Page 19 of A Fighting Chance

Butstill.He could have put one on to answer the door.

I roll my eyes at him and his smile only seems to grow.

“What are these?” I hold the notes up, changing the subject to the reason I knocked on his door in the first place.

His eyes search mine for a moment and his smile fades a little. “You don’t like them?” There’s hesitation in his voice, but mischief in his eyes.

I don’t want to answer the question. “That’s not the point. What do they mean?”

His shoulders gently rise and fall. “You’re a beautiful woman, Lyla. And a beautiful woman deserves beautiful words,” he says. His voice is low and deep, his words drawn out, resembling both a command and a whisper. Like no other truth exists. Like no other possibility remains.

I swallow the lump in my throat and attempt words. “Thank you,” I say, “but this speaks of desire, doesn’t it?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” he asks.

I consider his question. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with desire. It isn’t even something one can help; it just happens to a person.

“But you don’t know anything about me,” I counter, avoiding directly answering that question, too.

“Your family talks, Lyla. They talk about you. What kind of person you are, what you’ve done. And I’ve listened. And now, seeing you…you’re just…bewitching.” he says.

Did he just use the word bewitching?

Really?

Bewitching?

My lady parts are on fire. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. That’s not what I’m here for— obviously.” I say it before I really even think about it.

I watch his gaze fall to study my legs before his eyes find mine again. “I know you’re here for your sister. And I know you’re going back to Boston when you’re done. But that doesn’t really stop me from thinking about your legs wrapped around my neck.”

I choke. On nothing at all.

Did he really just say that?

I shake the vision of his head between my legs and my hand gripping his hair then press on. “Regardless, it’s just not a good idea.” I swallow hard on my words and feel a tinge of regret as I speak them.

He nods his head. “I understand.”

I nod, glad we’re now on the same page. “Good.”

“Can I still write you notes?” he asks.

My face twists a bit, and he laughs. “Why?” I ask, not understanding why he’d want to write me notes without getting anything in return.

“Just because I can’t have you doesn’t mean you don’t deserve stirrings or the knowledge that you stir something in another,” he says.

His words come so easy that I begin to wonder if maybe this is just a game he plays with all women. I push away the negative thoughts and focus. “I guess that would be okay,” I say.

“Okay, then. Good.” The solemn look fades from his face, replaced with a smile once again.

“Good,” I say, unsure of what else to say. “So, we can befriends?”

Gentry’s lips let a small laugh escape, one of quiet amusement. “If that’s what you want,” he says. “Would you like to come in?”

“Um…”

“I promise to behave,” he says, laughing at his own joke.

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