Page 91 of A Class of Her Own

“I’m thinking over a few things,” he replied, wiping his hands on a napkin. “First, I wish we’d gotten a better start and not immediately become enemies because of something I had no knowledge or control over.”

“That would have been nice.”

“Why did you come at me with the heat of a thousand suns? We could have talked it out from the start, you know.”

I pulled a face. “Are you suggesting I could have potentially handled things differently or that other people my age aren’t literal big babies when they don’t get their way?”

He chuckled before growing serious again. “Were you that hurt about it?” I nodded, looking down at my plate and pulling a roll into little pieces. “I’m sorry. I hope you understand by now that I had no idea what had gone on behind the scenes. I didn’t even know who you were until that first meeting when you came in with your big words and righteous anger and tried to rake me over the coals.”

“Well, you responded in kind,” I grumbled.

“I was under attack and scrambling to understand everything. All I knew was that I couldn’t retreat and show weakness. I was supposed to be the new president.”

I popped a piece of soft roll into my mouth and chewed. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t in a good place about it, and in my life I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for everything. So, it came naturally to go to war.”

“Yeah, you really dug in your heels,” he chuckled.

I made a noise and put my head in my hands. “Hey, I have regrets, okay? You’re sure you want to take me on?”

He put a warm hand on my knee under the table. “I’m a thirty-four-year-old man. I can make my own choices about what kind of woman I want.”

“Thirty-four?” I gasped, lifting my head. “You’re too young for me.”

He laughed. “You’re thirty-five, Miss Atwood. In fact, if I remember right from all that background checking I did on you, for two months of the year, we’re the same age.”

“I have so much baggage.”

“We’re in our mid-thirties, of course you do. We both do. That’s part of life.”

I shook my head. “You have to stop being nice.”

“I know. It’s the worst when you want to be thought of as a witch, but I insist on seeing good in you.”

“It won’t last, though. We’re in the infatuation stage, and before too long the blinders will come off, and you’ll see the real me under there.”

He quirked a brow. “I’d like to remind you that we started this situation by seeing the worst of each other. We did it backwards. So, I’m not really scared about discovering skeletons in your closet, considering you chucked them straight at me on day one.”

At that I clasped his hand where it rested on my knee and laughed. “I really did.”

He squeezed my knee. “Um, I think your friend Ruby is spying on us. Wearing a navy-blue dress and watching you with big eyes?”

I looked up to find Ruby standing behind a potted plant looking at me. I waved. She ducked and then popped back up and began marching toward us with a bright smile on her face.

“Brooks VanOrman,” she said when she reached our table. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

Brooks smiled and took her hand. “Thank you, Ruby. I’m glad you think so.”

She plopped down in the free chair next to me. “I have to tell you that the way Meredith was freaking out about your epic kiss, I thought for sure she’d ghost you. But this is a very pleasant surprise.”

“Epic kiss, huh?” Brooks looked at me with a sly grin. “Guess it’s a good thing I promised to kiss her at midnight.”

“You’re smart. Meredith prefers to not be surprised.” Ruby smirked.

I stood. “I’m going to let you two get to know each other. I’m going to find Hailey and have her help me analyze why my best friends continue to torture me.”

They laughed as I walked away. Ruby would keep him entertained, and I needed a big, long breather.

I was standing at the back window, looking at the moon and stars when the countdown to midnight started. I felt Brooks approach before he said anything. His chest, warm and firm, pressed up against my back as he slid his arms down around my waist and closed the space between us. His head rested against mine, his chin lightly touching my temple, and I nearly smiled at this man’s confidence. He wasn’t the young men I’d flirted with who were all about the push-and-pull and mixed messages. No, he was clearly stating his desires in a way that left me no room to pretend ignorance, even though I’d tried to do exactly that for weeks. The men I’d actually dated were either too intimidated by my strength to be themselves or too determined to bend me to their will. Yet here was Brooks, gently but persistently staking his claim while allowing me the freedom to be me. It was novel -- that was certain.

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