You did.
She banished the internal accusation. That was different. She was a grown woman, not a sixth grader who’d shriek in delight if she scored a date to the school dance. Darcy was smart enough to know what she wanted from her future. And sure, Reed was great in bed, but she wasn’t entirely convinced he could be what she needed out of it—dependable, compassionate, cautious rather than impulsive.
Some women liked a man who was reckless. God knew Darcy had liked it last night when Reed ravished her in the backseat of her car after throwing the equivalent of a temper tantrum. But just because he excited her didn’t mean he could satisfy her emotionally.
“Anyway, in the end,” Reed continued, “after I realized talking to Apple wasn’t a viable option, I decided to give her a note.”
“What did it say?” Darcy asked curiously.
He snickered. “It said do you love me? And underneath the question were two boxes, one for yes and one for no. I told her to check the box that best described her feelings.”
Darcy burst out laughing. “Dude, that’s pretty bold for a sixth-grade boy.”
“That’s how I roll, baby. Bold and ballsy to the bitter end.”
Her tone softened. “Awwww. Was it a bitter end? Did she check the no box?”
“Nope.” Reed grinned. “She added a new box that said maybe. And below that she wrote I’ll tell you after you take me to the dance.”
“Go you,” Darcy said, clapping her hands in teasing applause. “So you got the girl.”
“Sure did.” He released a glum breath. “At least until the dance. Halfway through the second Mariah Carey ballad, this kid named Scotty Dawson cut in and whisked Apple away, and they were boyfriend and girlfriend by the time her parents came to pick us up. As you can probably guess, that was one awkward car ride home.”
“Oh, that’s so awful. I can’t believe she did that.” Darcy glowered in defense of the twelve-year-old Reed. “What a bi-otch.”
“Naah, she wasn’t a bi-otch. Just a fickle sixth-grade girl. I actually have her on my Facebook.”
Darcy snorted. “Really?”
“Yup, but she’s Apple Shulman-Schwartz now. Married a nice Jewish boy, popped out five kids, and works as an estate lawyer at a fancy-pants firm in Beacon Hill.”
“Impressive.”
“I know, right? And then there’s me,” he said wryly. “A total bum, not even paying a mortgage because I’m living in the house I inherited from my uncle. And running a night club, which, by the way, is a job Apple would probably consider scandalous.”
Darcy snapped to his defense again. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. First of all, you’re a business owner, which is just as impressive as being a lawyer, and who cares if you inherited your house instead of buying it? You’re still responsible for all your household bills, and insurance, and all that important stuff. You’re smart, and responsible, and—” She halted, feeling like scolding herself for letting the conversation take such a dangerous turn.
She was supposed to be making an effort not to see him as any of those things. Reed was the bad boy hottie she was sleeping with, the man who was giving her a crash course in passion before she moved on and reverted back to her relationship ways.
“And sexy,” she finished, hastily veering back to safe territory. “Like, ridiculously sexy. Did I tell you how hot you look today?”
“Nope, you didn’t. But I sure would love to hear it.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Okay, well, that shirt? Just tight enough to outline all those yummy muscles. And the way your butt fills out those jeans? Hubba hubba.”
Reed threw his head back and laughed. “Gee, I had no idea I was talking to Bazooka Joe.”
“I’m serious, you look so good in those jeans I want to rip them off you.” Darcy glanced past his impossibly broad shoulders, catching sight of something that made her raise one brow in challenge. “In fact, why don’t we duck in there so I can do just that?”
He twisted around, chuckling when he spotted the rickety little shed a dozen yards from where they stood. It was tucked behind a row of empty tables, its wooden door gaping open to reveal the stacks of crates inside of it.
“Are you seriously suggesting we get it on in the middle of the farmers market?” Reed drawled.
Darcy had been half joking, but the second he said the words, her thighs clenched so hard she nearly pulled a muscle.
She slowly met Reed’s gaze. “No, I’m suggesting we get it on in a shed in the middle of the farmers market.”
Unmistakable interest lit his vivid blue eyes.
“Well?” she prompted.