to take his assigned spot, and he parked a ways out on the street as she waited for him by the complex’s water garden.
Taking her hand, he led her up a set of outdoor stairs to his third-floor apartment. “I didn’t clean before I left, so expect the worst. Don’t have a heart attack, okay?”
She braced herself. “I promise.”
{ CHAP+ER }
18
Michael held his breath as Stella walked into his one-bedroom apartment. It wasn’t dirty—he was actually a super neat person—but it wasn’t very nice, either.
He tried looking at the space through her eyes. A small brown Ikea sofa sat against one wall of the living room across from a modest-sized flat-screen TV. At the back of the room were his workout bench and an arrangement of organized free weights. His punching bag hung near the corner in flagrant violation of his rental agreement.
The kitchen was a cramped area with laminate countertops, an electric range, and a small wooden table with four matching chairs. He kept a plant in the center of the table for color because, yeah, he liked that sort of thing. A metal filing cabinet was pushed against the back wall with bills and things on top he hadn’t gotten around to yet.
Stella removed her high heels and set them next to his other shoes. Her purse she placed absently on his couch as she inspected the DVDs lined up inside the TV console.
Leaning over for a closer look, she gave him a gratuitous view of her luscious ass. “You alphabetize them.”
He couldn’t help laughing. She never acted the way he expected. “Am I rocking your world, Stella?”
“What is this? Laughing in the Wind?” She opened the glass door and pulled out the one-inch-thick DVD case.
“Only the best wuxia television series ever.”
She glanced up from the box with her lips parted, looking like she’d found the Holy Grail, and it took effort not to grin like hell. None of his previous girlfriends had known what wuxia was, let alone shared his secret dorky obsession.
Trying to stay cool, he kicked his shoes off and placed them next to hers. “You can borrow it if you want.”
She hugged her treasure to her chest. “Okay, thanks.”
“Be careful, though. It’s really addicting, and there are eighty episodes or something.” He rubbed the smile off his mouth and ran his fingers through his hair. “Feel free to look around while I pack my stuff.”
But instead of staying behind when he went to his bedroom, she followed him and perched on the edge of the bed, smiling at him before checking out the plain space with curious sweeps of her eyes. Dressed in her expensive business clothes, she looked so out of place inside his cheap apartment that he wondered why the fuck he’d brought her here.
To torment himself, probably.
This was a no-client, no-woman zone, a place where he went to get normal in his head. How was he going to set his mind straight when things ended if he had memories of her sitting on his bed, waiting for him, smiling in the way that was just for him?