Do You Take This Man (62)

“I kind of thought after last weekend . . .”

I let my eyes fall shut and read between the lines of that sentence. I’d been thinking about that night—the way his eyes locked on me from across the room, the way his hands felt on my body that left me flushed and excited but that wasn’t exactly sexual. It was just a dance, but apparently it hadn’t been just me thinking about our time together when we were apart, wondering what it would be like if there were more. I knew I’d been sending mixed signals, making him think there was more, but I couldn’t go through it again. “Lear . . .”

“No, it’s cool. My mistake. You’re right.” His tone brightened, but I could hear the lie in it, the smile he was faking.

I bit my lower lip. “It’s not you. I just don’t do . . .”

“RJ, it’s fine. Get back to your mobile office and I’ll talk to you later.”

After we hung up, I let my head fall back against the wall, regretting it immediately as who knew what child had smeared who knew what against the surface. What was that? I gave myself only a few moments to linger on the awkward conversation before forcing myself to open the laptop. It was no use, though; my mind wandered, and I couldn’t focus on work.

It wandered to the way his voice changed when he said it was fine.

It wandered to Case’s indifferent expression, and my dad’s roses, and realizing the old friendship with Michael that I thought was stone was made of sand. I thought about all the times I’d expected a man to be there only to find he’d gone.

My mind wandered to how much I enjoyed kissing Lear. I wasn’t an indecisive person, and I didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about people’s feelings. I knew we couldn’t be more than sex, maybe friendship, but that was all I could give him. I had the sinking feeling that if I let myself have more, it would ruin me.

Still, my mind wandered back to Lear and how he’d looked at me when we danced.

No matter how many times I shook it off and leaned into work, my mind wandered back to what it was like when we were together, and I had to decide if I could leave things with him saying “It’s fine.” It was much harder to shake off than I wanted.





Chapter 34


Lear





I GLANCED AT the clock on my nightstand, the numbers a taunt. I had to be out the door by eight a.m., but I’d tossed and turned, wide awake, and now it was almost three in the morning. I’d gotten twisted in my sheets, and Harold’s familiar phrase came back. I was all twisted up. Only this time it was over RJ and our phone call.

The weekend before, the morning in the hotel, the slow dance . . . I’d been certain it was something, but my radar was busted, my tools to detect what the hell was going on needed calibration. I hated making a fool of myself and I’d done it in a big way. I rolled to my other side, hoping if I didn’t see the time, I could ignore it. The other side of my pillow was cool against my face and I willed myself to go to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I imagined RJ’s real smile, the one where she bit her tongue between her lips, and the way the slightly crooked fingertips I loved twitched when she was annoyed, and the way she sighed after a deep kiss, unaware she was doing it.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand and I reached for it, assuming it would be Caitlin checking in. She’d grown up here and she knew the time difference, but she never seemed to care when she wanted to tell me something. It wasn’t her name, though. RJ’s face along with You up? sat on my lock screen.

I set the phone back down. I don’t need this. She’s not interested, and I’ve already embarrassed myself tonight. I rolled over again. This time the pillow was warm, though, leaving me tossing again and staring at the still-illuminated screen on my phone. Now she wanted to do this? I groaned, my dick reacting to the idea of dirty texts from RJ, despite knowing I should resist the temptation. I reached for the phone, then set it down. “Dammit,” I muttered into the dark room, sitting up to rest my back against the headboard, the cool air hitting my bare chest.


Lear: Yeah. Make it to Chicago?

RJ: Eventually. Why are you still up?



Even through a text, she sounded accusatory, and I was tempted to set down the phone again.


Lear: Can’t sleep. Did you text me just to lecture me about being awake?

RJ: No.


Lear: “You up?” at 2:30 a.m. usually has a pretty clear meaning.

RJ: I know, but I wanted to tell you something.



I waited, hating how rapt I was when the three dots began blinking, how eager I was to devour whatever she was going to say next.


RJ: It’s not just you.


Lear: What do you mean?

RJ: I think about you, too.



I sat rigid, rereading the text. It wasn’t what I had expected. A few hours earlier it had been what I wanted, but now it felt like she was playing some game. Still, I waited for more dots, like a sucker.


RJ: I think about kissing you . . . I think about it a lot.

RJ: Kissing you, and other stuff.



My dick was, once again, on full alert.


Lear: Other stuff?

RJ: You were there, you remember the other stuff.


Lear: I remember vividly.

RJ: Yeah. Too vividly.