Page 81 of Hot to Trot

''As okay as a girl can be after taking a header into what I think was potato salad."

He didn't smile. Instead he studied her. She didn't wiggle under the duress of his regard, though she wanted to. It seemed every brush of his gaze weighed, measured, and dissected all that she was. And maybe spotted the mayonnaise coagulated near her temple.

"Your cover-up speech about trying to get me to kiss you didn't work. A blind man can see the truth.”

“But can you?"

His smooth forehead furrowed.

“See the truth?" she asked.

''All I know is we've spent the past few weeks avoiding everything we've felt for each other. I don’t think I can do that any longer.”

"But you have to." She had ten more hours of community service to fulfill before she was officially done with her obligation. Nothing had changed, yet everything had. He'd tossed aside his convictions in front of the community. Everyone in Oak Stand would be talking about the sheriff and the actress before the sun found its home that night.

"Well, I screwed that up when I kissed you in front of everyone. Cat’s out of the bag." He shrugged though she could sense disappointment in himself lacing his admission.

"We have to pretend it was what I tried to make it. Me toying with you. It’s the only solution. Then when I’m done with the play, I’ll leave town and everyone will forget all about it.”

"You really think we can hide this? You freaked out in the middle of the town picnic because I was on a date with a friend.”

“Friend? A friend doesn’t feed you pie. And you enjoyed it." Scarlet’s anger rose again at him. "I don’t mean to get so emotional. It’s just…ugh. I do.”

“That’s the thing. If this was just about sex, that would be easy. Well, not easy, but easier. I can deal with the fantasies I’m having a good part of the day.”

“Just a good part? Not every waking moment?''

“Fine. Even some sleeping ones."

"So what do we do?”

He rubbed a hand through his hair. It stretched the fabric of his polo shirt against his flat stomach. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm into you. You're into me. But-"

"There's always that, isn't there?"

There was a resigned look in his green eyes. "What I said about you not being what I'm looking for in a woman was wrong. I form these ideas in my head about what life should be, about who I should be, and I can't let them go. It's a coping mechanism for how I was raised. I judged you because you're sexy, because you seemed like a self-absorbed actress. I was wrong. You’re not that. And I’m not some character to be played.”

She turned away from him. She'd figured that out long ago, but his words still hurt.

Why did both he and John see her as less than what she was? John thought she was too immature to stick with him through his illness, so he gave up on her. And Adam had thought her too shallow to be worth loving. Sure, he'd corrected himself. But that didn't change the fact he'd tossed her into some category he'd created. This man thought he could label everything andeveryone, and, though she hadn't yet reached the age of thirty, she'd learned long ago not to make assumptions. It was one rule her parents had hammered home. No boxes. No judging.

"You still make assumptions about me. You think you know me, and you don't. Not really. You can't create a perfect world or a perfect girl. Nor can you hide who you are beneath a badge. At some point, you have to accept life and people for who they are, including me."

“I know that. I know you’re right. I try do pros and cons on things and make good decisions, but you can’t make a list and-”

"Wait, did you make a pros and cons list about me? Oh, please tell me it wasn’t against the mayor’s daughter.” Outrage laced her words.

Adam swallowed hard. “Look, I get it. Sophie's good on paper. But I realize being good on paper doesn't mean being the right person for the job. It had to be a gut thing, and my gut tells me therightgirl is standing here.”

She made a face. “This isn't a job interview, Adam."

"That's not what I meant."

She couldn't handle much more. The drama had been epic, but even a vampire queen had her limits. She looked down at the red leather iWatch on her wrist. "It's nearly two o'clock, and I promised Roz I would watch her granddaughter Mary Ellen sing."

"Mary Claire," he corrected.

"Whatever."

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