Page 84 of Back in the Saddle

And Ilovedthat.

“Yes,” I whispered.

There was a shift to the expression on his face that made my heart skip a beat, because I knew he knew how glad I was we were where we were (finally), and even better, he wasn’t hiding he was just as glad.

He punctuated all of that by running his knuckles gently along my jaw.

No man had ever touched me like that. No person had touched me with that kind of gentleness.

It was the sweetest touch I’d ever feltin my life.

With perfect timing, because all I was feeling for him was suddenly overwhelming, he pulled slightly away and asked, “Great. Do you hike?”

Suddenly, an unfamiliar feeling took hold of me.

Not true. It wasn’t unfamiliar. I’d had it before in other things, but not with guys.

So I knew what it was.

Panic.

Nope.

Sheerpanic.

“Jess?” Eric called.

“I don’t hike,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said slowly, studying my face.

“And I, um…” I couldn’t finish that.

“You what?” he prompted.

Shit.

“Well, I don’t read,” I said quickly.

His head quirked in surprise, which made sense, considering I wasn’t making any.

But, for reasons unknown to me, I didn’t stop talking.

“And I don’t cook. I don’t go to the gym or exercise in any formal way. I can shop, but the mood has to strike me, something it doesn’t do very often. I don’t go to concerts or festivals, because people are rude, and they bug the crap out of me, so if there are a lot of people in one place, it bugs theabsolutecrap out of me. I like to go to movies, but I prefer to watch them at home. I like going out to eat, because I like food, but mostly I do it so I can check out their cocktail menu to keep sharp. I also go to bars, but I’m not a barfly, it’s usually also for professional research. Or to hang with my girls. I like taking photos of stuff, but it’s not like I think I’m some great master. I just see things that interest me, and I want to get an angle on them and leech the color to black and white because I think the subtlety of that, the shadows and light, is more interesting.”

I took in a massive breath and finished my litany.

“Mostly, when I have time off, and don’t have plans with the girls, I clean my house, pay my bills and hang in front of the TV.”

“Okay,” he repeated slowly.

I was talking slowly too when I admitted, “In other words, I just figured out, I’m kinda…boring.”

For a beat he looked utterly stunned.

Then he busted out laughing.

I was plastered to his front, his face shoved in the side of my neck, still laughing, when I asked, “You think me being boring is funny?”

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