The Relationship Pact(58)

“No,” I say.

“Ah, the pretty girl doesn’t like it when the script is turned on her, does she?” He settles against the couch. “It’s not fun, huh?”

I shake my head and wonder where he’s going with this. “No, but I respect that you want to get to know me better.”

He makes a face. “I already know this. I’m telling you.”

“Oh.”

He laughs. “I think you pick guys that you think won’t work out, so you don’t have to settle down.”

“What? You’re crazy,” I say. “You’re wrong. So wrong.”

He doesn’t laugh. He just sits still and watches me.

I squirm under his gaze. “What?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes. You’re wrong.”

He shrugs.

His refusal to elaborate is killing me.

That’s not what I do. Not at all.

He’s crazy.

“One of us is good at this and that one of us isn’t you,” I say, picking up my plate.

“Why else would a smart woman like you pick someone like Sebastian? Or me,” he adds. “It doesn’t make sense. The only thing it can be is that you know both of us are fuck-ups. You’ll have an out if you want it. You just have to wait for it.”

“Or,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat, “I pick a certain type of guy and it’s not a good match for me. I can’t help what I’m attracted to.”

He takes my plate out of my hands and sets it on the table.

“I wasn’t done,” I tell him.

When he faces me again, he’s grinning. “Did you just admit you’re attracted to me?”

“Well, like that’s new news.”

He’s satisfied. “I really like this you today. I just want to make that clear.”

I lean back on the couch and gaze up at him. “I really like the playful you today. Just to be clear.”

“We better figure out what put us in such a good mood.”

“Oh, I already know what it was,” I tease.

He quirks a brow. “You do?”

“Uh-huh. It was all the … talking.”

His face falls. “I thought it was the sex.”

“Close second.”

“Damn.”

His eyes hood as he takes me in. He stands up and hovers over me.

“There is one thing you could do to make the sex be number one,” I tell him.

“What’s that?”

“Show me those abs, baby.”

He bursts out laughing. Animation sweeps across his face, and it makes me laugh too.

“If you insist …” He shrugs off his flannel.

And then, inch by inch in a Magic Mike-esque move, he peels his T-shirt off in the slowest way possible.

With each inch it rises up his tanned midsection, a new block of muscle is exposed. The lines are defined and appear to have been crafted by the hand of God. The muscles lining his side are just as clear, and the higher up his shirt goes, the broader his body gets.

My eyes widen, and I let them. I don’t even pretend not to be impressed. Downplaying something that was clearly chiseled by an angel seems like a disgrace.

Finally, the shirt comes all the way off, and he throws it at my face.

I giggle. “Wow. That’s worth the wait.”

He flexes, making me giggle louder.

“Can I touch it?” I ask. “Or, better yet, can I lick it?”

“I have an idea.”

“What’s that—ah!”

He sweeps me up in his arms in one quick move. I throw an arm around his shoulder to steady myself and nearly melt when my fingertips sweep the edge of his muscled shoulder.

“You can touch me or lick me—whatever you want,” he says, carrying me toward my bedroom. “But only if I can lick you first.”

I look into his relaxed, playful eyes and grin. “Deal.”





Eighteen





Hollis





Me: Miss me?



I set my phone on my stomach and grab the remote. I flip through the channels as I wait for Crew or River to respond.

There’s a show about a guy hunting for a monster in a river. A lot of shows about cooking, which I could probably get into, but Judy’s box of snacks is long gone. The most interesting thing is an old Western movie that has such poor audio that I can’t get into it. But I need to get into something because my brain won’t stop thinking.

“I think you think that no one would ever stick out the hard times with you. That you’d never be the first pick.”

The girl has my number. How? I don’t know. But it sure feels like she and River are on the same page.

That’s scary.

“What is it with everyone on my ass about this right now?” I ask aloud. “And why is no one texting me back?”

I hop to the floor and press out a few push-ups. The movement helps move things through my head.

They’re both right in that I think—that I know—that people don’t stick around when shit gets hard. But they’re both wrong in that they think it’s something I can fix.

It’s a flaw in the system of my life. I didn’t design it this way.