Page 56 of More Than Pen Pals

I do not deserve this man. If I care about him, too—and I do—the best thing I can do for him is to let him go. I set my jaw and say, “I’ve decided writing letters to each other isn’t a good idea. We shouldn’t have any contact except for work.” I hold my breath as I wait for his response.

He studies my eyes. “Is that what you want?”

Though my head tells me to say yes, my heart won’t allow it. I can’t lie to him about this. “No. I want to write to you. I want us to get to know each other again. But I don’t want to trap you into this …,” I wave an arm around, “… whatever it is with me.”

“You’re not trapping me into anything. I’m choosing to see where this might go of my own free will. I know full well there are no guarantees. And I’m all in on Operation Pen Pal.” His gaze never leaves mine.

I bite my lip. “You sure?”

“I told you I’ll always be honest when it matters. This matters a lot.” One corner of his mouth turns up. “It’s too late to stop it, anyway.”

My eyebrows raise when I realize what he’s saying. “You already wrote and mailed your letter?”

“Maybe.”

When did he have time, especially if he went to Randall’s after dinner last night?

We study each other, and once again I’m certain he wants to kiss me. I’m also sure if he makes any move to do so, I’ll let him, rules or no rules.

“There you are, Leslie,” comes an accented voice from behind me. “We wondered what happened to you.”

I tear my eyes from Ash’s and smile at Diego’s cousin Jorge. “Thanks for checking on me. I’m fine. We’re taking care of some business out here where it’s a little more private. Almost done. We’ll be back in soon.”

“Ah,si,”he says. “You must come back. Diego will be mad if Lady Leslie does not watch all his pitches.” He grins to let me know he’s kidding and disappears back into the suite.

Ash raises an eyebrow at me. “Lady Leslie?”

“It’s what Diego calls me. I’m not the PR guy, I’m the PR lady.” I shrug. “I think it’s cute.”

The look on Ash’s face tells me he thinks it’s nowhere near cute, but he doesn’t say so. Instead he asks, “Are we good?”

“Yes.” At least as good as we can be under the circumstances. As for whetherI’mgood? That’s a different situation entirely.

twenty-eight

Diego Sanchez has no right to give Leslie a nickname—especially not acuteone. It’s not professional. I’ve half a mind to tell him so if I ever meet him, but I have a feeling he would only laugh in my face.

I open the door and wave for Leslie to enter the suite ahead of me. I can’t resist brushing my hand against her back as she passes. The brief touch doesn’t compare to the kiss I wanted to lay on her to dispel any misgivings she might have about my intention to be with her and only her, but it’ll have to do for now.

Since Melissa didn’t exit while we were outside, she’ll likely be waiting for my return, and I need a minute to gather my wits about me. Leslie almost gave me a heart attack when she suggested cutting off all non-work contact. I’ve never experienced five longer seconds than the ones when she considered whether that was what she truly wanted.

If she had said yes, I would’ve felt like an absolute idiot, considering I stayed up well past midnight writing my first letter and then going to the post office closest to her apartment this morning, setting up my P.O. box, and mailing the letter. There’s no getting it back.

Finally, I put on my best professional smile and step inside. Melissa makes a beeline for me, loops her arm through mine, and drags me over to an empty table two down from where Bobby sits by himself nursing a beer. My eyes seek out Leslie, who has returned to her spot outside with Diego’s cousins. When my gaze moves past Bobby on my way back to focus on Melissa, he gives me a look that informs me he noticed what I was doing.

Melissa says in a low voice, “Listen, Ash. Before this dinner tomorrow, we need to talk about something I did a long time ago that you may have forgotten about.”

If she thinks I’ve forgotten what she did, why is she bringing it up?

She continues, “Do you remember playing ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ at Alex Conover’s house back in junior high?”

“Vaguely,” I lie.

“Well, you and I ended up in the closet together. It was my first kiss, and I was so nervous,” she says, “but I didn’t want anyone to know. So afterward I joked around with my friends that you didn’t know what you were doing, when it was really me who was clueless.

“Then your brother told me you thought I was a terrible kisser but would never embarrass me by saying it to anyone else. I wanted to crawl into a hole, and I felt absolutely awful about what I’d done to you. So I went back and told my friends I was joking about you, but the damage was done. Word had spread like wildfire. The craziest part of it all is I actually liked you, and you’d always been so sweet to me, but I was afraid you thought I was an airhead. I should’ve apologized to you then, but I was too ashamed. So I’m apologizing now. I’m sorry I did that to you.”

I’m astonished by her admission. “I accept your apology.” I discover I truly do. “And I need to apologize on my brother’s behalf. He lied to you. I never said a word to him about you. I do remember us kissing, by the way, and it wasn’t bad. Neither of us knew what we were doing, but I don’t think it was awful as far as first kisses go. Anyway, Randall heard what you said and was trying to defend me. I didn’t know about his lie back then. When he found out I was going to see you again, he told me.”

---