Page 52 of Sexy Bad Escort

“She didn’tmean it. About your brother.” I grab his elbow and force him toface me.

“I knowshe didn’t, but she’s right. Joe would be a better choice.Joe’s always the betterbrother.” He grips the side of my neck and stares at me. “There aremany choices for you that are better than me.”

“Do youreally believe that?” I don’t.“We go together like John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John.”Unbidden, the memory of the time I saw Ducky riding around onSpot’s back pops into my head. Maybe we’re more like that.Different, but ultimately happier together. “Or-or a goat and aduck.”

Hesmirks a little, lets out a soft snort. “I guess I’m the goat inthat scenario.Stubbornand always getting into things I shouldn’t.”

“Are youimplying that I’m the duck? That I waddle?”

“No. Youwaffle, Ronnie. Which is why I think you know that thisisn’t going to work out betweenus.”

Waffles have been hauntingme all day.I grasp his wrist, holding his hand against myskin. I don’t want to let go. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’tit? Your mother now thinks we’ve been faking being together, andyou couldn’t correcther. Or you didn’t want to tell her how serious things have gottenbetween us.”

“It just isn’tthe right moment,” I say.

“Youfeel the same way about me as you do Rent-A-Danny. Neither thebusiness nor I are quite good enough for Ronnie Frost.” He dropshis hand to his side. “We both knew this fling wouldn’t last. Bestto end it now before wemake it hard to run our business together.”

“Danny, wedon’t need to do that.”

“Yes, wedo.” He nods as though accepting his own wordsas he bridges the distance between us topress a kiss to my forehead. It does nothing to quell the distanceI feel in my heart. Opening the front door, he puts a little bouncein his step. “Email me my schedule. We’ll talk soon.”

I watchhim leave. It’s the oddest sensation. I rub at the ache blooming inmy chest right where my heart is as my eyes startto burn. It’s not like I won’tsee him again, but it feels like goodbye. An irrevocable twistingof the landscape we created between us.

“Heleft,” Mom says, joining me in the foyer.

“Yes.”She winds her arm around my waist, and I rest my head on hershoulder. “We weren’tfake dating, you know. It was real.”

“Okay,love,” shesays, in that soothing way mothers do.

“I mean it,Mom. Danny and I... He was my boyfriend.”

“That serious,huh? And you didn’t want to tell me?”

“Ididn’t want to hear about weddings and babies, no.” I grimace. “Not that it matters now.He doesn’t think we should see each other anymore.” I exhale andsqueeze my eyes shut. He thinks I’m ashamed of him and nothingcould be further from the truth, but even if I could explain that,he has his own self-worth issues I can’t overcome. “Maybe he’sright. We should concentrate on Rent-A-Danny.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DANNY

“Look athim. He’s gorgeous.” My client says this not with love andadmiration in her voice, but with sadness carved intothe words. Her eyes are equallyas depressed as she stares across the room at the man of herdreams.

Technically, she isn’t my client. Her boyfriend is.That gorgeous guy strumming aguitar across the room while sitting on a stool in the middle of aspotlight, crooning out a love song for the crowd assembled heretonight. He contacted Rent-A-Danny, informed us that he and hisgirlfriend broke up, and he needed help winning herback.

Considering she’sperched across from me, drooling over the guy, I’m not surewhy he had such a hard time that he paid in full upfront anddemanded I rearrange my schedule so I could bring her to the showtonight. And offered a hefty bonus if I’m successful by the time hefinishes his first set.

“He’snot really my type, but I suppose, yeah, he’s good looking.”

She thinks I’mher sister’s friend, that I’m here because said sister got sick butknew how much she still wanted to attend the show.

“Waymore gorgeous than Ideserve.” My date, Sylvia, sighs and props her chin in her hand,while her gaze never leaves the man on stage.

“Why do yousay that?” I ask. “What do looks have to do with it if you’re bothin love?”

Shelifts her head so she can flap her hand. “He’s a musician. Andhe’samazingly talented.He’s going to be famous someday. And famous musicians datesupermodels. And supermodels are not size twelve. Which means I’mout of the running.” She sounds as glum as if she were announcingshe has terminal cancer.

I cockmy head and scratch my temple. “Um, if he’s so shallowthat all he cares aboutis the number on the waistband of your jeans, you’re better offwithout him.”

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