Page 16 of Until You're Mine
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.” He moved to put his hand on my back, and I dodged.
“Hands to yourself, remember?”
He dropped his arm, but the amusement on his features remained. Who cared if he thought I was going overboard? Not me.
Shane quickened his pace to push open the gym door, and after walking me over to my Mustang, he opened the car door for me as well. “Tell your boyfriend I said hi. I assume that’s who you’re meeting for dinner.”
“It’s none of your business, and why would I do that, and just no.” I tossed my bags into the passenger seat and unrolled the driver’s side window to help counteract the stifling temperature of the interior. My A/C took forever and a day to cool down.
“I get it,” he said, and I could somehow sense by his tone that he was staring at my ass. “You wouldn’t be able to mention me without giving away how you feel about me.”
I straightened and gave him a syrupy sweet smile. “Yes, I’m afraid he’d hear the murderous rage behind my words as I explained how irritating you are, and report it to the police. Then when they found your body, I’d be their first suspect, and I need enough time to get to Mexico before that happens.”
His grin spread, because he obviously didn’t understand words.
I rolled my eyes, making it nice and big so he’d be sure to see. “Oscar Wilde once said ‘To love one’s self is the beginning of a lifelong romance.’” I patted his chest. “I hope that you and yourself will be very happy together.”
“Who’s breaking the keeping-their-hands-to-themselves rule now?”
I jerked my hand back. And immediately regretted it, thanks to the smug expression on his face.
He shoved both hands into his pockets and leaned closer. “Have a good night.”
My traitorous heart beat faster. “Highly doubtful, but sure, whatever. You, too.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”
Why did I go and open my mouth instead of climbing in my car and driving the hell away from the gym and this frustrating guy? Probably because I didn’t want to go to dinner. I wanted to fast forward the next uncomfortable hour or so and slow it down once I was finally back at Finn’s, tossing back beer. And ice cream—except he only had that low-sugar bullshit ice cream and I was going to need the hard stuff, which meant one more stop.
Shane was watching me way too closely. Looking for chinks in my armor, no doubt, and I had plenty. Particularly when it came to attractive fighters who seemed to know how to make me feel weak and then exploit that.
“I’m not…” I sighed. I’d rather him aim at this chink than take stabs at other ones. “I’m having dinner with my dad. Even though, again, it’s none of your business.”
That made him give me a few extra inches of space. Evidently I should talk about my dad more. If only it were a cheerier subject.
“You say it like a death sentence. I know thousands of people who’d jump at the opportunity to have dinner with Blake Roth.” Shane put up his hands when I frowned at him. “I get it. I remember what you told me on Friday when we were having our little heart-to-heart.” He lowered his voice and the cocky facade faded. “I don’t usually talk to people about all that…stuff. Just so you know.”
The mention of that part of Friday night made my pulse trip over itself. For a few minutes I’d gotten caught up in how easy it was to talk to him. Adrenaline was a hell of a catalyst, but it didn’t completely explain away our sparked connection, the way I wanted it to. “I normally don’t, either.”
The fact that I’d been more open with him about my complicated relationship with my dad than I ever had been with Trey sent guilt flooding in with the rest of the conflicting emotions.It’s just because Shane gets the MMA world and Trey doesn’t. Something I’m glad about 99 percent of the time.
“I’m not telling you what to do, I swear,” Shane said, and apprehension bobbed up to take the lead in my mass of emotions, anger on deck just in case I needed it.
“Seriously with the crinkle.” He reached out and smoothed the spot between my eyebrows, and while I should’ve slapped his hand away, there was something comforting about it, especially given the unexpected tenderness behind the gesture. “Life is short, but it feels a lot longer with regrets weighing you down.”
“And in this situation the regrets would be mine or his?”
“Yes,” he said, the cockiness in his grin back in full force.
I scowled at him, going heavy on the pout. “Don’t give me good advice. You’re supposed to be an impulsive jerk who doesn’t think about anyone but himself.”
He leaned closer, one hand braced on the roof of my car, and I could feel the warmth of his body and the way it made a deceptively safe cocoon. “Don’t worry, bruiser. I’m still that guy. But whenever you’re in a mood, you get all snippy or try to avoid me, and then that affectsmymood. So, see, still totally selfish.”
“Diabolical. Maybe even a tad psychotic.”
His grin turned wolfish, and alarms flashed in my head—about how I liked the way his smile brought out that groove in his chin, and how he’d somehow moved closer without my noticing, and how I wasn’t being as strong as I should be with him. He seemed to read my fears and backed off, taking a large step back. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Unfortunately, the first thought that popped into my head at his words was:This appetizer portion was more fun.
