Page 50 of Strictly the Worst

“Why’s that good?” I ask him, because it doesn’t feel good to me. Okay, yes, it does feel good but…

“Because I’m hard. Have been for days. For you.”

Oh.

I look up at him. He has a dark expression on his face. It makes my heart pound against my ribcage. It dances faster than I ever could. Has more rhythm, too, thank goodness.

“I’ve wanted you since I met you,” he continues. And damn, he’s such a sweet talker. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I want it to be real.

Maybe I need it to be.

“No you haven’t. You thought I was stuck up.”

“I like a challenge,” he tells me. “And anyway, now I know why you were like that. You were in the middle of a divorce. That messes with people.”

My chest tightens. Those early days of the divorce were the worst. The fear of the future. The knowledge I needed to take care of Zoe, but not knowing how to.

The realization that I wasn’t good enough for the man I loved.

Linc cups my face as he smiles at me. “Why do you keep fighting this?”

“Because I don’t want to get hurt again,” I finally admit. “And we’re not... compatible.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you, and I’m me.”

Linc shakes his head. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”

“You’re a man that every woman wants. You’re sexy and gorgeous and you can sweet talk everybody you meet. I’m…” I take a breath. “A single mom. I work all the hours god sends. And I haven’t had sex in two years. I really don’t think I’m the kind of woman you’re looking for.”

“Two years?” His eyes widen. “Jesus.”

“See? We’re like oil and water.”

“I love oil and water.”

I start to laugh, because this man has that effect on me. “Shut up and let’s go home.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

LINC

We walk silently along the shoreline. It’s more than a mile back to the bungalow, but when I suggest I call the hotel to have somebody pick us up, Tessa shakes her head.

And that’s okay with me. It’s a beautiful evening and we’ve both taken our shoes off to walk on the sand. The moon is shining down on us, the water is gently lapping against our bare feet, and there’s a breeze lifting the end of Tessa’s hair, making it dance against her skin.

I’m still thinking about what she said. No sex in two years. What kind of fucking idiot was her husband to let her go?

Yes, she can be challenging. But in the kind of way that makes me want to work harder. Do better.

If we were living in medieval times, I’d want to prove myself to her so she’d give me her damn handkerchief.

At some point during our walk, she’s let me take her hand. And it feels like a win. Her palm is flat against mine, our fingers intertwined.

I like it more than I fucking should. It’s just holding hands for fuck’s sake.

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