Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(43)

He pulls his hand out of his pocket and squeezes my elbow and looks at me with a rueful smile I don’t quite understand.

It seems only a few seconds after we stare at each other that he notices Emmett and Wynn, and I notice Callan and the blonde who might be either Callan or Tahoe’s date. It feels like I’m coming back to Earth and I can almost hear the regret in Tahoe’s voice when he greets my friends.

Callan calls for Tahoe.

The things I’m feeling from seeing Tahoe again are too overwhelming to suppress.

“Would you like to sit with us, Regina?”

My startled brown eyes fly up to find a pair of Nordic blues staring back. I feel like there’s no air inside the room when he’s in it, an unbelievable mix of sophistication and primalness.

I suck in a calming breath, but he’s still big and manly and beautiful and smelling delicious and with that mouth.

As his eyes keep staring into mine, there’s a crack in the shields, and I see an incredible force and power simmering underneath. I suppress a shiver. Breathless, I give him a slight shake of my head. He smiles a sad, rueful smile, and says, “Come over if you change your mind. ’Bye, Regina,” and just like that, he walks away.

A dozen women catch up with him.



*



It isn’t until I have breakfast with the girls the next day that Rachel mentions the cast.

“What cast?”

“He was wearing a cast at the club this weekend, didn’t you see?” Wynn says.

“He broke his wrist in practice,” Rachel says as she bites into her croissant.

“What?”

His comment about needing his lucky charm at practice finally makes sense. I’m a little bit angry with myself because, had I not been too excited and unexpectedly affected by seeing him again, maybe I’d have had enough working brain cells to notice?

I excuse myself from the table, step outside the restaurant to the sidewalk, and call him. Whatever went on that weekend in Florida, I’m sure he understands that I was drunk and not thinking clearly. He still called me his lucky charm even though I doubt that I am one for anyone.

“Is that why you haven’t invited me to one of your games?” I ask when he answers, shocked.

“So you’ve missed me,” he says. He sounds deeply satisfied.

“No. Yes. I mean… Are you injured?”

“Yeah, I f*cked up in practice,” he rumbles ruefully. I can hear the frustration in his voice. “Haven’t played.”

“God, Tahoe. I want to know these things, we’re friends. You were at the hospital for me, I want to be there for you.”

“I’m fine, Regina.” He laces his voice with a bit of uncharacteristic tenderness, and then he sounds amused. “I could’ve definitely used spooning though.”

I laugh. Then I check the time. In mere seconds, I calculate how much time I would spend baking a pecan pie and come to a decision. “I’m coming over tonight,” I say, and hang up.

I hardly notice the silence at the table when I return to the girls, or how they’re sharing questioning looks between themselves until I glance up from my plate.

“What?” I ask.

Wynn says, “I didn’t say anything.”

Rachel just looks at me with that concerned look of wanting to tell something to your best friend but don’t know how to do it without riling her up. So I decide there’s no point in discussing anything, and I bring the topic back to Rachel’s upcoming ultrasound and whether or not she and Saint will finally learn the sex of their baby.

I ride the elevator up to Tahoe’s floor a little after 8 p.m. I’m dressed casually in jeans and a sweater I bought with my special employee discount. It’s emerald green and warm enough that I didn’t need a jacket.

I’m more nervous than I expected to be, my heart pounding as I step off the elevator. I’ve been here before, first with Rachel and Saint, then when I dropped by unexpectedly, but I’m not used to his apartment. The place is so immense and bold, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. Wood floors, leather furniture, stone-covered walls with Expressionist and Impressionist paintings scattered all over. Every painting on his wall is old. The frames are old, gold and carved. They contrast greatly with the modern furniture, creating a very complex, manly, elegant look.

The most impressive piece is the Van Gogh above the fireplace mantel. Van Gogh, a man so lonely and tortured and passionate, he chopped off his ear for love. He worked his whole life without selling a painting, save for one. I don’t have much appreciation for art, but I’ve gone to exhibitions with Rachel and the only painter I’ve truly gotten, and will never forget the story of, is Van Gogh.

And sitting with a pile of papers strewn all around him is Tahoe. I knew that he expected me, but it’s always still a surprise to see him alone, no floozie clinging to his shoulders, no woman draped over him.

He looks so good like that, all male, solitary. It somehow fits him. He was reading something in one hand and his injured arm is spread along the back of the couch, casually lazy, the lights above shining on his blond mane.

I feel like I haven’t seen him in years.

Except for last night at the club, I haven’t seen him since I got drunk and punched him.

Ohmygod, I’m such a lousy drunk!

“I brought you something.”