She glanced down at her somewhat shapeless sweater and jeans. “It’s comfortable.”
“Yeah, well, comfort doesn’t always equal sex appeal. And a V-neck sweater would be just as comfortable, but it wouldn’t cut your torso off the way that crew neck does. You’re a C-cup, right?”
He seemed to know a lot about boobs for a gay guy. She was a thirty-six C. “Yes. Why?”
“Because your boobs are too big for a crew neck or for those turtlenecks you wear. You need some skin to balance them out. And your skin, by the way, is quite lovely. You should show more of it. And I would buy some jeans with a little bling on the backside. You have a nice butt.”
“I do?” She hadn’t really taken much stock of her butt except for the fact that she’d been forced to sit on it for years. “I thought it was a little big.”
When he grinned like that, she almost wondered if there wasn’t some bisexual in there. It seemed an insult to women everywhere that he slept with men. “Not at all. Men like a little junk in the trunk, if you know what I mean. Well, straight guys do. I think it’s fair to say that your hustler was into you for something other than cash. Did he get you to pay for lunch?”
“No.” Lee had been very insistent on taking care of the bill. She’d reached for it, and he’d stared her down until she’d passed it to him and then he’d jovially taken care of it. “And he paid for coffee later, too.”
Adam looked thoughtful as he selected another tomato to dice. “Okay. So most hustlers want the female to pay for everything. They don’t tend to treat their customers. Their customers treat them. And besides, one would think that a hustler would be better dressed.”
“He was dressed just fine.” He’d looked very nice. Super nice. Hot. God, she’d pushed that guy away. What was wrong with her?
Adam snorted lightly and shook his head. “There was a stain on his jeans. I doubt he noticed. A hustler would have noticed. It looked like paint or something. He should have been wearing slacks. Slacks are slicker.”
“He said he worked in construction.” His hands had been callused and rough like he worked with them all the time. Like he did exactly what he said he did.
“Ah, then he probably knows and doesn’t care. He probably got it while he was working, and like lots of straight guys, doesn’t give a crap because they still fit. Again, a hustler would have been dressed to kill. He was like dressed to maim maybe. Actually, he’s not really all that hot. Are you sure you like him? He seems a little like a douchebag to me. You know the kind who goes around kissing women who don’t belong to him. Do you want me to punch him the next time we see him?”
“He’s not a douchebag.” Now that she was out of the situation, she could look at things a little more clearly. He’d been nice all afternoon. He’d been a wonderful companion and he’d taken care of her, and she’d repaid him by insulting him horribly. “He’s a nice man. I just don’t understand what he sees in me.”
Adam put down his knife and sighed. “I don’t think dinner is in the cards tonight. I think you need to start looking at yourself in a different way or you’re going to push away every guy who tries to make a pass at you.” He stopped. “You want some guy out there to make a pass at you, right? I’m being so very in the box right now. Do you like girls, sweetheart? Because it didn’t look like it when you had your tongue down his throat.”
“Okay, ewww.” She had to laugh. It had not been halfway down his throat. It had been just the right amount of distance inside his mouth so their tongues could rub against each other in a way that had very nearly made her melt. “I like guys. I just don’t know that I’m ready. I was married.”
“I thought you hadn’t dated in years. How old were you?”
“Barely eighteen.” She’d been so young and so very, very stupid, but her short marriage to Brandon was a bittersweet memory, a pure time in her life when she’d been loved and taken care of and the whole world seemed like it might go right for once.
Adam whistled. “That’s young. How long have you been divorced?”
“I didn’t get divorced.” She hated this conversation. Maybe this was precisely why she’d been fine with avoiding friendships. They were costly and uncertain, and she wasn’t sure she was truly brave enough to reach out and open herself up. And she wouldn’t know until she tried. She couldn’t blunder through life hurting people the way she had today. If she did that then she should have just stayed in that car and died with Brandon and her precious baby. She owed them more than the life she’d been living. “Brandon died.”
She couldn’t bring herself to mention Madison. He didn’t need to know about Madison.