Page 26 of The Love Playbook

I swallow, unsure if I want to finish that sentence, though it’s obvious what I was going to say. Still, I kind of value my man parts. They’re pretty damn nice if I do say so myself.

“A bitch,” I bark out. “There. I said it.” I wince, barely stopping myself from cowering when her dark eyes flash with anger.

Please don’t hurt me.

“No,” she drawls.

That’s it? No sharp retort or threat about cutting my balls off. Just, no?

“No? So, you admit you’re being a?”

“Look,” she says, her tone impatient. “I know this is hard for you to understand because you want this for your mother, and I don’t know what it was like for her. It sounds like she’s an incredible woman, it really does, but my father is not the man you want her to marry.”

“She knows what she’s getting into.”

“Does she?” Charlotte crosses her arms over her chest, which carries the particular advantage of pushing her cleavage up.

I curse under my breath, trying not to stare, but I can’t help it as my gaze dips south and stays there for longer than I’d like to admit. Is she trying to distract me from my purpose? Because if she is, it’s working. It takes me whole minutes to recover my train of thought.

Licking my lips, I meet her eyes again, noting the vicious gleam brightening the espresso to ocher. “Listen, my mom is a smart woman. She wouldn’t fall for him if he weren’t a good guy.”

“He left my mother at a time when she needed him most, and she still hasn’t recovered. He abandoned her, and left me, a teenager, to pick up the pieces. Maybe you don’t know who he really is.”

“And maybe you don’t, either. Have you ever considered your perception might be a little skewed since you were stuck in the middle of it?”

Her eyes round. “Even if I’m wrong, do you know what the divorce rate is for second marriages?”

I stare at her blankly.

“Sixty to sixty-seven percent.”

How the hell does she know this shit? Did she Google it before coming back over here? Is she storing marriage facts away just to prove me wrong?

“What’s more concerning is how you randomly know that. You know what?” I say, raising a finger. “I’m fact-checking that because, if you ask me, it sounds a little high.”

I slide out my phone and open a new browser, then start typing only to see she’s right.

Damn.

When I return my gaze to hers, she smiles, her expression smug.

“Technically, my mother had a successful first marriage,” I say, on the defensive. “She’s a widower, not divorced, so that stat should be cut in half, at least.”

“Whatever. It’s a moot point, anyway, because if they want to get married, fine. They can do whatever they want. But I won’t be a part of it. In fact, I refuse.”

“If not for your father, would you do it for me? For my mother?”

Her jaw drops before laughter splutters from her lips. “I hardly know your mother.”

“So get to know her.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Please.” I place a hand on her bare thigh, feeling the heat of her skin beneath my palm.

Her eyes widen, but she makes no effort to remove my limb, so I take that as a good sign and tighten my grip, shifting another inch higher.

My heart skips in my chest, doing fucking cartwheels. I’m a kid at Christmas, a heat-seeking missile intent on its purpose, and that purpose is the warmth between Charlotte’s thighs as she licks her lips and angles herself toward me. Her pupils dilate until her eyes go from brown to onyx. Her lips part. It’s a subtle invitation, but it’s there.

I’ve suspected my attraction toward her wasn’t one-sided, but in my mind, this confirms it. Maybe I have some pull with her after all?

The flesh on my hand burns, begging me to inch my way north before she shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. Nothing you say or do is going to convince me this is a good idea.”

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