Page 42 of Love on the Line

“Wow. I’m impressed.” That wasn’t an easy meal to make for someone who didn’t cook.

He placed two stemmed glasses on the counter and pointed around the corner to a fully-stocked wine cooler she’d never noticed before. “Do you want white? Or I have red on the shelf.”

She blinked and gazed at the bottles. On a good day, she might carry one of each at her apartment. Never such a varied selection. She glanced to the living room, where a huge flat-screen TV hung on the wall. A real-leather sectional and recliner filled the space along with a high-tech stereo surround-sound system.

Their lives couldn’t be more different. A weight sunk to the bottom of her stomach.

“Anne? What’s up?” He walked over to her and took her hand. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you haven’t been yourself all week. I thought you were just busy, but that’s not it. What’s wrong?”

She owed him an answer. And she sucked at pretending, so she might as well come clean. “Are we exclusive?”

“What?”

“Exclusive.” She cleared her throat. “We never really discussed it.”

“Wait, are you saying you want to date other guys?” His brow wrinkled, and hurt flashed in his eyes.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m asking if…you know…you do?”

Relief washed over his face. “No. I do not want to date other guys.”

She smiled, but then sobered. “I’m serious, though, because I assumed we were exclusive.”

“I don’t understand where this is coming from. Have I said or done anything to make you think otherwise?”

She couldn’t clam up now. If they had any chance at a relationship, she needed to tell him what was bothering her. “It’s just that I…I…”

He leaned in, and his gaze locked on hers.

Her chest tightened. “I googled your name, and a lot of pictures came up. One pretty recent, of you with a supermodel.”

He blew out a breath and dragged a hand down his face. “I see.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t, but I can’t un-ring that bell or get it out of my head.” She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the bottom hem of her sweater.

He crossed the room and picked up a football from the floor in the corner. Tossing it from hand to hand, he paced, the lines on his face taut.

She glanced up at him. Not the reaction she’d expected.

“So, what are you saying?” He squeezed the football and studied the laces. “We’re done?”

Her heart sunk like a lead balloon. Sheesh, he’d sure been quick to go there. Maybe he’d been looking for an excuse. She tugged her teeth over her lower lip.

Wyatt twisted the ball in his hands. “I guess that’s my answer.”

Her throat turned scratchy, and her lungs burned. She must have been a fool to think she could keep the attention of a guy like him. She’d give him the out and leave with what little pride she had left. “If that’s what you want.”

His gaze shot to her. “I didn’t say that. Isn’t it what you want?”

What the hell was he talking about? This conversation had gone sideways. She shook her head. “No.”

His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the football. “I don’t understand.”

“Can we…sit down or something so we can talk about this? I can’t think with you pacing and doing that stuff with the ball.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He glanced at the football like he didn’t even realize he held it, and then tossed it in the corner. A muscle twitched under his jaw. “Talk. Okay, we can…talk.”

She took a seat at the table, and he sat across from her.

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