Page 32 of Flaunt
“Wouldyoumind, Banks?”
He grins, getting up and going to the last tire. “I always mind when you’re around.”
I grin too. Because I think he’s lying.
“Do you just not want me to see your girlfriend?” I ask, poking for information. I don’t know why—it doesn’t matter. Still, I’m curious. “Are you afraid I’ll tell her you threw me into the pool like a barbarian?”
Surely, he wouldn’t have messed with me so much if he had a girlfriend.And looked at me like he wanted to do very dirty things to my body. Even as I consider this possibility, I don’t think it’s true. That kind of game doesn’t seem to be something that’s in the Carmichael men’s genetics.
He stands, dusting his hands off. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Busy, I guess. I work a lot.”
“That’s a cop-out answer.”
He leans forward and smiles. “That’s the truth.” He rocks back away from me. “What about you? Why do you have so many boyfriends?”
“I don’t havethat many,” I say, scoffing. “And I wouldn’t call any of themmy boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like that between us.”
He lifts his chin. “What’s it like between you?”
I have half a notion to blow him off and tell him it’s none of his business—because it’s not. But he doesn’t seem to be judging me at all, just curious. Concerned? I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it has me answering him.
“I don’t want a boyfriend,” I say. “But I want the benefits of having one.”
“So you want to have sex.”
“Right.” I grin. “I want sex, but not the other crap that goes along with it. I just don’t have the stomach for it.”
“What kind of crap?”
“You know, the wanting to tell me what to do with my time. Expecting me to be a certain person. Thinking that it could end with marriage.” I shrug. “I’m not intothatkind of dating.”
He hands me the gauge. He’s … angry, maybe. It’s a look I don’t think I’ve seen on Banks’s face before. Yet I don’t think he’s angry with me.
“At least get the fuckers to pick you up,” he says. “Make them show you a little respect.”
My heart swells at the unexpected burst of kindness from Banks.
“What do you want me to do with this?” I ask, twiddling the gauge between my fingers.
“Put it in your glove box and keep it. Then you’ll have one.”
“I don’t want to take yours.”
He grins. “I have a hundred of them. It’s fine. Trust me.”
We exchange a soft smile.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask. “Do I need a new tire? Just some air?”
“It’s fine. You just need your computer reset.”
