Page 25 of Restrained

His right eyebrow lifts, again thinking I'm crazy. “Yes. What else is there to say?”

I’m the last person who should be giving relationship advice. I have zero experience, but even I know he should have offeredher more of an explanation. “Maybe a why? I mean, I'm pretty sure she’s every man’s type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

Now I’m shooting the questioning gaze. “No?”

He laughs. “Maybe to fuck. But not relationship-wise.”

My mouth actually waters. Jesus, I'm an idiot. What the hell is wrong with me? “Oh.”

He stares at me for a moment and then shrugs. “I don’t really do relationships. And I definitely don’t mix business and pleasure as a personal rule.”

“A good rule.” Why is my voice so quiet?

“It is. Because now Gretchen acts like she owns me, and there’s not much I can do about it.”

He looks genuinely upset by the whole situation, and when he lets his guard down like this, he seems so familiar to me. “So why did you do it?”

He tilts his head to the side. “She was there.”

“That’s nice. What every girl wants to hear.”

He moves closer to me on the bed, and I realize I'm holding my breath as he raises his hand and pushes my bangs out of my eyes. The motion is brief and so light, but I swear I still feel his hand there. “Haven’t you ever let yourself lose control? Even for a moment?”

“Sounds to me like you don’t do it often.”

“I don’t. But I have.”

I swallow again, staring into his eyes. “I haven’t.”

We stay in the moment for far too long. Both staring. Both unmoving. Lost in thought.

“What do you do for fun?”

I smile. “We reallyaretrying the friends thing?”

He chuckles, and again, it’s slight but beautiful. “Why not? It’s been a long time since I've had an actual friend. As long as we put work first.”

“Always.”

“So what do you do for fun?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. What do you do?”

He’s thinking about it. “I don’t know either.” He scrubs his chin with his hand. “Fuck... That’s sad.”

I can’t fight my laugh. “It really is.”

“Do you swim?”

Suddenly the laughter dies, and I give my own vague answer. “No.”

“No? You live in California.”

I sit up straighter on the bed, leaning away from him, my stomach in knots just thinking about the water. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

He thinks I'm a crazy person. I can see it on his face, but I'm struggling to catch my breath from a simple question. So, maybe I am. “Look, if you can’t swim, that’s no big deal...”

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