Page 24 of Moonlighter
“Yeah, sure. I’m married to my job, too. But I like it that way. When I was in college I had this semester where I got all bent out of shape over a girl And that’s when a coach gave me the best advice I’ve ever gotten in my life.” He sips his tea slowly.
Very slowly. And then it occurs to me that he might not actually finish that thought. “Well?” What an infuriating man.
He levels me with one of those sexy smirks that I am starting to hate. “He said, Eric, you can do anything. But you can’t do everything.”
“Really?” I yelp. “What a cliché. I saw that printed on a notebook just last week.”
He shrugs. “So I have it hanging on my wall at home, too. Because it’s true. To compete at the highest level you need to commit. And once I really owned that idea, everything got easier for me.”
The waiter picks this moment to deposit our lunches in front of us. I thank him, but my mind is still chewing over Eric’s words.
“You know, women are told that they can have it all,” I point out. “A fulfilling career. A husband and children. And the message is that maybe there’s something wrong with us if we don’t at least try.”
He shrugs. “I don’t believe that at all. Life is all about hard choices. I made my peace with that a long time ago.”
Well, I haven’t. Although it’s hard to argue that Eric’s viewpoint is wrong. My quest for a partner ended badly. Although sometimes I just wonder if I’m not to blame. I’m so used to calling the shots for myself that I don’t really want someone else to do it for me.
“You gotta do you, though,” he says, taking a big bite of his fish. “Besides, I’m sure you can have any guy you want.”
“You’d be wrong,” I reply quickly. “The men who date me are usually looking for money or prestige. The men who don’t need those things all seem to want wives who are willing to stay at home and throw dinner parties and make them look good. They don’t want someone who travels ninety days a year and earns more than they do.”
He stares at me for a moment, and I wish those sunglasses weren’t hiding his intelligent gray eyes. “Those men are doofuses. They’re probably just afraid of you.”
“Some of them,” I concede, lifting my fork. “But I’m not easy to date. And it doesn’t matter anymore, because I’ve given it up.”
“That’s not very considerate,” he says, eating a french fry that looks perfectly salted and absolutely delicious. “What about your fake boyfriend’s needs? In fact…” He gets up from his place at the table, then nudges his plate next to mine. “Scoot over, would you?”
“Why?Oh.” He means to sit next to me on the same side of the table. So I move over to make room on the padded bench.
Then his solid bulk lands beside me, his left arm around my shoulder. “Okay, honey bunch. Eat up,” he says in a voice that’s loud enough to carry a couple of tables in either direction. “You need to keep up your strength for me. No passing out early like you did last night.”
“Eric!” I hiss.
He laughs. “I’m committed to playing this role. I’m all in. The good news is that you can steal my fries if you want. I see you eyeing them.”
Oh, dear. I wonder what else he’s noticed me eyeing?
But yay, fries! I take one and dip it in his ketchup. “Thank you, lover.” My boob manages to press against his arm just before I lift the french fry to my mouth. I give him a glance that says,two can play at this.
He gives me a slow, conspiratorial smile, and it confuses me. Are we joking, here? Or are we flirting for real? Those cool gray eyes aren’t always easy to read.
Fine. It’s probably all in my head. Who looks at a hormonal, stressed out woman—pregnant with another man’s baby—and says,I need to hit that.And let’s not forget I insulted him a couple of months ago.
“You’re a pretty good sport, Eric,” I say quietly.
“Thank you, babycakes. More water?” He lifts the carafe the waiter brought us and offers it to me.
“Sure, hunk-muffin.”
He snorts, and I laugh. The tension I was feeling slides blissfully away. We can do this. We can be friends again under tricky circumstances, like we were so many years before.
But then I happen to glance up, and the smile slides right off my face. Because Jared Tatum is taking a seat about twenty feet away from our table.
And just like that I’m stressed out all over again.
7
Eric
