Just before the door shut behind me, I heard Ronan sigh heavily. ‘Great, now I’ve got Sir Mix-A-Lot stuck in my head.’
As Nate leaned against my kitchen counter, drinking soda, I allowed myself to really look at him in a way I hadn’t looked at him since cementing a close friendship with him. It was Thursday night and he’d just arrived to continue our lessons. Wearing a plain black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots, and a sports watch, he was glamorous without even trying. I knew he’d hate it if he knew I was thinking that word, but it just fit Nate. At any given minute he looked ready to walk the red carpet or pose for the paparazzi. When he’d been dressed up in his three-piece suit for Joss and Braden’s wedding, he’d been absolutely beautiful. He could put Hollywood actors to shame.
And Nate wasn’t just beautiful on the outside. Underneath the playboy was a guy more loyal than most, earthy, compassionate, and – let’s face it – giving. Here he was, taking time out of his life to help me with a pretty embarrassing situation. So far, he’d tried his best to make sure the experience wasn’t excruciating for me. How many guys were that kind and patient?
He was beautiful all the way through, and it was only now sinking in that a man that beautiful had said he found me attractive.
‘So did anything stick with you?’ Nate asked carefully after taking his first sip of Coke.
‘I’ve been singing “I Like Big Butts” for the past twenty-four hours.’
His laughter filled my tiny apartment and it hit me in my belly in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. Stubbornly I squashed that feeling and continued. ‘Honestly, it has sunk in a little. At least it’s put me in a good mood, and has made me think that maybe I do have a slightly skewed perception of my physical appearance. However, it’s not going to make me confident overnight. The thought of flirting with Benjamin, doing anything with Benjamin, makes me nervous as all hell.’
He shrugged. ‘You’ve got to be patient. We’ll get you there. I just wanted to know you’re at least thinking about what I said. I don’t want this to be a total waste of my time.’
I did my best not to wince at his comment. Nate was blunt. That’s who he was. He didn’t censor his words, and if you were feeling a little sensitive it was easy to take them the wrong way. ‘You’re not wasting your time,’ I promised him.
The corner of his lip tipped up and a dimple flashed in his right cheek. ‘No, I’m not wasting my time.’
Trying not to become mesmerized by that dimple, I exhaled a little shakily and asked, ‘So, what’s next?’
‘First flirting. Then clothes.’
Blinking rapidly, I attempted to process the words in a way that made them make sense. I couldn’t. ‘Uh … clothes?’
Nate ran his eyes down my body pointedly. ‘Do you own a skirt? A dress? Anything that shows cleavage?’
Suddenly I knew exactly what he was talking about. It wasn’t that I wasn’t stylish – at least I hoped not – but I was a little conservative in my clothing choices. Still, I had to have something that showed cleavage …
I took too long to think because Nate said smugly, ‘Exactly.’
‘My clothes aren’t that bad.’
‘No, they’re not. But the only time I’ve seen you in a dress was the bridesmaid dress you wore to the wedding. I’ve never seen you in a short skirt either.’
Watching him take another drink, my eyes were glued to the movement of his strong throat. I shrugged absentmindedly. ‘I’ve never been that confident showing skin.’
‘Why?’
My eyes rose to meet his and I made a face. ‘You seriously have to ask that?’
His answer was aggravated silence. And yes, silence could be aggravated. It bristled around Nate as he waited impatiently for me to answer the question.
‘Okay, okay.’ I slouched over to the counter, pushing at my own glass of cold Coke. ‘It meant the possibility of men looking at me, and if they’re looking at me, they’re judging me.’
Nate contemplated this for a moment before replying, ‘Were you bullied as a child?’
‘A little. Not in a way that would cause permanent damage. Why?’
‘I’m just trying to work out why you’re so afraid to put yourself out there.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Is this a therapy session now?’
‘Does it need to be?’