Page 12 of The Heartbreaker
To my stomach.
To—oh God—that throbbing place between my legs.
“It’s not boring at all,” I whispered.
“Do you have kids?” He held the porcelain spoon on top of the soup, waiting for my answer.
“No. I’m only twenty-four. That’s not to say I’m too young for kids—I’m certainly not—but I’d like to be closer to my late twenties before it happens. And I want it to happen. I want lots of kids.”
He chuckled. “How many is lots?”
I finished a bamboo shoot and gave him a grimace with lots of teeth. “Four to five. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, and I want a giant family.”
“That’s a hefty range all right.”
I wiped the corners of my mouth and returned my napkin to my lap. “It was just my sister and me growing up. We’re six years apart, so by the time I hit middle school, she had already graduated and was off for premed. Even though we’re super close, the age gap gave me only-child vibes. I guess it had its perks, but I want something different for my kids.”
He moved his spoon around, but didn’t take a bite. “Did you grow up around here?”
“I’m from the Bay area.”
“And what brought you south?”
“College brought me, and the weather made me stay. Let’s face it, the beaches are far better here.”
“Does that mean you surf?”
I exhaled. “I like to. I’m just not very good. But I’m game for anything on the water—paddleboarding, boating, Jet Skiing, parasailing. Put me near an ocean and give me lots of sun, and I’m a happy girl.”
His head bounced to a silent beat. “I like that.”
“Why are you so tan? Did you just travel somewhere exotic, or do you like the beach as much as I do?”
He set his spoon down. “I used to travel a lot, and then I became a father, and that changed, mostly because my daughter’s mother has a job that takes her out of town more often than she’s home. And then my dad got sick, and I didn’t want to go too far in case something happened. So, no, I haven’t recently been anywhere exotic, unless you count Malibu, and in that case, I’m there all the time.”
“Do you go there to surf?”
“No.” He clasped his hands by the side of his bowl. “I go there for work.”
I couldn’t even guess what kind of employment that would be. He wore a nice watch, but I couldn’t tell if his clothes were designer or if he’d bought them from Target. And since he and his friends had taken a party bus to the club, I had no idea what he drove.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I said, “What do you do?”
He chuckled. “Something that pays me plenty.”
I laughed with him. “I suppose I deserve that answer.”
“I work in the hospitality industry.”
I could probably push and get an exact explanation and title, but that would require me to open myself up a bit more. Now that we were outside the club, I found it easier to be myself, to say the things I wouldn’t have while we were in that private room. There, I needed to keep things as impersonal as possible. But here—here felt different. It felt weirdly natural. It felt easy with a heavy side of spark.
“How’s your dad now?” I raised my hand. “And if you don’t want to go into it, it’s okay, I get it.”
He was silent for a moment. “He’s gone.”
I could hear the pain in his voice.
“Ridge, I’m so sorry.” My hand found its way to the top of his arm. “I feel awful that I asked. I didn’t mean to make you talk about it.”
