Page 88 of Book Boyfriends
“What’s wrong with Owen?” Indignation fuels my glower.
“He’s fine enough, but he’s not me.” He pats his chest for emphasis. “A woman like you needs more than Owen can offer. Perhaps it is why you wrote him first, you needed to work your way up to a man like me. A man who would match your passion, not be drowned by it.” He steps closer and I move backwards. His forward movement halts.
“Just because a man is quiet and thoughtful, doesn’t mean he lacks passion. Don’t underestimate Owen, I would be lucky to be with him.” My glare slams into him.
“It is him, then?” James cocks one eyebrow.
“It’s not Owen.” I shake my head. “It’s none of you… I don’t have those feelings for any of you.”
“None of us?” he scoffs.
“Correct.”
“I have not hadmychance, yet.” He gestures between us.
“It wouldn’t make a difference.”
“Is this due to our last exchange? We just discussed this situation’s difficulty on me and how much I want you,” he says, his softer tone in direct contrast to the hardness in his gaze.
“I’m sorry.”
He studies me, the dark edge of his features seeming to relax. “I am, too. I had hoped it was me. It is why I assumed I was brought here. Perhaps, it was not for you, butbecauseof you after all.”
A queasy sensation rolls in my stomach. No matter how I feel about James, he’s still here because of me. They all are. This doesn’t change that.
“I amreallysorry.” I swallow the hard lump in my throat.
“No apologies needed, my lady.” Posture relaxing, he puts out his hand. “Although, may I still call you Georgia? That is if you are amenable to a friendship with me. If we cannot be more, I would like to be friends with you.”
Something akin to whiplash seizes me with his quick turnaround. It’s just like Thursday morning. He blinks between emotions, causing a dizzy sensation. But this may just be his single-minded nature at play. Once James decides something…whether indignation or forgiveness, that’s it for him.
“Are you sure?”
His lips quirk. “As determined as you have penned me to be, Georgia, you have crafted a man with honor. I would never force my affections.”
“Friends.”
Despite apprehension coiling my muscles tight at his quick rebound, I take his hand. This is who he is. James does nothing with restraint. Friendship. Love. His affair with Lady Cecily is proof of this. Once he fell, it was hard. Still, the moment she chose the marquis, he stepped aside until he learns her choicewas made to protect him from her father who planned to have him killed, rather than be with his daughter.
The difference is that my rebuke of his advances isn’t to save his life. The only thing I want is to help him.
“I will figure out a way to get you back,” I say.
“And if you don’t succeed?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, realization thick in my throat that I have no idea how any of this will end.
And as scary as that is, I’ll proceed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE DUEL… PICKLEBALL-STYLE
The remaining tension with James dissolves in the twenty-minute ride to the Fairbanks Tennis Club. Between his repeated nudges as if to sayI told you they were friendlyeach time Lars reached across the console to squeeze Jackson’s knee, or James’s musings about the similarities of pickleball and the yard tennis he’d played as a child, I relax.
“I don’t recall writing that.” I wrinkle my nose.
“I have the memory of playing with my cousin Reginald as children,” he says, sliding out of the backseat of the SUV once we’re parked at the complex.
