Page 26 of Just Trouble

“That’s not really the problem, is it?” she asks, her own voice husky.

There is something impossibly hot about smart perceptive women, something I’ve never appreciated until this moment.

“I want more,” I say, not knowing how else to explain it, and immediately see that she’s taken it the wrong way. I’ve said it the wrong way, but it’s too late. She’s straightening her sweater and slipping away, combing her hair with her fingers and twisting it up again. If she knew how much I want to kiss the back of her neck, she wouldn’t be presenting it to me like this, but I look and yearn and keep my mouth shut.

Funny how I’ve always known the right thing to say to women, until Daph.

Until it mattered.

“I’ll draw up the paperwork tonight,” she says, all business again. “If you can stop by to sign everything, I’ll visit Meredith Thursday in the city.”

I pull out my phone and give her the address, ridiculously pleased that the transaction results in my having Daph’s cell phone number. “I don’t think she’ll be around in the morning.”

“Good. I’ll have time to meet a friend for lunch first.” She’s avoiding my gaze and I know I’ve hurt her feelings but I don’t know how to make it right. My own reaction is too chaotic and new for me to manage that.

“Nine?” I suggest and she flicks me a look. Her gaze is cool again, and even though I should have expected it, it’s like a knife to my heart.

“Nine,” she agrees.

It’s clear that I’m supposed to leave now. I head for the door, tug on my boots and shrug into my jacket. “It’s not you, Daph.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that it’s-not-you-it’s-me garbage.”

“Even if it’s true?” I hold my ground, needing her to know this. “There was a time that I would have taken whatever you would give, right there on that counter, then walked into the night and never seen you again.” Her lips are tight and her arms are folded across her chest, but she’s listening. “But I’m not that guy anymore. I don’t want that anymore.” Her gaze drops pointedly to my jeans and I shake my head. “I don’t wantjustthat anymore. I didn’t know it until tonight, until you, until this.” I wave at her house including her and our conversations in the gesture. “And I don’t know what it means, not yet. But I do know that I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to mess up.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not going to have you think later that it was pity sex because you were sad about this Justin jerk...”

“I am not sad about this Justin jerk.” She bites off the words and I know she’s mad.

“I’d like to be sure of that.” I look out the window and back at her. “There’s something going on here, Daph, something more, and I don’t want to rush it.”

She looks across the room, her lips tightening, and I know she doesn’t believe me. That’s fair. It just means that I’ll have to convince her that I mean what I say.

“Tomorrow at nine,” I say and she nods without looking at me. I turn and leave, knowing I’m doing the right thing, but feeling like I’ve made a mistake all the same.

How could anyone toss her back?

How could anyone mess around on Daph and lie to her about it?

On the other hand, if Justin the Jerk hadn’t done that, she’d be married to him, living in Toronto, making babies and living the good life.

That means I owe the moron.

I’m just not sure how much yet.

I don’t sleep.I spend the night staring at the ceiling of my room at the motel. There’s a big tv, apparently with satellite service, but I don’t turn it on. I don’t even turn on the lights. I just crash on the king-sized bed in my T-shirt and skivvies, thinking about Daph.

No. Haunted by that kiss.

By her.

I’m not surprised very often, not by people anyway. Events, sure, they catch me off-guard. Death is particularly good at that, but I don’t want to think about the grim reaper right now.

I want to think about Daphne Bradshaw.

I want tofantasizeabout Daphne Bradshaw.

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