Page 41 of Resisting the Grump

“Are you hitting on me?” I asked.

“Oh come on. If you have to ask…”

“I cycle my ass off, if you must know.”

“Do you wear tight shorts?”

I leaned against the kitchen counter as I typed. “On request.” The truth was I always wore tight shorts. Not only did they help protect the family jewels, but being in uncomfortable clothes kept me from sitting on the couch instead of the bike. I missed road biking, to be honest, but it lost its appeal after my ex’s accident.

“I’ve been looking at the menu for the place tomorrow and it’s Greek to me… or should I say, Nepalese.”

“Guess you’ll have to eat what I give you.” When she didn’t answer right away, my heart rate sped up.

“Guess I’ll have to come hungry.”

I shook my head, utterly charmed by the fact that she could give as good as she could take.

What would she think if she knew I was the kind of guy who opened other people’s mail? I shuddered. It was an honest mistake, but I still felt bad about it. Maybe I’d feel better if I removed the box from the kitchen. Or regifted it to Avery.

Not that I’d do that, but damn. She’d look so moreish in that sheer black negligee. Hell, she’d look even better without it. “Tonight’s the night,” I said, knowing a spicy, romantic meal would be the perfect foreplay for a feisty woman like her.

“The night for what?”

“The night you invite me up for a drink, and I offer you a place to sit.”

“Whoa.”

Her reaction came back so fast I had to laugh and adjust myself.

“Guess you’ll have to play your cards right,” she added.

Could she sense I was feeling lucky? “Guess you should know I only play if I’m prepared to go all in.”

“So much for holding ’em close to your chest.”

“Yeah, it’s much too late for that,” I agreed. “But you already know I’m not taking you out because I want to hold my own hand.”

The dots danced across the screen as she typed. “Punny,” she said. “Do you gamble much?”

I considered making a joke about playing the slots but resisted the urge. “Not when a woman’s heart is on the line.”

“You think you can win my heart?”

Something stirred in me as I blinked at the screen. How was I supposed to answer that? Was that what she wanted? I took a deep breath. “No.” My chest tightened as soon as I hit send, and I knew I couldn’t leave that thousand-pound response hanging between us without an explanation. “I don’t believe hearts can be won.” It was a fun idea perpetuated by fairytales, but winning was so final, whereas someone’s affection was… “I think hearts are earned.” Again and again and again. Perhaps there was a time I felt differently but, in my experience, thinking you’d won someone’s heart only led to complacency. I stared at my phone, part of me wishing I’d kept it light, but all the other responses I could’ve given seemed cheap and insincere.

“Interesting.”

I shook my head towards the ceiling and took a deep breath.

“And how exactly do you earn a heart?”

I’d never felt so torn. On the one hand, I wanted to say what she wanted to hear. But more than that, I wanted to be honest with her, wanted her to know me. “By playing your cards right,” I said. “Over and over again.”

She answered with a blushing smiley-face emoji.

I set the phone down and taped Elaine’s box back up, but you could tell it had been tampered with. Oh well. At least I hadn’t sampled the lube. Then I’d have an even bigger mess on my hands.

Speaking of avoiding messes, I hoped being so honest with Avery wasn’t a mistake. I doubted she’d go to the tabloids, but there was always a risk, and making headlines was such a headache. One teeny crumb about my personal life seemed to be all the paps needed to publish pathetic stories about how jealous I was of my dad’s success and how determined I was to break out from under his shadow. But nothing could be further from the truth.

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