Page 17 of Just a Plot Twist
So, he feels the up close and personal thing, too, does he? A shiver trickles through me.
“No apologies necessary. I don’t really date.”
“Why not?”
I purse my lips together. “Well, besides the fact that there aren’t any eligible men here in Longdale, I’m focusing on my job right now. I can’t be distracted.”
“I never got it when people say that.”
“Why not? You can’t imagine someone wanting a career more than wanting to be with you?” Oh, no. My sauciness is back in full force.
I have got tostop.
He swallows and there’s a puff of air from his throat, like a sigh. Maybe I’ve hurt his feelings.
“No.” He sighs again. “Isn’t the dream that a person can have both? Being in love with the right person can be an asset to one’s career.”
“It depends on the person and the career. Sometimes there are track records that people pay more attention to, though. There’s a certain stigma in my department that if you’re a woman and you get married, you’re going to quit and have a family. The last several city managers have all quit within a couple of years of getting married. I can tell it bugs the mayor.”
“That’s unfortunate. For you, I mean.” He gives a half a chuckle. “If you wanted to date, you should be able to do so.”
“It’s okay. I’m good with singlehood.”
“Let’s switch topics, then. What’s your favorite breakfast cereal?” he asks.
I grunt out a laugh. “Peanut Butter Crunch. And yours?”
“A combo of granola and Fruity Pebbles.”
“Mixed together? Seriously?”
He manages to laugh. “At least my bowl of choice has some oats and fiber and nuts and stuff. Yours is plain sugar.”
“And yours has artificial colors up the wazoo.”
Not that I particularly care about my artificial color intake. I probably should. Ireallyshould since I’m turning over a new leaf and getting in shape, a resolve that has suddenly ratcheted in intensity with thiswhole handsome man hauling me off the mountaindebacle.
“What’s your favorite food?” he asks.
“Burgers.” I know exactly what I like when it comes to food. With my life plans? Not so much. “I’m guessing you’re a pizza guy.”
“Who isn’t a pizza guy?” He grunts. “But my favorite is probably a three-way tie between tacos, lasagna, and—” he pauses to breathe. “My mom’s cornbread.
“We should stop and let you take a break,” I say.
“We’re almost there.”
“We are not almost there. We have at least fifteen more minutes. Come on. You need to hydrate. I can’t have you collapsing on us right now.”
His mouth twitches and he licks his lips. But he still doesn’t stop.
“Benson, you need water. You’re not weak for stopping.”
When he doesn’t respond, I push harder on his shoulder until he stops at a clearing, a place where the trail is wider. The whole front of my bodyslides down his back—his solid, large, manly back. He isattractive. He’s a few years older than me, but he’s still got it in spades.
I sort of stumble as he lets me down, and I take a hard stab with my foot to stabilize myself. I hiss in pain and he groans, steadying my arms. “Sorry, I should have warned you I was setting you down.”
I lick my lips. “No. I’m alright.”
