"Oh, it doesn't matter," I said with a wave. Where the hell were those sandwiches? I needed something to do with my hands—and my mouth—but more importantly, Rob needed to stop staring at me. "I come when I'm called."
He propped his chin on his steepled fingers and his gaze fixed on my lips. I'd never known a hot stare until now. Hot like a sunburn.
"I bet you do." His knee brushed mine under the table and then it nudged, edging my legs apart. I wasn't sure whether he intended that or it was a happy accident. "Close your mouth, rude lady. You're giving me ideas that have no place at lunch."
My cheeks were pink and my heart was pounding but I managed an indifferent shrug. "I'm sure you can save them for another time."
"I tried to save them for dinner but you weren't having it." He studied me, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. After a pause, he asked, "When can I see you again?"
"You're seeing plenty of me right now," I said.
"And as I've been telling you for weeks, I'd like to see more of you," Rob said.
I shook my head while I sampled my drink. Perfect as always, none of that fake raspberry flavoring bullshit. "And as I've been telling you for weeks, I need to know you before any of that can happen. You don't need to tell me about your first grade teacher, but I don't know what you do or where you live and I'm not even sure I like you."
"You like me," he argued, his knee pressing against my inner thigh. "You like me enough to insult me. That has to count for something."
"Less than you'd think," I replied with a grin.
Rob leaned back when the shopgirl arrived with our sandwiches, but kept his gaze steady on me. I wasn't accustomed to this kind of attention. I was familiar with men who eye-fondled every pair of tits to cross their line of sight and men who couldn't focus on a conversation for more than five minutes without checking out or reaching for their phone. Since I was conditioned to accept that behavior, I was expecting it now.
And that conditioning left me wondering what this man wanted with me.
When the sandwiches were delivered and the shopgirl was out of earshot, he announced, "Investment banker."
I shook my head, not sure how to place those words in our conversation. "What?"
"I'm an investment banker," he said, gesturing toward me with his drink. "I should've mentioned it sooner. Unless you hate bankers, in which case I do something entirely different."
"I have no issue with bankers," I said, laughing. "I'm a landscape architect but I don't give a fuck if you hate architects. That would be a personal problem and you'd need to deal with it on your own."
Seltzer sprayed out of Rob's mouth as he laughed. After wiping a paper napkin over his mouth and down his tie, he said, "It hurts so good when you're mean to me."
I took a bite as I turned his words over. "You can count on me for the realism."
He gazed at me, his strange amber and emerald eyes glowing and his lips edging up into a smile. "You're a fucking gorgeous dose of reality, Magnolia." Nothing else mattered after that. He could've told me he lived in a van down by the river and I'd still be floating on his words. "I live in the South End. It's a decent place and I like the vibe but what I pay for garage parking is more than I paid for the car and I don't love that. Tell me what else you need from me so I can see you again."
"You can see me again," I started, "but I'm not sure about the arrangement you want. I need a few more lunches where you offer to lie about other things in case I hate them. I'm looking for you to explain your cookie bingeing tendencies because I require more info on that. I need to know you before any—anything else can happen."
He chewed his sandwich as he considered this. "I need to think about your terms. I'm all right and I'm keeping it together," he said, waving a hand at his chest, "but I'm a fucking mess. The thought of letting another person know me again gives me hives. Even someone as real and gorgeous and interesting as you."
Real and gorgeous and interesting and oh my god.It required actual effort to keep myself seated in this chair and not throw myself at him. Somehow, I managed an indifferent shrug. "Another personal problem."
Rob's shoulders shook as he laughed, stretching his shirt in glorious ways. I wanted to meet the tailor who managed to encase all this thick goodness in cotton. "I'll try," he said, reluctance heavy in his words. "But only if you stay rude."
We stared at each other for a long beat as we sized up the stakes. We'd been burned too many times to trust fire. We were fucked up in the feels. And here we were, negotiating the terms of a treaty to nowhere. My head was flashing every warning sign but my heart was lurching up into my throat, starved for more.
I knew better but I couldn't do better.
"Since I have plenty of material to work with, that won't be a problem." I jerked a shoulder up, inviting him to contradict me. He only grinned back at me, and I was a goner. "I live in Beverly, in an old stone cottage with ample parking. That's one of the reasons I love it. My aunt and her partner retired to New Mexico, and they left it in my hands. But when I say 'old,' I mean old. I've been ripping up orange shag carpet and scraping avocado green wallpaper for the past year. It has an elaborate garden in the backyard, though, and that's my favorite part of the property. Even if it is overrun with weeds and vines and a dozen other problems."
"Do you need any help with that?" Rob asked.
I quirked a brow up. "Did you miss the part about me being a landscape architect? I can handle one jungle-y backyard, thank you."
"I didn't miss that part," Rob said, his lips twitching with a smile. "I was offering free labor. I'm in the mood to rip up some vines."
"Only if you do it shirtless." My cheeks flamed red when I realized what I'd said. My gaze flitted between his arms and his chest because there was no way in hell I was looking him in the eye right now.
