Tough Enough(32)

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” I inject every bit of sincerity into my voice that I can muster. I don’t know why I would even offer. There are several things I couldn’t ever tell her. Wouldn’t ever tell her. But something tells me she’d never take me up on such an offer. That’s not who she is. I’d say she respects a person’s privacy. And asks them to do the same of hers.

Her eyes are locked on mine so I see the very second that awareness sinks in. Her expression starts to shut down before she physically backs away.

“Everyone is entitled to their secrets. I’ll be nice and let you keep some of yours,” she says, trying to be light and playful about it.

Even though I knew it wouldn’t be her style to want all the details, some part of me wants her to know all the ugly, all the unacceptable, all the things that no one else really knows. I want her to know about them and still give me the time of day. Despite them. “What if I want you to know them? What if I want to share them with you?”

“You don’t.”

“And why don’t I?”

“You don’t want to get involved with someone like me. I’m not the . . . I’m just not . . .”

I reach out to take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, capturing her before she can completely escape. “What do I have to do to convince you that I do want to be involved with you? Not someone like you, but you.”

That was too much. I can see it in the way she shrinks away from me.

I’m about to lose control of this opportunity and, knowing Katie, I might not get another one any time soon.

I plaster on a big damn smile even though I’m frustrated as hell.

“Luckily, I didn’t come here to discuss your worth as a human being. I came here to collect.”

“Collect?” she repeats with a frown.

“Yep. You totally derailed me on set today and Tony chewed my ass for not knowing my lines. Made me promise to rehearse them this weekend. And guess who got volunteered?”

I paraphrased, of course. She didn’t get volunteered, except by me. But paraphrasing isn’t lying. Is it?

“Who, me? Why me?”

“Well, I volunteered you. Mainly because you were the source of my . . . distraction to begin with. I figure it’s only right that you make it up to me. To this show.” I throw the last in for good measure, just in case my argument wasn’t convincing enough on its own.

She starts to make excuses. Just like I imagined that she would. “I’d love to help, but—” She stops abruptly, tilting her head to the side the slightest bit. As she considers me, I think back to the moment when she looked up at me after having examined my back. That same soft look is back in her eyes now. She pulls those big blues away from me for a heartbeat, but then she brings them right back. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll help you.” She squares her chin, like she’s bolstering herself, but bolstering what? Her courage? Her resistance? Her determination?

I must admit to being pleasantly surprised. I know I can be hella convincing when I want to be, but I was beginning to wonder if Katie is in possession of some sort of Rogan Immunity Charm that I’m not aware of. But now, I’m thinking that maybe inadvertently revealing something about myself, about my past, has made her see that I’m not such a cocky, obnoxious sleazeball after all.

Damn, this woman . . . She’s making me crazy!

But still, I consider this a victory, so my smile reflects as much. It’s genuine. And it’s big. “You will?”

Why the hell did I just give her an out?

She smiles in return. A small one, but a smile nonetheless.

“I will. But just to rehearse lines,” she adds sternly.

I laugh, giving her a sloppy salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am! I’ll pick you up at seven. We can eat and work and then maybe take a swim.”

It only takes about ten seconds for it to register. Panic. That’s what shows up on her face, in her eyes. Panic, pure and simple.

“No, I, uh, I can’t stay out too late. I’ve got some, um, things to do in the morning. But thank you. Just the lines.”

“And dinner. You have to eat some time.” She reaches for the hair that is ever-present at her shoulder and smoothes it around like a comforting blanket. Her nervous tick. “My brother doesn’t get out much and he could realllly use the company.”

“He has you,” she argues.

I give her a withering look. “Yeah, but I’m . . . me. Have you met me?”

The corners of her mouth twitch and I’m immediately gratified. “As a matter of fact, I think I have.”

“See what I mean?”