I may have wandered into sensitive territory. “I’m glad to hear it. Lots of no-goods out there.”
Her stare turns vague, fixed at a nothing spot on the coffee table. “Yes, there are.”
My actions of the last ten minutes come into focus through her lens. Crud. I draw my sprawling self in and sit forward. “You know, me coming in here tonight wasn’t some kind of play.”
She shakes off the stare. “Wasn’t it?”
I drag my palm along my neck and surrender a sigh. “Okay, yes, it was, just not the one you’re probably thinking.”
Gnawing a fingernail again, she shrugs. I feel as if she’s considered my assertion and file-thirteened it.
“I mean it, Sydnee. I had a truly amazing time tonight, and I want to get to know you better. I wasn’t ready for my time with you to end, that’s all. I promise you, you can stop chewing your fingernails off. I’m not after anything you don’t want to give.”
She pulls her hand from her mouth, slowly resettling it onto the pillow.
What do I have to do to gain this woman’s trust? More, whose damage must I undo? “Let me rephrase that. You already know about the stupid stage. Well, that’s over. I’m back to my roots, back to my faith. I’m no longer chasing the things I was a year ago. I’m looking for a relationship. The forever kind. The real deal. Like my parents have, or Tripp and Avery.” I sit back. “Does that help at all?”
Judging by the wide-eyed horror…not.
But this brand of fear I’m closer to grasping. Relationships are tricky, scary things. I’m not as dense as I look. Somebody jacked up Sydnee’s trust mechanism. Maybe multiple somebodies, and maybe it wasn’t even some loser boyfriend. Her family is a glaring sore spot. Someday, I hope she’ll open up. I want to know everything about her.
My stomach abruptly seizes. “Of course, if you’re just not interested…”
A long roll of thunder rattles the windows. “Gray, I…” She huffs, almost irritated. “You can’t be serious.”
“That bad, am I?”
She pops to her feet and paces to the front window, then torques around like me when I’m trying to throw out a base stealer. “You’re not bad at all, and you know it. But I’m…” Angsty sadness echoes from her eyes.
“You’re what, Sydnee?” I sense we’re nearing a salient point.
The cut of Sydnee’s dress hugs her curves exactly as it should and has provided quite the distraction for my eyes all evening long. She fingers the neckline. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“So enlighten me.”
The table lamp flickers. Self-doubt meanders through her eyes.
The moment she rejects being real is unmissable. In honesty’s place, her shoulders square. “What about Chelsea?”
“Chelsea?”
“The woman who’s been calling you all night? Will she mind if we date?” I hear quotes around the term, as if she hasn’t fully bought into the idea. Boy, she’s chock full of attitude, and some gutsy finger pointing, too.
Meanwhile, her attitude’s more intriguing implications tease my brain. I resume a lazy pose, both my arms atop the cushions as if this is my sofa in my house. “Chelsea. Let’s see.” I loll my head and roll my eyes to the ceiling. “Hmm. Chelsea, Chelsea.”
“Gray.”
I tap my lip. “I can’t quite remember…”
“Grayson.”
“Still thinking here.” I snap my fingers. “Wait. I got it now.” I lasso her eyes with mine. “The answer is no. Dr. Chelsea A. Smith will not mind a bit if you and I date. Her objection would be highly unusual since she’s been after me to settle my butt down for quite some time now.”
Sydnee overplays a lack of reaction, pride and all, I’m sure, but finally, she chomps one last bite into her thumbnail before releasing her hand to her waist. “Smith?”
“That’s right.”
“Your sister?”