“So you believe in attraction, but not love.”
“Of course I believe in attraction. It’s what makes the world go ’round. It’s what draws people to each other in the first place, and makes them think they’re in love.” He takes another sip of his water and I watch him, entranced with the way his lips curve around the glass, how his Adam’s apple moves when he swallows. Ugh. All this talk of attraction and love is starting to get to me. Just watching him drink is making me squirm, which is totally ridiculous.
“I guess I didn’t think you’d be a big believer in attraction. I don’t know why,” I say, my gaze lingering on his now damp lips. His very full, shiny lips. Is it suddenly hot in here, or is it just me?
“Just because I don’t believe in love doesn’t mean I won’t indulge every once in a while.” He chuckles. “I used to indulge a lot more when I was younger.”
“With girls?”
“Well, yeah.” His cheeks actually turn ruddy, like he’s embarrassed. “Most of my college years, you could’ve totally called me a man-whore and I wouldn’t have argued. I was with a different girl every night, it felt like.”
I frown. “And why exactly are you telling me this?” Not like college was that long ago for him. For all I know he could’ve considered himself a man-whore up to a few weeks ago.
And why does that make me feel so uneasy?
“I don’t know. I guess you’re easy to talk to.” He shrugs. “I don’t open up too often to people.”
“You don’t?” Because he is definitely opening up to me.
“I keep to myself mostly. Only have a few close friends.”
“I understand.” I’m pretty much the same. I knew lots of people in high school, but only a handful would I consider my real friends. Since I got kicked out of the house and couldn’t maintain my old lifestyle, all of those friends have abandoned me. So I guess they weren’t real friends after all.
I’ve dated a few guys, but only two did I actually do the deed with. And the first one doesn’t even count, because he took my virginity and then proceeded to dump me a week later.
The asshole.
“But I’m the one who’s talked the whole night. You’ve hardly said anything,” Wade points out.
Uh oh.
“I don’t mind listening,” I say brightly, hoping to distract him. “Keep talking.”
“I think it’s your turn.”
“Maybe I don’t want it to be my turn.”
He frowns. “Why not? You got secrets you want to hide?”
“I don’t have any secrets,” Sydney says, her voice in full on defense mode.
Huh. That makes me think she definitely has secrets she wants to hide. I can tell by the way her gaze cuts away from mine, the closed off expression on her face. But what could she be hiding? I really don’t know much about her beyond her parents and their shitty marriage. Oh, and that she’s from Texas and California and everywhere else. Talk about a vague answer. She’s completely closed off while I just spilled my guts like she’s my psychologist.
I don’t normally do this—reveal so much. I can’t even blame alcohol for loosening my lips. I’m stone cold sober tonight, preferring to keep my head on straight what with the game tomorrow. So what gives? Why did I tell Sydney all about my past, then go off rails about attraction, like I want to get with her?
Because maybe you do want to get with her? She’s beautiful. She seems into you. You could probably have her naked and in your bed within the hour.
“I just don’t have much to tell,” Sydney continues, trying to play it off, I’m sure. “I’m not very interesting.”
“Now I doubt that.” When her gaze meets mine, I say, “I find you very interesting.”
Yeah, I’m trying to dig for information, but I’m also speaking the truth. I do think she’s interesting. Her mysterious ways only adds to my interest.
“The most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me is what’s going down right now.” At my raised brows she continues. “The fake dating. Working for Drew and Fable. Ever since I started this job, my life has gotten a little crazy.”
It hits me all of a sudden, everything that she’s gone through. I think of all the stories that have appeared all over the Internet involving her and Drew. They’ve said some pretty terrible things about her. Called her all sorts of names. I can’t imagine going through something like that.
“Are you holding up okay?” I ask softly.
She nods, dropping her gaze. “It hasn’t been easy, but Drew and Fable have been so good to me. And so have you. We all know the truth, and I guess that’s all that really matters.”
The waiter chooses that moment to show up at our table to ask if we want dessert. I cut him off mid-sentence and ask for the check, which he sets on the edge of the table. I grab it, pulling my wallet out and placing my credit card within the small black blinder. The waiter smiles blandly and takes it from me and I nod distractedly, not caring about what else he has to say.
I want to hear what else Sydney has to say.
“What about your parents?” I ask once the waiter has left. “Have you heard from them?”
“My dad won’t even acknowledge me right now. And my mother leaves me all sorts of voicemails. Sends me text messages, even writes me emails, but I still haven’t responded, despite my brother reassuring me she’s not mad, more worried.”
“You should let her know you’re okay,” I suggest.
“Honestly? I don’t know what to say to her. I’m afraid she won’t let me explain and the next thing you know, we’re arguing. That’s how it usually goes between us.” Her tone is bitter, as is her expression. I feel bad for her.
I also can’t imagine having such unsupportive parents.
“Give them time,” I suggest. “She’ll come around eventually.”
“Maybe. My brother has been great, but I knew he would be. We take care of each other.”
“At least you have him, right?”
“Definitely.” She lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine once more. “He’s a good guy. Like you’re a good guy.”
“You think I’m a good guy?”
“You seem like one.”
“I have my moments. Both good and bad.”
“Don’t we all?”
“True.” I nod. “I’m always honest. That’s one thing you can always count on. No bullshit here.”
“Right,” she says weakly. “No bullshit.”
Huh.
The waiter reappears, returning my credit card and receipt. I add the tip and sign it before shoving my credit card back into my wallet.
“You ready to go?” I ask Sydney.
“Yeah.” She smiles, looking nervous. “Sure.”
We leave the restaurant, her hand clasped firmly in mine. The moment we exit the building, there are photographers there, a handful of them rushing forward, their camera flashes popping, making it hard to see. I throw my free hand up, blocking the light as I grip Sydney’s hand tightly and push our way through the small crowd. They’re all talking to her, asking her a list of questions like:
“It’s the Naughty Nanny! Where’s Drew?”
“Already moved onto a new guy?”
“Do you still work for the Callahans?
“Who’s the guy, Syd? What’s his name?”