Page 21 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

“Hell no.” She laughs, and her eyes narrow into seductive slits. “I want to help you ‘find it’ somewhere else.”

“You really want to kiss me after all this?” I say, somewhat chuckling at my pathetic, broken heart. She lifts one shoulder and bats a set of naturally long eyelashes.

“I kinda like you.”

“I’m tempted to say bullshit, but I think we’re done playing that game.”

“We are.” She sets her napkin down and pushes up out of her seat. “Like you said, you don’t remember what came first, friendship or attraction. I’m willing to like you based on your sex appeal.”

My breath washes from my lungs and I let my gaze drift to her open jacket, my heart suddenly laden with a sense of loss. “You want to help me move on, then?” I ask, voicing what I thought I wanted to happen—what Ineedto happen.

She tilts an eyebrow upward and gives me a wicked grin that makes the risotto in my stomach churn.

“I’m up for the challenge.”

She sets her hand on the center of the table, leaning in; I can feel her breath on my face. I should meet her halfway, close the distance between us, take advantage of the opportunity so plainly presented to me. Her eyes are closed, but mine are searching her face, wondering if this is the face of the woman who will erase the face of the woman I’ve wanted for nearly half a decade. I thought that if I ever met that woman, it would be obvious; there would be no question in my mind. That Theresa would be a distant memory, a fond one, not one riddled with pain. Maybe that’s all a load, because I’ve met several women and none of them fit that bill.

But Rian is willing to try, and I search deep inside me for red-blooded male desire. My eyes close, and I find the back of her neck with my palm. Suddenly she jerks under my hand and lets out a tiny squeak as if she’s falling. And something very wet and gooey lands in my lap.

“Shit, shit,” I say, standing upright too fast. My head slams into Rian’s nose, and her neck flies back. Every article of food that had been on the table is now on the ground, minus the seafood risotto, which conveniently found its way into my lap.

“Did I do that?” she says from behind the hand covering her nose. I resist rubbing my throbbing head and tilt her chin up to inspect her face. No blood, thank heavens.

“Wasn’t me,” I say with a laugh, staring at the food that is now decorating my lower half. She must’ve gotten caught on the tablecloth somewhere, or knocked over one thing, causing a domino effect. A riptide of laughter rolls out from me as I wave the waiter over. I see her smile, her fingers still on her nose. A small giggle pops out, and she reaches for me with her free hand. “Come on. I know a good place to get cleaned up.”

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