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Right?
“Where to?” I ask brightly, hoping the sudden spike in my body temperature isn’t all over my face.
He suggests a nearby Mexican restaurant, which I adore, and we’re off. The car ride is tense. I try to fill it with conversation, but he keeps sending that stare my way until I lose my train of thought and clam up.
We arrive at the restaurant and are seated right away. Again, Noah guides me across the place with his hot hand at the small of my back. The touch jolts me, vibrating through me, all the way down to my… Better not to dwell on my pussy just now. Focusing on the wet ache will only kill my conversational skills.
Unfortunately, seated across from him, I have almost nowhere to look except at Noah. I’m grateful for a basket of tortilla chips so that I have something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve ripping that pristine dress shirt off him.
“You look tense, sugar. Relax and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Just worried about the outcome of the meeting,” I lie after swallowing my chip.
“It’ll all come out in your favor. You watch.”
I suspect he’s right, and I’m not one to count my chickens. But I have to say something to the man. I don’t think bringing up my midnight fantasies to him—about him—would be considered appropriate.
“Hey, while I’ve got you out and away from the office, can I ask you a question? Something personal.”
Oh, this subject sounds ripe with possibilities, none of them good…
“Sure.” What else can I say?
“I’m interested in this woman…”
“There’s a shock.”
I wince as soon as I say it. Part sarcasm, part jealous annoyance, I hope it hides my disappointment. This shouldn’t upset me. Noah and his sluts du jour are nothing new. But I’m more attached to my boss than is wise, so maybe his pursuit of another woman is for the best.
Nice rationalization.
He laughs. “I’m sure to you it looks like I’ve dated my fair share.”
“Your share and the half that belongs to the rest of the male population in Texas. But whatever.” I shrug, pretending not to care.
The waiter comes by and slaps glasses of water on our table, takes our orders, and flees to keep up with the lunch rush.
Once we are alone again, Noah continues, “This woman, she’s divorced. And she’s giving me the ‘get lost’ vibe. I’m not exactly sure why. Got any insider tips?”
“What, on the mind of a divorced woman?”
He nods. “I mean, if you were her, why would you be blowing me off?”
“That’s easy. Fear of pain. Divorce sucks. Relationships suck. They all end with someone hurting, and guys like you have no lasting power when it comes to matters of the heart, so she knows she’s likely to be the one sitting at home with a bottle of wine, listening to sad country songs when it’s over. Given that, she’s not going to take a chance on you, especially if you’re still seeing Misty.”
“Misty is out of the picture. She has been for a while, actually.”
I’m more pleased to hear that than I should be. “Still, your reputation precedes you.”
Noah hesitates. “But I don’t think it’s me she’s objecting to. I think it’s the idea of relationships in general. And I don’t get it.”
“Because clearly, you’ve never had your heart broken.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
To say I’m shocked is a huge understatement. “You, brokenhearted? I can’t picture it.”
“Try. I’m not impervious or immune. I’ve been hurt. Sometimes, it still hurts.” He glances away for a second, then shrugs. “That’s never stopped me from dating and trying to move on. It’s frustrating that she won’t let her guard down with me. If you were her, what would be stopping you?”
