Page 14 of Naked

A sensation that made me feel bad washed over me.Regret.I didn’t like it and vowed to avoid actions that would bring on the sensation again. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

He stuffed a forkful of pancakes in his mouth, swallowed, and smiled. “Just never do it again.”

“What happened when you woke up? What did you think?” I wondered more often than I would have liked about his reaction.

He chewed on his lower lip as if he were contemplating telling me everything. “Because I don’t lie to you I’m going to say things I wouldn’t like to say, okay?” He waited for my nod. “I was scared at first, then I realized I wasn’t all that surprised. Then I was hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to stay.”

I zeroed in on his first statement. “Why were you scared?”

His eyes roamed all over me as if he were mapping my surfaces and memorizing every detail. “Well I guess it was two things, really. I was scared that I hurt you somehow. I was also scared you left and I’d never see you again.”

This perplexed me. “Why would thatscareyou?”

He tossed his fork onto his empty plate and sat back, finishing his last bite as he stared off into space. “Well, I guess because I’m not used to losing things or people I care about.” His eyes refocused, locking on me like a tractor beam. “Losing you, not having you in my life anymore, would hurt. A lot.”

“I hurt you.” I stated the fact.

“Yes,” he said just as simply.

I hurt him by removing my friendship and by not trusting him.

I realized, now, that there were many unintended consequences to my actions.

He sat forward and captured my hands inside his much larger, rougher ones. “Why do you reject the possibility that I want to have a relationship with you? Why did you resist it for two years?”

I let my gaze slide over him this time, memorizing the rise and fall of his masculine lines. I was so, so attracted to him. “Two years?” On the plane he alluded to the idea he was attracted to me before we met and that his initial intention was to date me, not friend me, but now he made it sound as if he’d been wanting me all this time instead of friending me. And we were friends. Firmly. Categorically.Friends.

We watched movies together and people-watched while drinking beer, I knew his favorite fast food—Taco Bell tacos supreme—and he knew I didn’t like white wine. I burped in front of him and he brought me soup when I had the stomach flu.

That wasn’twanting.

His eyes twinkled again. It was like they were separate from his mouth, speaking their own words in a language I only knew by instinct. Then he smiled. “Woman. You are oblivious. For someone who observeseverything, you are shockingly incapable of understanding your own power.”

Power?“I’d know if you were flirting with me.”

He smirked. “I’ve been flirting with you for two straight years.”

“That’s not possible. Perhaps you don’t know how to flirt.” But even as I said it I knew I was wrong. Hunter had moves. I’d seen these moves in action many times. Women practically took their panties off and handed them to him mid-conversation.

Was I really that oblivious?

Probably. Even now I couldn’t bring myself to believe Hunterwantedme. I was positive we’d have a fun few days together—kissing and maybe revisitingthe thing—but ultimately he’d realize we were indeed just friends and move on.

“How about this.” He waved his hand like a magic wand, as if it might make me agree to whatever he was about to say like a Jedi mind trick. “For the rest of the day put on a different pair of glasses.”

“I don’t wear glasses.” I had perfect vision.

“Stop interrupting me,” he chided. “You see the world through one filter. TheTilley isn’t sexyfilter. TheHunter is a playerfilter. Yes, they are the same filter. Today I’d like you to pretend you’re the sexiest woman alive and that every man, and many women, are flirting with you.”

Another freaking rule. “You want me to make a fool of myself?”

“No. I want you to see yourself the way everyone else sees you.”

“I am not the sexiest woman alive.” I wasn’t. I was average. Very average. My height and weight were normal. Yes, I had curves, but I liked them. They made me feel feminine. I had wild red curls that couldn’t be tamed (especially in the Florida humidity), freckles, and no style at all.

“Oh Tilley. Just do it. For me?”

Since I knew it wouldn’t prove anything, I agreed. What harm could there be in acting like a model for a day? Just some mild humiliation when it blew up in my face.

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