“I mean, no?” I respond and I know it comes out more like a question than an answer. “I’m not,” I add, pointing to myself with my hand with a little shake of my head. But then I scrunch my nose a little and look away, which probably makes me seem guilty, as if I am involved with George.
“I don’t share,” he states when I meet his eyes again.
He says it in that posh British accent. ‘I don’t share.’ And yeah, I’m thinking about him naked all over again and my breath catches in my throat because who says, ‘I don’t share?’ He might as well have growled, ‘Mine,’ and to be honest I never thought I’d experience a man pulling such an alpha stunt in my lifetime.
It doesn’t suck.
I grin.
He scowls.
I laugh.
He doesn’t.
“I’m waiting, Miss Hayden,” he states and I swear his jaw ticks. I’ve never known a man who could actually do that before either. It also doesn’t suck. I don’t want to goad him but the jaw ticking thing is quite enjoyable and I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.
“You’re upset at the idea that I could be involved with George?” I question unnecessarily and try not to grin again, his mood not indicating he’s interested in joking. “No, I personally am not involved with George. Does that make you happy?”
“It does, Daisy.” He nods and the lines around his eyes relax as he sits back a bit in his chair.
Daisy. Ugh. Hearing Daisy’s name coming from his perfect lips feels like being offered a glass of cold tap water after shoveling a foot of snow off the sidewalk when you were hoping for a mug of hot chocolate with some marshmallows floating on top. Time to rip the Band-Aid off.
“This has nothing to do with George, but I can’t sleep with you again, Jennings,” I say in a rush while he stares at me, his head tilted to the side and his hand running along his jaw. His expression is impassive, his eyes contemplative. Oh, fuck. Maybe I got this wrong? Maybe he has no interest in a repeat performance with me? I feel like an idiot and my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Assuming you wanted to, that is. Assuming you wanted to do it again.” I pause. Do it again? I sound like a teenager and I have to make a concentrated effort not to slap my forehead with the palm of my hand. Total idiot. “Did you want to though?” Why am I still talking? “Never mind, the answer is no.”
Wait, he said he didn’t share, which meant he thought we would sleep together again. Right? Or did he just mean it in like a general way? Like, ‘Hey, I’m not into being your side piece?’ Do people still say that? Side piece? Or does he think I’m a cheater? Like, ‘You should have told me you were already sleeping with some guy named George before you let me make you come harder than you ever have in your life?’ Or maybe he meant it in a ‘I don’t do group sex’ kind of way. Like, ‘Hey, I’m not going to tag-team you with George.’
“I can’t,” I repeat with a small shake of my head. “Nope,” I add awkwardly, popping my lips around the word. I need to shut the hell up. I stop talking and grab the banana resting on the table in front of me and peel it to keep myself busy, glancing anywhere but at him as I do so. Ah, there’s his grandmother, sitting a few tables over with the Canadian trio. They appear to be old friends already, chatting away and laughing over something or other. I shove the banana into my mouth and wonder if Jennings is going to respond to my little outburst or just keep staring at me. I dart a glance back in his direction. He drops his eyes from mine, runs them slowly down the banana between my lips and then back up to meet my eyes again. And then I choke.
I drop the banana and cough into my hand.
Now he smiles, the dirty bastard.
“Why?”
“I have to have a reason?” I snap in return because now I’m annoyed.
“Fair point,” he agrees with a nod. “No, you don’t.”
“That’s right, I don’t.” It comes out a little smug but I’m sort of relieved that I wasn’t wrong about his interest. “I met you two days ago. I don’t have to give you a reason why I’m not interested in sleeping with you again.”
“Two days ago when you propositioned me in the hotel bar.”
Err, I should probably take the smug level down a notch.
“Two days ago when you told me”—he pauses here while I wonder what idiot thing came out of my mouth that he’s about to repeat—”that you were a sure thing.”
Right. That. I blow out a breath and stare at him while I think. I must be doing a shit job of hiding the fact that I’m thinking of something to say because he has a really amused smirk on his face.