Almost Like Love(59)

Pleasure spread through her like warm honey. “I think I could manage that.”

“That’s great. Is midnight too late? If it is, I can be home sooner.”

She blinked and readjusted her ideas. He was asking her to stay for him, not with him.

Well, why not? They could fool around when he got back, couldn’t they?

“Midnight would be fine. Is it a work thing or a friend thing?”

Another pause. “Actually, it’s a date thing.”

For a moment it just didn’t register. Date thing? What did he mean? Not that he was going on a date with another woman. That couldn’t be.

“Do you mean . . . what do you mean?”

Maybe it was an obligation kind of date. Like he’d promised to escort a female friend somewhere, or bring a date to a network event, or something. And of course if it was a network event, he wouldn’t invite her. That would be awkward.

“A woman I met at the gym asked if I wanted to go for a drink.”

A woman he’d met at the gym. Asked him out for a drink.

And he’d said yes.

Slowly, very slowly, the reality of the situation sank in.

Ian was going on a date with another woman. And he was asking her to babysit. While he bought this woman drinks, and flirted with her, and kissed her good night.

Or more. If he took her back to her place by nine or ten o’clock, that would leave plenty of time for more.

And she knew firsthand how good Ian Hart was at talking a woman into bed.

Her silence had lasted way too long. She had to say something.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He had to know this floored her. He had to have known she would—

And then, suddenly, she understood.

Ian wasn’t stupid. He hadn’t agreed to go on a date without knowing she would be upset. Ian was a strategic thinker—she knew that from working with him.

Which meant he’d done this deliberately.

This was his way of breaking things off with her. His way of letting her know that what they’d had wouldn’t be repeated. While she’d been imagining their next night together, Ian had been thinking about his next one-night stand.

But she couldn’t let him know how hurt she was. Her pride demanded that she at least give the pretense of not giving a damn, even if he knew perfectly well that she did.

She took a deep breath. “So, midnight. Midnight will be fine. I’ll see you then.”

That was all she could manage. Without waiting for Ian to respond, she ended the call.

Tears stung behind her eyelids, but she couldn’t cry in the living room. What if Jacob came out of his room and saw her?

She went into the bathroom and locked the door. Then she sank down on the toilet seat and let the tears fall.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could she have been such an idiot? Not to mention such a girl. She was like a cautionary tale out of a Cosmo article. She’d ignored all the signs that told her Ian was not relationship material, and she’d been willfully blind to every signal he’d sent. She’d built up hope and expectations with absolutely no justification.

But she couldn’t blame Ian. What was it he’d said that night? If you let me be your rebound, I swear you won’t regret it.

He hadn’t led her on. He hadn’t promised anything beyond that one night. He’d even called himself her rebound.

If she’d gotten hurt, it was her own damn fault. That was the fair way to look at the situation.

But she didn’t feel like being fair.

She remembered a fender bender from a few years ago. She hadn’t been injured, but she’d woken up the next morning bruised and aching all over.

She felt like that now. Like she’d been beaten up. And, fair or not, she wanted to take it out on Ian. She wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt her.

But a man with Ian’s attitude about relationships wasn’t susceptible to hurt. There wasn’t anything she could do to him that would make him feel like this.

Because he didn’t have a heart.

She got up, turned on the faucet, and splashed her face with cold water. Then she toweled herself dry and went back out to the living room.

She’d come full circle as far as Ian went. She’d always thought he didn’t have a heart, and now she had proof.

But then her glance fell on the bookcase. When she looked at the bottom shelf, she saw the Dungeons & Dragons set.

She sat down on the couch and closed her eyes.

As much as she wanted to wipe out the last few weeks and go back to her old, two-dimensional image of Ian, she knew she couldn’t.

Ian hadn’t been pretending with her. The man she’d seen Saturday night was the real thing. Complicated and a little damaged, sure . . . but also passionate and tender and caring.

What she was seeing now was the armor he put on to protect himself from all that.