“Like I said, I brought Lucozade,” I remind him.
“That’s such an old man thing,” he teases.
Embarrassment flushes my cheeks. I’ve already put my foot in it.
“Sorry. Should’ve known to bring a light little Shiraz.” I have no idea what that means, and judging by Alex’s face it doesn’t mean much.
“Shiraz isn’t light,” he says. He’s never able to stop himself from correcting me. “But I was only joking about the Lucozade. I appreciate it. Really.”
His gaze flickers up to meet mine. He’s nervous. Same as me. Even though he’s on home territory in his fancy house and I’m the unwelcome guest.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Come into the living room,” he suggests. “Bring a couple of glasses?”
I do what he says, grabbing a couple of glasses from the kitchen. We settle down on the huge corner sofa. What shade would you call it? Duck egg? Shale gray? Anyway, it looks like money. And it’s so soft. If I wasn’t on edge, I could just sink into it and stay here all day. The whole place is decorated in expensive, neutral shades, the height of taste as I expected. Except for the Christmas tree. Several of the decorations were obviously homemade by a kid, and they mess up the fancy color scheme.
“You made those decorations when you were in primary school?” I say.
Alex flushes a little. “Yeah. I can’t stop Mum bringing them out every year. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“My mum does the same thing,” I confess.
He gives me a small, nervous smile, then flicks on the giant TV. The noise helps take some of the edge off the atmosphere.
“Give me some of that medicinal Lucozade, then,” he says. “Get me walking again.”
I open a bottle, careful not to spill on the perfect furniture.
“I brought Christmas wraps too,” I say.
“You brought me lunch?” he says. He looks confused. “Why are you being so nice? I assumed you came here to gloat.”
Huh. I suppose that’s fair.
“It’s a multi-purpose visit,” I say. “Gloating and lunch. I just feel bad that you were so distracted by my hotness that you fell off that treadmill in front ofeveryone.” I smirk at him. “Must’ve been pretty embarrassing for you.”
He rolls his eyes. “That sounds more like you. I was getting worried you’d been visited by Christmas ghosts or something.”
He grabs a sandwich, opening the paper to reveal turkey, ham and stuffing with cranberry dressing in a tortilla wrap. I bought it from the fanciest café in town.
“This looks amazing,” he says. I spot theexactmoment he realizes he sounds too genuine and grateful. Like we’re actually friends. He narrows his eyes. “Is it poisoned or something?”
I grab it back and hold it out of reach. He’s injured so it’ll be easy to mess with him. There isn’t a thing he can do about it.
“If you don’t want it…” I say.
The delicious scent already hangs in the air between us. He looks at the food longingly.
“No, I want it.” He holds out a hand, his big brown eyes pleading. “I knew you didn’t come here to be nice.”
That pleading look always gets me going, but this time I feel a flicker of something deeper than lust. It unnerves me.
“Ididcome here to be nice,” I say. I hold his gaze for a moment too long, until the curiosity in his eyes makes me look away. “Temporarily, I mean. No fun tormenting you when you’re this helpless.”
I hand over the sandwich.
“Thanks,” he says.
