Page 33 of Insta-Love

Ava’s eyes find mine, gaze shy from beneath those long lashes of hers. “No. I didn’t.”

“But?” I set one hand to the opposite shoulder and rub. Anything to distract me from putting my hands where I really want to.

She sighs, shoulders dropping as she slumps her weight against the wall. “Lily’s dad was a jerk. I mean, I thought I was in love with the guy—I guess my teenage self was—but he was a manipulator.” She continues to frown as her chin lifts and her gaze finds mine. “He had a way of talking me in to things, pressuring me to do them when that didn’t work. I don’t … I can’t …” She shakes her head, clearly frustrated at being unable to finish the thought.

“No pressure then.” I take a deep breath, my chest rising. “I didn’t intend for it come off that way.”

“Then what was your intention?” Her arms band across her chest while she waits on my answer.

Tell her. She doesn’t care a shit about what I do, who I am to anyone else. So why protect something that’s not at threat: my reputation?

“I guess I was worried that if you walked out that door now”—I gesture toward the ominous fucking thing with an outstretched arm—“then you’d have some moment of clarity. That I’d never talk to you again because you’d go out of your way to avoid me.”

“You were afraid of rejection if you gave me a chance to think about it?”

I nod, ridiculously on edge about what she might say next.

“Why?” Her question is whispered as though in disbelief.

I shrug. I don’t know why I feel that way. “I suppose if I was in your position, I’d stay the hell away from a vain cockhead like me.”

“You’re not vain.” Her lips flatten as she sighs. “Despite the whole Insta thing.”

“If that’s not vanity, then what is?” I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck.

Her shoulders bop while she seems to think on it. “Your body is a product, and your image is a brand. I guess it’s just business, right?”

“Based on vanity,” I point out.

She shakes her head, one foot sliding out between mine to knock ankles in a friendly way. “The people who do nothing but pose, posting their selfies and all that without any real reason but validation from others—that’s vanity. I’ve seen your profile. You sell products, you offer advice. You,” she says, prodding me in the chest, “care about your followers. That is what makes you a business person: the longevity of it.”

I get what she’s saying, but “There is no longevity I stop working out, I get old, it’s over.”

“Arnold is old. Is he over?”

“You’re comparing me to Arnold.” I laugh.

“No. I’m just pointing out that if you diversify what you have to offer, there’s life beyond the…” Her lips press tight as she once again gestures to the length of me. “…package.”

I don’t miss the shift in the air between us as I lean a little closer. She gives a soft smile, her earlier panic all but gone.

“This is why I need you here.”

“To compare you to bodybuilders turned Hollywood stars? I guess The Rock could be just as relevant.”

“Why weren’t you like this from the start?” I set my hand back on the wall beside her.

This time she doesn’t seem to mind.

“You didn’t give me much chance to.”

“Because I asked you why you were beating the hell out of your engine?”

“Starter motor. And it was more the body language while you asked it that didn’t exude friendliness.”

“How is that going for you anyway? Beaten it into submission yet?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” She talks to my mouth, her eyes firmly fixed on it as I lean in for the kill.

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