Page 84 of A Class of Her Own

My jaw went slack as I stuttered out, “Oh, so that’s how you’re handling it then?”

He tamped down on a smile and turned to open my cupboards, looking for bowls. “I figure if your method is to ignore and avoid, then mine should be to shine a light on it. That way we’ll end up somewhere in the middle.” I moved to where he was and opened the correct cupboard, getting down two large bowls as he continued. “It happened three times, and I’m not sure I appreciate you taking advantage of me without making your intentions clear,” he stated as he brushed past me. “I thought that we could have some ice cream and discuss it like two grown adults.”

Well, that was new. None of my previous dates or short relationships had ever wanted to discuss anything.

We worked in silence for a few minutes, peeling bananas and loading them up with vanilla ice cream and various toppings. I didn’t eat a lot of sweets because they weren’t a healthy choice, but when I did I tended to go a little overboard. The nerves weren’t helping either, and I ended up with a sundae that was easily twice the size of his. We made our way to my small table and sat down, both of us digging in. I was a slow ice cream eater. Sensitive teeth combined with my desire to truly enjoy any dessert I partook of meant I swirled it around and let it melt on my tongue before swallowing. I tried to simply enjoy it, but I was wondering too much what he was thinking.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his stomach. “So, I think it’s pretty obvious that things between us are evolving, but I’d like to know where you see things going from here.”

I shook my head. “Oh, no, you first. I can’t answer that without knowing what it is you want from me.”

He made a sound of amusement. “I’m sure you believe that you don’t know, and I understand why you’re playing dumb.”

“I’ve never played dumb in my entire life,” I responded with some heat.

He stood and took our dishes to the sink. “You’re smart and driven and incredibly capable, and I’ve discovered over the past weeks that you’re also a person of deep feelings and strong morals. I like you, a lot.” He turned and leaned against the countertop, facing me. “But you also have a tendency to back off when I put on a little pressure. I’m not interested in staying in a cycle of occasionally seeing each other and sneaking some kisses then having you disappear. Those games worked when I was a teenager and maybe even into my twenties. Now, though, it’s a waste of time.”

“I’m not playing games.”

His eyes sparked, and I felt pinned to the spot. “Maybe not on purpose.”

His digging in made me want to push back with some sarcasm. “So, you’re saying you want an actual relationship?”

“I’m saying that, yes. I’m also saying that you’re going to have to say what you want, too, and I’m wondering how long that will take.”

I stood and marched toward him, irked at both myself and him. Probably mostly myself, because he’d nailed it on the head when he’d said I was playing the chicken.

“What if I say that I want to never see you again?” I stood toe-to-toe, challenging him with my stare.

“I’ll believe you’re lying, but I’ll walk away.”

Our gazes tangled, and I could see the sincerity behind the strength. I sighed, and my stance softened. He leaned down, pressing his lips to my forehead. I closed my eyes and fisted my hands in his shirt, taking in a deep breath through my nose, inhaling his scent that had already become familiar. When I let it out, his mouth moved to coast over one of my temples.

“And if I say I want to explore this?” I whispered.

He gripped my shoulders and pulled me closer until my cheek was pressed against his chest. The feeling of it skittered through me, so calm and sweet, and I wrapped my hands around his waist.

“Then I’d ask what you’re doing for New Year’s Eve tomorrow night,” he answered.

“I’m going to my friend Hailey’s party. Her and her boyfriend are throwing it at his mansion.”

His chuckle vibrated against my cheek. “Her boyfriend lives in a mansion?”

I nodded, still distracted by the concept that with one word, one sentence, he could be mine. He’d admitted he wanted to pursue a relationship with me and that the only thing keeping that from happening was . . . me.

“Cool. Is there a theme or something?” he asked, stroking light fingers down my back in a soothing way.

“Uh, no. We’ll play games, watch TV, eat food. I think. I didn’t really pay attention to the specifics.”

“Big crowd?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So, what do you think? Am I your plus one, or am I packing up my ice cream and saying goodbye?”

He was teasing, and I knew it, but there was an undercurrent of truth there, too. He didn’t want to play games. He’d seen me at my worst and he’d taken my shots and, somehow, he’d found something inside of me that he wanted to be close to. I’d be a fool to let this man walk away.

“Are you sure you want to come? You’ll be in the hot seat,” I said at last.

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