“He’s afraid I’ll hurt him?”
She nods and is about to say more, but beside me, I become aware of a soft tapping on my forearm. Then a tugging on my T-shirt hem, so I turn sideways and find little Andrea staring at me. A Mona Lisa smile plays at her lips, and she asks, “Wanna go get some ice cream?”
“Now, sweetie?” I glance back to Marti, afraid of losing this confessional moment when there’s so much more I want to learn. But a pair of bright blue eyes are actually crinkling with happy expectation, an auburn ponytail bobbing excitedly. Michael leans around her, extending a twenty-dollar bill and explaining, “I told her maybe just the two of you’d go?” There’s apology in his expression, and I push his hand away. “My treat,” I say, thinking of that first time we met in my office. There’s a similar lost look in his soulful eyes now—all the more when Andrea ignores him as he tells her to have fun.
He and Casey stand so we can press past, and it’s that melancholy thing in his gaze that makes me reach for his hand as I squeeze past him. For a brief moment there’s the feel of fingertips brushing mine. There’s electricity and nerves and a flare of desire.
Then there’s just baseball and beer and a gay man glaring at me like I’m the über bitch as I worm past him into the aisle.
***
“I’m not sure this is working, Michael.” We’re the last ones left in his driveway, since everyone else has pulled out and gone home. Andrea’s scuttled inside to brush her teeth and put on her nightgown.
“This?” He blinks at me, dark eyebrows furrowing together.
“You know, the whole… whatever we’re doing.” I’m thinking of how little we’ve even talked all evening; how distant he’s seemed at times. And I’m thinking of what a bust I was with Casey. I’m pretty sure I’ve never hit it off so poorly with anyone in my whole life.
“It’s working for me,” Michael protests, searching my face uncertainly, and I drop my head, feeling awkward and self-conscious. Feeling way too aware of the numb area to the left of my mouth, and how my lips tremble gracelessly into a smile.
“But what are we doing?” I ask after a moment, looking up into his eyes again. I always forget how tall he is until I’m standing close like this, and then I feel delicate as my nana’s Wedgwood beside him.
“Well, I think we just had a date,” he answers quietly; then, frowning, adds, “At least I think that’s what it was. I told my boss I had a date. Hope that’s okay?”
God, could he be anymore adorable? Could he?
“Sure. That’s okay,” I reply, my voice all quiet and filled with emotion. Relief washes over his face, his playful grin spreading wide.
“Scared me there for a minute, Rebecca.” He reaches for my hand. “Thought maybe you were about to dump me right in my own driveway.”
“I thought maybe we were only friends. You’ve seemed kind of strange tonight.”
“Ah, strange. Yeah, guess maybe so.” He stares up at the full, lazy moon that’s perched right over the hillside, reflective. “Lately things with Andie have been…tough,” he says, kicking at the asphalt. “Bad counseling session today. Good in theory, but it hurt.”
“I’m so sorry, Michael.”
“Did you really think we’re only friends?” he asks again, back to his original question. I can tell it troubles him.
“I know it felt like a lot more, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re gay?” I blurt, then shake my head, wishing I could erase that statement. “No, no, because…” I try to pinpoint the insecurity that’s plaguing me, and finally explain with a heavy sigh, “Because Casey didn’t like me.” His fingers thread through mine, solidifying our physical connection, as he steps closer. I continue, “And he’s one of your very closest friends. He really, really didn’t seem to like me, and I think he wants you with a guy, not a girl.”
“Think I give a damn what Casey Porter wants?”
“That’s the thing.” I shrug, shaking my head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t. Hey, and do you really think I’m gay, by the way?” he asks, cupping my cheek within his other palm. My face turns upward toward him, and there’s unabashed desire in his golden eyes. “That it’s really that simple with me?”
I have to swallow hard, and murmur, “Not gay. Not…exactly.”
“I have always liked women, Rebecca,” he rumbles, closing the distance between us. “Alex couldn’t change that. Never tried to, matter of fact. He liked the way I was.”
“Me too,” I practically purr into his palm. I’m aware of rough skin against my cheek, of long thick eyelashes lowering sexily to half-mast as he looks at me. I’m aware, too, that I’m not beautiful—I can’t be to this gorgeous man, and yet I see lust glinting in his eyes as he leans low toward me. Desire shoots to every part of my body, alarming and arousing me, and completely silencing any doubt.