"Are you going to say yes?" he questions once we're onboard and the doors close. There are no seats available so I settle for slinging my elbow around a pole to steady myself as the train jerks into motion.
"No, I'm not interested in a threesome with you."
He throws his head back and laughs at that. He's stretched over me, his hands wrapped around the horizontal bar running over my head. I've got a view of his throat from this angle. The muscles flex as he laughs and I have to fight the urge to reach out and run my fingers along the collar of his shirt.
"At the altar. Are you going to say yes at the altar?"
Oh.
God, what an asshole. Is he ever going to ask me to three-way with him so I can turn him down?
"No, I'm not getting married today." I say married like it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, because it does. "And this isn't my dress. If I was getting married it wouldn't be in this. It'd be in…" I stop. "Not this." He doesn't need to hear more than that. "And I'd have done something more with my hair and I wouldn't be wearing sneakers." I thrust my foot out from underneath the hem of the dress and wiggle the toe of my shoe. "I'm wearing this stupid dress because I'm in the midst of a really bad day."
"I think you'd make a stunning bride just as you are."
I suck in my breath at that because he's staring at me like he means it. What is his deal? Is he flirting with me or not? He has the bluest eyes I've ever seen on a man and it feels nice to have them trained on me. Plus he smells good and he makes me feel less stupid in this dress when he's standing beside me. As if it doesn't matter who stares because we're in on the joke together. Then he leans in closer and I think he might kiss me but his lips pause by my ear.
"And for the record, I'm not into threesomes. I like to focus my attention on one woman at a time." He eases back and meets my eyes while I suck in a breath.
"Don't you have a go-see or something to do?" I mutter because I'm blushing and I need to break this spell he has over me before I hump his leg on the subway.
"What's a go-see?" He looks confused.
"Isn't that what it's called? When you go see designers and they decide if they should book you or not?"
"You think I'm a model?" His eyes flash and his lips pull into a wide smile.
"I assumed you were," I say, eyeing his abs. He laughs at me so I snap my gaze back to his face. "But I meant like a runway model or something. You're obviously too hideous for print."
"Of course," he agrees.
The train slows as we pull into Penn Station and I tighten my arm around the pole so I don't stumble. He leans in closer as travelers push past to exit and new passengers enter, yet it's not intrusive. He's not taking advantage of the limited personal space available, which in New York is chivalry.
"So if you're not getting married today, do you want to tell me what the dress is about?" he asks when we're in motion again. "You don't even have a phone on you," he points out while eyeing the dress for a pocket that doesn't exist. "That's not safe."
"Bad day at the office," I reply.
"Is your name really Lauren or was that a decoy name you give strange men?"
"It's really Lauren." I sigh. "I meant to give you my decoy name but you caught me off guard yesterday."
"Good. Lauren, have dinner with me tonight."
"I don't think so." And I really don't. He seems like the kind of guy who's way too much for me. And probably not the ideal guy to ease back into dating with. Like jumping on a stallion when you belong on one of those coin-operated ponies at the grocery store.
"Why not?"
"It's kinda last-minute," I offer because I don't have anything better.
"That's a weak excuse."
"I don't know you."
"How well do you know anyone?"
Good point.
"I'm trying to focus on my career right now." I say it firmly. It'd probably be more effective if I wasn't wearing a wedding dress in the middle of a workday. His eyes drop to the offending garment and then back to mine again before he speaks.
"How's that working out for you?"
"You know." I shrug. "It could be better, could be worse."
The train stops at Twenty-Eighth and we're quiet again as passengers jostle around us, exiting and entering.
"What about your girlfriend?" I ask when it's quiet again. I meet his eyes with a challenging stare while remembering the beautiful girl from yesterday. "She won't mind?"
"Don't be disgusting," he scoffs. "That vile creature from yesterday was my sister. Now do you have any other assumptions about me that I need to correct? I'm not into threesomes. I'm not a model and I am most definitely not dating my sister." I raise my brows in challenge and he adds, "Or anyone who is not my sister."