Page 19 of I'm Not Yours
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“This . . .” I waved a hand between us.
He smiled, slow, seductive, absolutely firm in his belief that we could be together. “I likethis.It’s still there. Can’t deny that. When I held your thigh in my hand at the hospital, it all came back. And I like you. Still do. Always have.”
“You don’t know me anymore.”
“I know that you’re still brave and funny. You didn’t even cry when you came into the hospital. You downplayed your injuries. You talked about the menopausal horse and beating the battle with the ladder. I like how you’re kind to the animals at your place. You have integrity, Allie; you always have. We laugh at the same things. Our conversation is quick, you’re witty as hell, and we talk about everything. We flow. I’ll bet you’re still good at puzzles. I’ve missed your smile and your laugh. I like your lips a lot.A lot.Can I check out your lips with my lips?”
I bent my head, trying to get control of emotions that were already on high, then rolled my eyes at him. “You are a force like a brick wall—did you know that, Jace Rios?”
“I like brick walls. They add architectural interest.”
“You’re like a kind and funny hurricane.”
“I don’t like hurricanes. I’ll take the kind and funny part.” He put his palms up. “Look, Allie. I’ll try to take it slow. I’ll try not to hug you or kiss you or ask you to get into my hot tub naked. Don’t shut down on us.”
“Jace, I don’t want to be involved with anyone. I like being on my own.” That was a lie. I had been achingly lonely foryears. “I like my own company.” That was a lie, too. I preferred his company. It was my own company, my own memories, that made me nervous and angry.
“Let’s not call it getting involved. Let’s call it . . .” He ran a hand through that thick hair. “Hanging out in the country.”
Hanging out in the country naked.
Hanging out in the country in bed with naked Jace.
Hanging out in the country at night in a hot tub with Jace.
One graphic vision after another danced in front of my eyes. He was all man. He had shoulders to grip and a chest to lie on. He had legs that were hard and strong and a back full of muscles. “You are fire on wheels and you always make me lose my head, but I can’t this time.”
“Well, you have a very pretty head, and your gold eyes have haunted me for years, so please don’t lose it. We’re older now. We had an incredible relationship last time. I thought it would end in a different place than it did. But it doesn’t mean we can’t try again.”
He didn’t even know what I’d done. If we were involved, I’d have to tell him. When he knew, I couldn’t imagine he’d want to be with me anymore. He would lose all respect and find me dishonest and secretive. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to deal with it. I was still steaming about my dad’s death, too, and I could feel myself coming apart. I don’t know why Jace and my dad are somehow connected, but they are.
“No.” I shook my head. “No. I’m going, Jace.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t.” I felt the tears fill my eyes. “We were together once.” He was my best friend, my boyfriend, everything. “And it was so hard . . . so hard to have it end, and I’m not up for it again. I can’t do it.”
“Who said it has to end? I’m not even talking about it ending; I’m talking about it starting. Allie, don’t go.”
“Good-bye, Jace. I’m glad you’re well. You look amazing. I’m glad you’re a doctor. I know I already said this, but you’re really good at it. So incredibly talented.”
“Please, Allie, come on.”
He stood in front of me and I pushed by him. He gently grabbed my arm; I pulled away. He asked me to stay; I declined. He said he would drive me home, but I ignored it.
He followed me out, telling me again he wanted to talk, that we could talk about something else, but I started hobbling down his hill.
He climbed in his truck, pulled up beside me, and insisted I get in. I refused, and he actually got out, picked me up again, and put me in the cab. “You’ve got a bruised ankle and stitches. I am driving you home. If you want to fight with me on this, I’ll win, Allie. Stay in the truck.”
He was angry, he was stony. He was ticked off, and I didn’t blame him. We didn’t say another word.
When he dropped me off at home and drove away, I grabbed my keys, drove to the store, and bought a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and three romantic movies. I got in my sweats and an old yellow robe and watched TV while I cried. I read a Jane Austen novel, thought of my mother who had loved Jane, too, then I read a crime thriller. I couldn’t sleep that night.
The lights in his house were still on.
