Page 46 of A Little Crush
Her forehead wrinkles. “I’m sorry?”
“There are some nights when I won’t arrive at the hotel until it’s late, and Poppy will already be asleep,” I explain. “Not to mention nap times, downtime when I’m at a press conference. I guess my question is, would you prefer to put her down in my room and wait until I get back to the hotel before you can go to your own room or would a suite with separate bedroomssuffice or…?” My voice trails off, and I reach for my drink, finishing another third as a silent Rory stares at me. Her unreadable expression only leaves me more on edge. Did I go too far? “I want whatever makes you feel comfortable,” I rush out. “Obviously, you’re welcome to talk to Dodger and see what you both feel comfortable with before making a decision.”
She shakes her head, her boyfriend’s name seemingly snapping her out of whatever train of thought she’d been on. “Dodger’s fine, and, uh, I think the suite is a good idea. Then we only have to deal with one crib, and I can go to bed if you’re late, and you can just let yourself in and…” She taps her forefinger against the lacquered table.One, two, three.Pause.One, two, three.“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”
“You sure?” I question, my attention zeroing in on her fingertips.
She makes a fist, and her hand disappears beneath the edge of the table as she rests it in her lap. “Yeah, I mean, it’s definitely the logical solution.”
I could call her out on it. Draw attention to her subtle compulsion. And maybe if this were ten years ago, I would. Instead, I clear my throat, muttering, “Good.”
“Okay, then.”
“And I promise to be on my best behavior?—”
“Yeah, that much is guaranteed. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” she teases, though I don’t miss the glimpse of tension peeking through before she covers it with another smile.
I don’t know why it feels off-putting, but it does. The way she says it. That she wouldn’t expect anything less than for me to be on my best behavior. Like it’s impossible for me to be anything less than perfect.
Sensing my annoyance, she asks, “What did I say?”
“Nothing.” I bring the glass to my lips then set it backdown on the cardboard coaster. “Actually, no, I wanna know why you said it.”
“Said what?”
“That you wouldn’t expect anything less from me.”
Confused, she shakes her head. “What?”
“You said you wouldn’t expect anything less than me being on my best behavior,” I repeat, tossing her own words back at her. “Why?”
I shouldn’t put her on the spot like this, and maybe it’s the beer talking, but I want to know. Fuck me, I wanna know real bad.
Peering over the rim of her cup, she takes another sip of her drink as the waitress reappears. Without asking Rory, I order another round for both of us, then turn to my new nanny, waiting for her answer.
The clink of the glass against the table is followed by a soft sigh as she drags her fingers along the thin handle as if memorizing the shape of it. “For starters, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
“Of course you didn’t. You don’t mean anything in a bad way. You’re too nice to be mean,” I point out. “But I don’t want to hear what you didn’t mean. I want to hear what youdidmean.”
“I just meant you’ve always been the good guy, Jax. The one with his head on straight. The gentleman. The knight. Just like Archer. The good one through and through, you know? And hitting on your nanny or putting her in an uncomfortable situation is so ridiculously far from your MO that even the possibility of you crossing a line is laughable. That’s all.”
She thinks I’d never hit on her? I mean, I wouldn’t, but it isn’t because she isn’t attractive. It's because we have boundaries. And history. So much history, it makes my head spin sometimes. Add in her rockstar boyfriend, and I’d be an assto cross the line. Even so, the way she relates me to a gentleman or knight is…okay, offensive might be the wrong word, but clearly she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.
“You know I’m not perfect,” I point out.
She scoffs into her third drink. “Of course not.”
“I’m not,” I repeat.
A sheen of mirth hits her big doe eyes as she meets my gaze over the rim of her glass. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Maybe not the words, but your eyes say it all.”
“And what do my eyes say?” she challenges.
My cock stirs in my jeans as I hold her gaze.
Yeah. Drinks were a very bad idea.
