Page 69 of Love Is an Art
“You get it?” I ask slowly. What does that mean?
“I get it,” he says.
But I don’t. “What do you mean by that?”
“I understand how it all happened—that you had to say you’re an artist when the scammer guy could overhear you, and then I said I hate lawyers and you didn’t want to tell me you’re a lawyer. And I reread that email, and it was kind of obnoxious. If I read someone’s email and they said, ‘Don’t date a finance guy,’ I’d also be tempted to prove them wrong. So I get it.”
He does get it. “But so, there’s no chance of trying again?” I can’t help it.
“I don’t think I’d trust you. And that’s not fair to you.” He glances down. “Paisley left me with some major trust issues. To quote my sister.” He shrugs.
A short, harsh laugh escapes me. “It’s ironic. I’m usually pretty up front and honest. To my detriment. But okay.” I step closer. “What about friends? I can earn your trust.”
He swallows. “My feelings toward you are not just friends.”
“Tessa!”
Not Wyatt.
He must have some radar for me with Zeke.
Oh no. Now Zeke will tell him we’re not dating anymore.
And Wyatt will think another guy dumped me because I’m a workaholic.
Maybe that is the real reason Zeke doesn’t want to date me.
I turn around. “Wyatt.”
“Surprised to see you out on a weeknight,” Wyatt says. “Impressive that you’re here. This is the new hot restaurant. I didn’t think you cared about such things.”
“It’s a work dinner,” I say, annoyed that I have to admit that. What did I see in him? Note to self: Don’t fall for a pretty face. The even hotter face of Zeke glances at me, his eyebrow arched.
“She must really like you if she’s bringing you as her date to a work dinner,” Wyatt says.
Don’t say you’re my client.Wyatt will have a field day with that. I can hear him now: How else would Tessa meet someone?
Zeke slides his arm around me. “We’ll have to come back another time when we can actually talk to each other. The food is amazing. Although I prefer a little more privacy.” He nuzzles my neck.
Nuzzles.
My stomach is doing full cartwheels.
I am utterly still.
Thank you for not telling Wyatt we broke up.
But what fresh torture is this?
The heat from his hand against my waist is burning. I want to sink into his arm.
And then he whispers in my ear, “You could look a little more devoted.”
I turn my head to face his.
Big. Mistake.
He’s like an inch away. His eyes have a teasing light in them. And his lips are open and so close. His breath smells of red wine.
