Page 139 of Imperfect Player

She steps closer.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to say to you? How much we need to talk about?”

“I do. I just thought that it might be easier to delve into if we got back on the right track first.”

“The right track?”

“I thought that maybe it might be easier to just ease back into things. Talk a bit, have a few laughs, before we do the heavy hitting.”

“That’s what you want? To do the heavy hitting?”

“No, not really,” I say with a sheepish grin. “You’re worth swinging for though.”

“And you’re just so sure of yourself that you came over here expecting me to just be your date?”

“No. Not at all. I expected you to slam the door in my face. Tell me to go to hell. I deserve it. What I am sure of though is us. Of this connection we have. And that means that no matter how many times you slam the door in my face, I won’t give up. I’ll just keep trying.”

“Fine. Let’s go,” she says, grabbing her purse and walking past me to the elevator.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Maddox shouts after her.

“Lock up when you leave,” she tells him.

The limo in front of her building doesn’t take her by surprise this time. In fact, she stands, waiting for me to open the door for her.

“My lady,” I say, doing just that.

“Thank you,” she says, sliding into the limo.

I round the vehicle and slide in the other side. Maximum restraint in full effect, I keep my distance from her.

Something tells me that we’re going to be okay, but she isn’t going to make it easy for me. Rightfully so.

“How are you?” she asks as the limo pulls away from the curb. Her eyes are on the window and the buildings passing by.

“Better.”

It’s a simple answer. Truthful, too. I’m better, but I’m not fixed. I’m better, but I’m not great.

“You look good,” she says, still refusing to look at me.

“Nothing compared to you.”

“Don’t flirt. I’m not ready for flirting.”

“Noted.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“I get it. You don’t have to explain.”

“I don’t think you do.” She turns to me, tears welling in her eyes. Fuck, I hate the sight of that. “I don’t care that you pushed me away. I don’t care that you needed time and space. I don’t care that I’ve had to sit here wondering and worrying and missing you for the past sixty days.”

“Then what is it?”

“You. I’m trying to protect you. Because all I want is to jump into your arms and pick up right where we left off. But I don’t think that’s what you need. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I think that’s the hardest part.”

“What is?”

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