I wanted to look at the floor, but I was stronger than that. I kept my gaze on her and remained firm and collected.
“I’m fine. Actually, more than fine.”
“You look so different. I mean, you look great, but I thought that maybe you were ... sick.” She stumbled over her words, pausing to collect herself like an amateur, not a professional wordsmith.
“Healthy as a horse.” In fact, I felt like a stallion in certain places. Namely my dick.
“Wow,” she whispered as she averted her gaze, unable to meet my eyes.
“Want to sit?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” This time she was the one with a frog in her throat. Perhaps a couple of frogs, judging by the scratchiness in her voice.
I pulled out the stool and she slid onto it, and I took the empty one next to it.
“What would you like? Wine?”
“Honestly, I may need something stronger.”
She pushed her hair behind her ear, revealing a large hoop earring. That was new. In fact, as I took a closer look, I realized she definitely looked more casual, carefree even. Chunky bracelets lined her arm, rather than the understated chic jewelry she normally wore, and the bright lip gloss was definitely new.
“Charli, I’m okay. I don’t know what is upsetting you. I lost weight. A lot of it, actually, but I’m good. Seriously. It’s a good thing.” Words ran out of my mouth like surfers into the ocean back home.
“You look good. Really good. I don’t know, I guess I was expecting funny and humorous Layton. The version I hoped would forgive me for what I did, but now I’m sitting here shocked and I’ve totally forgotten what I wanted to say.”
The bartender interrupted our moment. “What can I get you? Another Scotch?”
“Cosmo, please,” Charli said.
“Beer this time. Amstel Light?”
“You need a glass?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“I’m still the same Layton,” I told Charli, consoling her rather than welcoming the apology I so badly wanted from her but didn’t get.
My hand wavered until it settled on top of hers. Her fingernails were painted a delicate pink, gentle like her heart. She might have bruised me, but it was only an attempt to protect her own weakness. I’d figured that out while soul-searching during one of my many jogs. She was only putting a wall up around her ego, not strong and self-assured like you’d think, but stunted and fragile.
The bartender set down her drink and she took a healthy gulp. “Um, you’re definitely not the same Layton.”
I took a pull of my beer and set it down so I could study her. “I was kind of hoping that’d be a good thing.”
This wasn’t going the way I had anticipated. We were having a stilted conversation, avoiding the new reality. I was now good-looking Layton, and she was expecting desperate Layton. Did she think I wouldn’t forgive her? That I had moved on?
Well, guess what? I was still just as desperate to forgive her ... taste her ... have her.
She smiled and leaned forward to whisper, “You’re really sort of hot.”
As she leaned close, her scent filled my nostrils. It hinted at vanilla, reminding me of cupcakes and flavored coffee creamer, and nearly drove me crazy.
I squeezed my hand at my side, desperately needing to get a hold of myself.
“Is that bad?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“So, what’s the big deal?” I took another sip of my beer.
“I liked you the way you were before.” She gulped down the martini and met my eyes. “I was just afraid to admit it. It’s not that you were ugly or horrible. The opposite of that. You were so nice and warm, like a teddy bear. But we were so different, and I felt like I held too many cards or something. The big job, the looks or whatever, and I didn’t want you to feel like ... less of a man.” A fiery blush flared over her skin at her admission. “I don’t mean that in a bad way or a condescending way—”
