In the Cards(79)

“Let me shower, then I’ll be over.”

He nods and watches me until I disappear into my house.



Twenty minutes later, I leave home dressed in jean shorts and a pink T-shirt, my wet hair hanging freely around my shoulders. I intentionally dressed down so he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of believing I care whether or not he’s still attracted to me. Now I feel self-conscious. The realization I’m playing girlish games embarrasses me, but it’s too late to turn around because he’s opening his door to let me inside.

I sit with my hands under my butt and cross my legs to keep them from bouncing. “So, what’s up?”

The scent of his house triggers flashbacks of time spent here with him. My foot starts to swing like a pendulum.

He’s still standing near the door, arms folded in his typical defensive posture. The room’s charged with his commanding energy.

“I want to clear up a misunderstanding.” He shifts his weight to his other leg.

“About?”

“Shari.”

I hold up my hand. “No need. You don’t owe me explanations, Levi. We had no agreement. You’re free to do what you want, with whomever you want. So, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”

I stand, enormously proud of how well I handled myself—no tears, no judgments. However, I’m not tough and detached, so I need a quick escape before he uncovers the truth.

“You’re right.” He hesitates.

My heart drops. Although I know it’s true, I’d still hoped he’d apologize or offer some explanation. I lower my head and continue toward the door. Instead of moving aside to let me pass, he grabs my hand.

“I don’t owe you an explanation, but I still want to offer one.” His grip is tight on my hand. “If you’d stuck around an extra minute last night, you’d have seen Shari’s boyfriend, Joe, come back outside. Instead, you jumped to the worst conclusions about me, then refused to talk to me.” One of his eyebrows arches accusatorially.

“Joe the bartender?” It’s the first thing that pops into my head, along with a little ray of hope. He’s holding my hand, and I’m holding my breath.

“Yes, Joe the bartender. He and Shari have been seeing each other for a few months. I went to Duke’s for dinner last night. They drove me home and stayed for a drink.” Both of his eyebrows rise in triumph over his redemption.

“So, she didn’t go with you last week?”

“No.”

“Who’d you take? Elena?” I know it can’t be true, but I want confirmation.

“I went alone to a resort. Took some cooking classes.” His answer catches me completely off guard. He went away alone, to cook?

“Oh.” My voice is small. We stand in silence for a minute, my hand still held in his.

“ ‘Oh’? That’s all you’re gonna say? No ‘I’m sorry for doubting you, Levi’?”

It dawns on me he’s affronted by my assumptions. “Wait, you’re mad at me? That’s pretty rich, Levi.” I glare at him. My anger rushes back. “You kiss me, then cruelly take off for a week without telling me anything. I went crazy worrying only to find you drinking with your ex–sex partner, and you have the gall to be mad at me?”

Infuriated, I attempt to remove my hand from his grip so I can firmly plant it, along with my other fist, on my hips. Levi has other ideas. He yanks me up against him, looking at me with eyes full of heated resentment.

“I’m furious. I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me. I’ve always been honest.” He’s looking down at me and I’m not sure if he’s ready to wring my neck or kiss me. Regardless, I’ll not let him have the final word.

“Yes, you’ve been honest. Honest about the lack of interest in any kind of meaningful relationship, about your doubt in the foundation of whatever feelings may have developed between us, and about how you and Shari have some kind of ongoing, open-ended sexual relationship. You’ve also told me, repeatedly, that no one can be trusted. So I didn’t think the worst of you—I thought exactly what you told me to think.”

Levi’s face abruptly transforms from smug to rueful. He stares at me, unable to offer a snappy or surly retort. In that moment, I want to bring him home. I touch his face. He shuts his eyes and lays his cheek against my palm. His grief-stricken appearance squeezes my heart.

My arms wrap around his neck and I rest my head against his chest. His arms hesitantly encircle me. I tighten my hold, hoping to ease his tension, wanting to break through his walls.

I tilt my head so my lips brush against the base of his neck. His breath catches and he pulls me closer. My pulse quickens and I kiss his neck, coaxing him to meet me. To my displeasure, he pushes me away again. He’s shaken and conflicted, still setting himself apart.