Reflected in You(95)

It was a suitably casual choice and a conversation starter, since my dad was a die-hard Padres fan.


"I hadn't realized she was such a good singer, as well.


Gideon Cross," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.


"Victor Reyes."


My dad waved his shiny fingers.


"I'm a bit messy."


"I don't mind."


Shrugging, my dad took his hand and sized him up.


I tossed the dish towel to the guys and made my way over to Ireland, who was positively glowing.


Her blue eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.


"I'm so glad you could make it," I said, hugging her carefully.


"You look gorgeous!" "So do you!" It was a fib, but I appreciated it anyway.


I hadn't done anything to my face or hair after my shower, because I knew my dad wouldn't care and I hadn't expected Gideon to show up.


After all, the last time I'd heard from him had been when he'd said he would meet me at Dr.


Petersen's office.


She looked over at the counter where I'd dumped everything.


"Can I help?" "Sure.


Just don't count calories in your head - it'll explode."


I introduced her to my dad, who was much warmer to her than he was to Gideon, and then I led her to the sink, where she washed up.


In short order, I had her helping to roll the last few enchiladas, while my dad put the already chilled Dos Equis Gideon had brought into the fridge.


I didn't even bother to wonder how Gideon knew I was serving Mexican food for dinner.


I only wondered why he'd invest the time to find out when it was very clear he other things to do -  like ditch his appointments.


My dad went to his room to wash up.


Gideon came up behind me and put his hands on my waist, his lips brushing over my temple.


"Eva."


I tensed against the nearly irresistible urge to lean into him.


"Don't," I whispered.


"I'd rather we didn't pretend."


His breath left him in a rush that ruffled my hair.


His fingers tightened on my hips, kneading for a moment.


Then I felt his phone vibrate and he released me, backing away to look at the screen.


"Excuse me," he said gruffly, leaving the kitchen before answering.


Ireland sidled over and whispered, "Thank you.


I know you made him bring me along."


I managed a smile for her.


"Nobody can make Gideon do anything he doesn't want to."


"You could."


She tossed her head, throwing her sleek waist-length black hair over her shoulder.


"You didn't see him watching you dance with your dad.


His eyes got all shiny.


I thought he was going to cry.


And on the way up here, in the elevator, he tried to play it off, but I could totally tell he was nervous."


I stared down at the can of enchilada sauce in my hands, feeling my heart break a little more.


"You're mad at him, aren't you?" Ireland asked.


I cleared my throat.


"Some people are just better off as friends."


"But you said you love him."


"That's not always enough."


I turned around to reach the can opener and found Gideon standing at the other end of the island, staring at me.


I froze.


A muscle in his jaw twitched before he unclenched it.


"Would you like a beer?" he asked gruffly.


I nodded.


I could've used a shot, too.


Maybe a few.


"Want a glass?" "No."


He looked at Ireland.


"You thirsty? There's soda, water, milk."


"How about one of those beers?" she shot back, flashing a winsome smile.


"Try again," he said wryly.


I watched Ireland, noting how she sparkled when Gideon focused on her.


I couldn't believe he didn't see how she loved him.


Maybe right now it was based on superficial things, but it was there and it would grow with a little encouragement.


I hoped he'd work on that.When Gideon handed me the chilled beer, his fingers brushed mine.


He held on for a minute, looking into my eyes.


I knew he was thinking about the other night.


It seemed like a dream now, as if his visit never really happened.


I could almost believe that I'd made it up in a desperate delusion, so hungry for his touch and his love that I couldn't go another minute without giving my mind relief from the madness of wanting and craving.


If it weren't for the lingering soreness deep inside me, I wouldn't know what was real and what was nothing but false hope.


I pulled the beer out of his grasp and turned away.