Playing It Safe(68)

I start to dab my eyes again in an effort to absorb what Lisette said in all its glory. God, I hate it when she’s right. Actually, I hate being wrong period, but admitting it out loud is even more painful. Worse than that is that I don’t know if I can take one more crushing disappointment at this point in my life. And I know it will crush me, so that’s why I’m being extra cautious.

“Say something,” Lisette says in a rush. “Tell me to go to hell or to mind my own business, but at least say something, because you’re kind of freaking me out now.”

“You’re right.”

She tilts her head, and then her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What did you just say?”

I clear my throat and mumble under my breath, “I said, you’re right.”

“Is it the apocalypse?” Lisette asks and then crosses herself before plucking the cross charm attached to her necklace out of her cleavage and giving it a kiss. “Did you actually agree with me on this?”

“Yup.”

I drop the damp towels from my eyes again and peer at her as she quietly looks on with a beaming smile on her face. “Don’t gloat, it’s not attractive.”

“Oh, I’m going to gloat, so get over yourself.” She clasps her hands behind her back while staring at me with a pleased look on her face for a few seconds and then exhales loudly and says, “Okay, I’m done gloating. Go ahead, start talking.”

“It’s only been a week, Lisette. A week full of a lot of hot and crazy sex and pillow talk. And I’m not complaining because, well, you know.” She winks in understanding. “Anyway, we’re in this nice and cozy little bubble that I don’t want to burst yet.”

“Burst how?”

“I mean everything is perfect right now as is. I don’t want to rock the boat and start digging up shit that could potentially ruin everything.” As an afterthought I add, “Plus, who’s to say there isn’t anything more to us than sex?”

I know Alex has told me we are more than f*ck buddies, but still … there’s a possibility that that’s all there is. One that I’ve had in the back of my mind regardless of his repeated attempts to pacify my concerns.

See what years of craptastic dating can do to your psyche?

“It’s definitely more than sex, Julia,” Lisette calmly says. “The way that man looks at you … trust me, it’s more than that, so you need to get that thought right out of your head.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Stop doing that,” she says, her voice going flat.

“What?”

“That. Where you compare every guy to Aiden. It’s not fair to Alex. You need to give him a chance to explain this and give him a chance period.”

“I hate it when you’re right, you know that?”

Her mouth curls into a delighted grin. “I know you do. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

She gives me her elbow so I can loop my arm through, and she guides me back to my office, where she helps me clean up the mess left from the stress ball explosion. After she leaves me alone, and after another reminder that I need to give Alex a chance to explain, I shoot off a quick text to him.

Dinner at my place tonight?

He answers back right away.

Absolutely. What time?

7:00 p.m.

He agrees with a return text, and it literally takes all of me from responding with a litany of questions, the first of which would be something like: “What the f*ck is going on with you and Marisa?” But cooler heads prevail, and I decide to wait until later tonight to dig into Alex’s past so I can decide what the truth really is.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

As soon as I get home, I change into my comfy clothes, which consist of distressed fitted jeans with a black tank top, and start to work on dinner. I have to stop myself from taking off my bra, since that’s usually the very first thing I do when I walk through the door. What woman doesn’t after a full day of having those suckers strapped in? But I figure we’re not that comfortable in our relationship where I can walk around braless in a T-shirt yet. Here’s to hoping though.


I’m in the midst of popping the tilapia filets in the oven when the doorbell rings. I turn down the volume on the iPod that is currently blaring Elvis Costello’s “Everyday I Write the Book,” before opening the door. If it wasn’t for me holding the door handle and it effectively helping me to keep my balance, I may have literally swooned at what I see before me: Alex, wearing a backward baseball hat, a white V-neck T-shirt, black athletic shorts, and sneakers.

Now, you all should remember how I mentioned that I have two weaknesses when it comes to men. One being a man’s forearms. But the other and far more potent form of kryptonite is a good-looking man wearing a backward baseball hat. I can’t even fully explain or rationalize the how and why of it. It just is. So when I see Alex standing before me wearing a red one with the tips of his mussed-up hair poking out of it, I temporarily forget that I’m supposed to be having a serious conversation with him tonight about Miss Teen USA because all I can do is stare.

“Can I come in?” he asks with a good-natured chuckle after a few seconds of me staring without saying a word.

“Why do you look like that?”