Page 61 of Someone to Have
“True crime.” I grab the remote and turn off the television. “Are you not a fan?”
“I watch sports highlights and porn,” he says conversationally.
My mouth drops open because the images that pop into my already jumbled mind are enough to steal my breath.
He chuckles, a sound as dark as his coffee-colored eyes. “I’m joking, Tinkerbell.”
“About the sports or the porn?” The question is out before I can stop it.
One thick brow raises. “I don’t need porn.”
Right. I should have guessed that.
“You’re not going to scare me off,” I tell him, even though I can practically feel my knees knocking. “This is a coaching strategy with or without air quotes. I don’t want sex because you feel sorry for me.”
“No worries there.” He takes a Pop-Tart from the plate, shooting me a sidelong glance. “The last thing you could be is a pity fuck.”
Blunt, as compliments go, but my pulse goes into overdrive. I break off a piece of pastry and dip it in the milk. “Then why all the time for thinking about it?”
“My sister made me promise I wouldn’t get involved with a woman while I was taking care of Rhett.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I don’t blame her.” He shrugs. “You know my reputation. Hell, Toby might as well have plastered my manwhore status on a billboard.”
“You aren’t that person any more.” I believe it with my whole heart.
“I don’t want to become him again,” he says quietly. “Besides, Rhett needs one hundred percent of my focus. And as far as you and me, there’s the not insignificant possibility that your brother would disembowel me if he thought something was happening between us.”
I laugh around a mouthful of Pop-Tart. “I get the promise to your sister, but Toby wouldn’t even notice if you looked in my direction.”
He shakes his head. “He already noticed. At Tony’s.”
My eyes roll to the ceiling. “He noticedmeoglingyou.”
“Ogling.” Eric laughs again. “That’s a librarian word. I like it. For the record, your brother warned me away from you.”
“No way. My brother has never in his life warned a guy away from me.”
“He probably hasn’t felt the need because you go for limp dicks.”
“I don’t think he cares that much,” I answer, ignoring the limp dick comment once again. I try to sound like it doesn’t matter, but not so sure I pull it off.
“He cares.”
“But you’re still saying yes?” I place my glass next to his on the coffee table.
“I’m not afraid of your brother.” Eric has polishedoff his Pop-Tart in two giant mouthfuls and reaches for the remaining half of mine.
“What about your sister?”
“This isn’t me getting involved,” he says. “It’s acoaching strategy.”
As rationalizations go, it’s weak at best, but I’m not going to argue.
I’m also not going to wish his answer had been more along the lines of me being special or him wanting more than just sex, becauseIdon’t want more. I want Bryan. This whole arrangement is about making me more confident—both being on stage and going out with the guy I want to date. That guy isnotEric.
I’m a woman on a mission, and I need him to accomplish it.
