What the fuck is she doing to me?
Because I’m so unsteady, my words come out more angrily than I intended. “So he cheated on you.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“How do you know that?”
She’s visibly upset. The pulse in the side of her neck is throbbing. I want to press my lips against it. I want to bury my face in her hair. Instead, I stare into her eyes and fight the desire heating my entire body.
“Just a hunch.”
Her laugh is small and nervous. She smooths a trembling hand over her hair and looks down at her lap. “It was a good one.”
We sit silently for a moment as I watch her struggle to regain her composure. She’s fighting bad memories, something I know all about.
Then, because I find her fascinating and want to know all her secrets, I say, “How did you find out?”
“His phone. He left it out on the counter by accident one day, open to this dating app. He was messaging all these different women. Asking for nudes. Arranging times to hook up. I stupidly believed him when he said he was always on his cell because of work.”
“What kind of work did he do?”
“He’s a personal trainer.”
“Of course he is.”
“Don’t sound so disgusted.”
“It’s not disgust. It’s contempt. I’d like to find this shitty little loser and see how loud he can scream.”
After a thoughtful silence, she says, “I can’t decide if that’s a red flag or just a genuinely nice thing to say.”
“It’s a red flag.”
“I’d like to think it’s partly both.”
“It’s not. I just threatened violence on a stranger and meant it.”
“I know, but you did it from a protective instinct. It’s almost chivalrous.”
I realize I’m glaring at her, but I can’t help it. She’s being willfully na?ve. Confusing antiheroes with good guys. She probably reads too many romance novels. “You need to get better at discerning which men you should stay away from.”
“Hey, I’m only sitting here because I was blackmailed into it.”
“Here’s a serious question for you. Have you ever considered that maybe you didn’t get what you wanted because you deserve better?”
Now she’s glaring back at me. What I said irritated her, and she’s about to use that sharp tongue of hers to tell me exactly what it is.
“What I wanted was love. What’s better than that?”
“Men don’t abandon women they love. They abandon women they were using.”
That one hit her hard. A mixture of pain and anger flares in her eyes.
I say more gently, “There’s something missing in him. You knew that. You just chose to ignore it. All I’m saying is don’t make the same choice with the next man.”
She snaps, “Maybe there won’t be a next man. Maybe I’m done with all of you.”
“There will be a next man.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because even a complete stranger can see how you deserve to be worshipped.”
Her lips part. Unblinking, she stares at me with her brows drawn together and her beautiful face pale. Then she demands, “Who says that?”
“Are you offended?”
“No, I’m confused!”
“Why?”
“Because you act like you think I’m contagious, but you talk like a hero from a romance novel!”
“I knew it.”
“You knew what?”
“You read romance novels.”
“So?”
“So that shit will rot your brain.”
“Oh, please, it’s fun, escapist fantasy. It’s also feminist, because it encourages us to explore our own sexual pleasure. Are you afraid women will have too high of standards after reading about being loved by fictional men?”
“No, I’m afraid their standards will fall too low.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Christian Grey has multiple personality disorders caused by intense childhood trauma. Edward Cullen is a controlling stalker who wants to kill Bella by drinking her blood. Mr. Darcy is an arrogant prick with crippling social anxiety and prejudice against the lower class. Yet all these flawed characters have inspired millions of women to think that broken men are somehow ideal, or could be, if only the right woman loved them.”
I’m glad there isn’t any cutlery on the table. Judging by her expression, Shay would’ve already thrust a knife into my spleen.
“I think you’re the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”
“Only because you know I’m right.”
She looks around, as if to ask the nearest person for a meat cleaver.
The waiter returns with our drinks. Sensing the tension, he carefully sets the glasses down, his gaze darting between us, then sends us a stiff smile and runs away without a word.
Shay picks up her glass and chugs the whiskey, making a face and shuddering when it’s gone. “Blech.”
“Why did you drink it all so fast?”
“It was either that or murder.”
I shock both of us then by chuckling.
She turns to me with her brows raised and says drily, “I must already be drunk. That sounded suspiciously like a laugh.”
I scowl at her. “It wasn’t.”
She studies me for a long time, her expression unreadable and her eyes intense. Then she slowly sets her empty glass back onto the table and levels me with a look of such frank sexual desire, I’m stunned.
I’m even more stunned by what comes out of her mouth next.
“I’m no angel either. I’ve got all kinds of faults.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Like that I’m reckless.”
“How so?”
She doesn’t even hesitate when she pulls the rug out from under me.
“Well, we only just met, and until tonight, I was sure I’d be celibate forever, but I’m seriously considering asking you to get us a room in this hotel.”
Everyone and everything else in the bar vanishes. A distant roar fills my ears and my heart starts to hammer.
Then I tell a lie so fucking outrageous, I barely manage to force it past my lips.
“Don’t ask me. I’ll say no.”
Shay
My smile is almost as incandescent as my humiliation. “Ah. In that case, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m leaving now.”
“Your ten minutes aren’t up.”
“I know, but I have to go to the ladies room so I can drown myself in the toilet.”
When I make a move to rise, he grasps my wrist and pulls me closer. His tone low and urgent, he says, “Don’t mistake that for a rejection.”
“Funny, but I always thought the word ‘no’ is a pretty good indicator of rejection.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. My ears are scalding. It feels as if someone turned the temperature up by thirty degrees. I have no idea what possessed me to say that, but the cat’s out of the bag now. I can’t take it back.
I also can’t meet his eyes when I say, “Okay. I understand.”
“Shay. Look at me.”
It takes a while for me to gather the courage. When I do, his intensity is so intimidating, I forget to keep breathing.
He says, “You don’t understand. Not only is your ex an idiotic clown, he’s a fucking child. He needs to have his face rearranged. I want to beat the living shit out of him.”
While I process that, I hear Chelsea cackling in the background. Painfully aware that we’re being observed, and that I’ll have to recount this story later, my face grows even hotter.
“There’s a lot to unpack in that statement. However, embarrassment has clogged my normal brain functions, so you’re going to have to explain it to me like I’m a toddler.”
Nostrils flaring, he inhales. He hasn’t blinked in thirty seconds. He’s trying hard to stop himself from doing something, but I’m not sure what it is.
By the looks of it, throwing his whiskey glass against the wall.
“First explain to me why you’d ask a total stranger to have sex with you.”
Pride rears its head. Snooty as a schoolmarm, I sniff and lift my chin. “I didn’t ask. I said I was thinking about asking. And I didn’t say anything about sex either. Maybe I just wanted to cuddle.”
“Give me a break. You don’t want to cuddle.”
God, this guy is impossible. “I know. You could’ve been a gentleman and let that one slide.”
“I’m not a gentleman. Finish the explanation.”
Exasperated, I sigh. “You’re not going to let me leave until I do, are you?”