Page 172 of Curvy Girl Summer

“I can’t do this right now. I have to get back to my party.” I made no attempt to move, but I wanted him to stop talking. “We can do this another time.”

“When?” he questioned me. He kept his voice low and steady, but there was a fire in his eyes. “Because I’m tired of going back and forth with you.”

“We’ve already talked. We aren’t on the same page. We don’t want…” I closed my eyes for a moment. “We’re in different spaces in our lives, and that’s okay. We don’t have to get into it. I respect what you have going on. What more is there to say?”

“Oh, I think there’s a lot more to say.” He licked his lips. “About the ring—”

“I forgave you for that lie of omission,” I interrupted. “I didn’t like being misled, but I understood the situation, and I respect where you are with that.” I glanced down at his hand and saw he wasn’t wearing it. “You are—where’s your ring?”

“I’ve only been wearing it when I bartend lately,” he answered softly.

My mouth snapped shut.

I wasnotexpecting him to say that.

He licked his lips and took a step closer. “And last night… last night isn’t representative of how I get down either, but with you…” He shook his head slowly. “With you, it was different.”

“Different, huh?” I scoffed softly. “I don’t see how. I’m just the homie, right?”

He frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.”

“No, what is that supposed to mean?” His voice demanded an answer.

“It means I’m just the homie. Isn’t that how you described me to your friends?” I burst out, feeling like the emotional dam was breaking. “And you didn’t fuck me because you thought I was different—you were jealous and didn’t want me giving my time and attention to someone else. You told me that you wear the ring because you’re not ready to be involved with anyone. You said you wanted to be friends. So, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here—”

“Trying to pull?” He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and forced them up. “What the fuck?”

“And last night, you could’ve just been jealous and looking for something to do—”

“If I was just looking for something to do, I would’ve kept condoms on me, ready and waiting for the opportunity. If I was just fucking you because I was jealous, I would’ve made a move after your second app date with ol’ boy with the wife. I’ve known I’ve wanted you since then.”

“And you didn’t say anything! Between not telling me you weren’t married and calling me your homie, it’s difficult for me to buy that you think this”—I gestured between us—“is something different. Something that you’re ready for.”

“You think I would try this hard to get you to talk to me if I didn’t think this was different? If I didn’t thinkyouwere different?”

If you were bored.

He took a step toward me. “You think I would risk my dad’s business to have sex with you in the back office if I didn’t think this was different?”

If you were horny.

He stepped forward again. “You think I would be here tonight if I didn’t think this was different?”

If you felt like you owed me for coming to the hospital.

He took another step. “You think I would buy this expensive-ass suit in your favorite color if I didn’t think this was different?”

I stilled. “You remembered my favorite color?”

“Yes.” He stopped a couple of feet in front of me and tilted his head slightly. “There’s not much I don’t remember about you.”

My heart beat so loud that I was sure he heard it, too.

“You said you’d answer one question for me,” he continued.

“What’s the question?” I wondered.

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