Page 65 of Don't Bet On It
Was she really curious? Was this her attempt at awkward conversation? Or, more likely, was she seeing how far into discomfort she could push me?
“Because whatever free time I have goes to working on my art,” I replied, opting for honesty. “That’s just a waste of time to me. I don’t know how to explain it. I appreciate naked women.” I glanced down at her and smiled smugly. “Obviously, as you well remember from last night.”
She pinched my flank. Hard.
I laughed and squirmed but didn’t push away from her. “I get lost in my head sometimes, I think.”
Rather than make fun of me, she nodded. “That’s the way it is for creatives. We get lost in our own heads.”
“It’s weird that we’re both into art.”
“Not so weird. Art is one of those things everybody has an opinion on. They might have the same opinion we do, or love it the way we do, but art can’t be ignored.”
It was an interesting take. “I guess that’s true.”
She fell silent for a few beats, then she sighed. “We should probably talk about what happened last night.”
She wasn’t the type to ignore the problem. She got right to the heart of matters, which I appreciated. “Yeah.” I dragged a hand through my hair and stared at her ceiling. Her apartment was passable by Las Vegas standards. That wasn’t saying much. She’d gone out of her way to make it homey, putting little artistic touches here and there. Her building was safe enough, but the neighborhood outside was not. It wasn’t where I wanted her to live.
Of course, I didn’t have a say in the matter.
“What are you thinking?” I asked when she didn’t say anything.
“I’m thinking that it was probably a mistake.” She sent me a rueful smile. “It’s not that I didn’t have fun or anything. It’s just…” She didn’t have to finish. I felt the same way she did.
“Neither one of us is in a place where we can do a relationship,” I volunteered.
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I’ve always had a weird thing for you, ever since middle school. It was probably best that we scratched the itch. The tension should ease now.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
She snorted. “That’s not funny.”
I tickled her because I couldn’t help myself. “I think it’s a little funny.”
“Nope. No way.” She vehemently shook her head. “It’s not funny in the least.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I tickled her one more time, then closed my eyes. Only then did the true breadth of her words register. “Wait. You had a crush on me in school?” I gave her a considering look.
“Oh, don’t.” She wrinkled her nose. One of the things I liked best about her was that she didn’t play games. She didn’t bat her eyelashes and try to use feminine wiles to get her way. She didn’t talk in a baby voice and try to cajole favors. She was who she was, and I happened to like who she was.
“I’m being serious,” I insisted. “I had no idea you had feelings for me.”
“Not feelings,” she corrected. “It was a crush. It wasn’t even a full crush. It was a crushlet.”
“Ah.” That made me laugh. “Well, I had a thing for you too.”
“Oh, right.”
“I did. I liked seeing you in my art classes. I liked watching the way you interacted with everybody. You never fell all over yourself to impress the jocks. You were just Tallulah.”
“Um, I don’t know what high school experience you’re remembering, but you were a jock.”
I made a face. “I was not a jock.”
“You were on three teams, if I remember correctly.”
“So you’re saying that your crush was big enough to monitor what sports I participated in. Duly noted.”
