“Okay, why don’t you pick the day?”
“Because I’m not interested.”
Ouch. Damn, direct hit. “Interested in having a meal with me, specifically? Or anyone?” He wasn’t sure which was worse.
“In general. The whole dating thing, I’m not up for it.” She shrugged and rolled to face him, her hand resting on the floor beside her breast for support. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I said that outright in the beginning.”
She had.
“And I didn’t think you were, either.”
He hadn’t been. “Well, a meal’s just a meal. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” He trailed a finger from the corner of her lips down her jaw, circling over her shoulder. “I like looking at you. Maybe I wanna do it more often.”
“So eat lunch at the bar.” She swatted at his hand when he headed for her breast. “I don’t date. Period, end of story.”
“Is it the timing? Or is it the concept of dating altogether?”
She rolled onto her back, and he lost contact with the breast he’d been playing with. “You’re chatty tonight.”
“Sorry.” He scooted out like he was getting out from under a car and searched for his pants. “I wasn’t aware our arrangement had so many damn rules. From my memory, I thought we covered not banging other people, and me wearing a rubber. Now I can’t even ask to see you outside of your apartment?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Right. Here’s the thing, Jo. I like sex as much as the next guy. Hell, I love it. I think it’s one of the best ways to pass some time. But I also like you. I think you’re someone worth knowing. And if you’re telling me my time in your bed means we can’t even have a decent conversation while grabbing a freaking hamburger, then this probably isn’t for me. I thought I was signing up for a lover, not a fuck buddy.”
Jo bit her lip, her eyes closing a moment. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Don’t … don’t do that. Don’t just get dressed and leave.” She held out a hand. “Stay. Please?”
He paused, shirt in hand. She looked so confused. Like she wasn’t sure whether she was sticking to her guns, or about to back down. Did he want to find out which?
Hell, yeah.
He dropped the shirt but left the jeans on. Scooting back under the table, he waited for her to talk.
“I’ve never been interested in domestic bliss. My mom’s found it too many times to count. But for the sake of keeping track, she ended up married seven times. Oh, sorry.” She snorted. “Five times.”
“Which one of you can’t count?”
“Regina math,” she muttered. “Every time my mom found a new guy, we moved. Sometimes they married her, sometimes they didn’t. But it was the same shit, different school year. Over and over again, I was the new kid in a city I’d never been to before. I saw what love does to a woman. I’m not interested. I like what I have here.”
His heart hurt for the little girl, the new kid, year after year. “I’m not exactly looking to yank you out of here. I live here, too.”
“Which almost makes it worse.” She ran a hand over her forehead, as if trying to clear her thoughts. “I can’t just ignore you when we’re done, or move away. I have a business here. You have family. So eventually, when this thing is done, we’ll still run into each other. Repeatedly.”
The “when” in her statement rankled him. Sure, not all relationships lasted, but why did she assume from the get-go theirs wouldn’t?
Probably because to her, it’s not a relationship, dipshit.
The rough, simple reminder that she was in it for the sex alone hit him hard. Sex was fantastic. But he liked a little companionship when he could get it. He’d had enough of meaningless one-night stands and women whose names he couldn’t remember a few months later.
“I haven’t worked out in my mind yet how dating is supposed to work when you know you aren’t leaving soon. All my relationships before this have had built-in expiration dates. Even if things were going well, I ended up moving. So I stopped having them. And now that I’m not moving, I’m not sure what a relationship looks like, or if I even honestly want one.”
“I’ve done the anonymous lay before, Jo. I’m not a twenty-one-year-old guy looking to get some in the back of my horse trailer between competitions. I’m not trying to sneak in a blow job before I hit the road and never see What’s Her Face again.”
“What’s Her Face?” Jo laughed. “Must have been memorable.”