“It’s time for a new story, Dee,” he says, lifting my palm to his mouth and pressing his lips into the center. “I’ve been stuck in the past, and so have you. It’s not what wehadthat I’m after. It’s what we can havenow. Something stronger and even better than before.”
My longing is bone-deep, but I’ve had a lifetime of learning to go without. “It wouldn’t work, Mick.”
“Don’t say that.” His mouth brushes across my fingertips. “We can make it work.”
How I wish that were true. “You’re famous. Fans approach you on the street. The media invade your privacy. Women show up at your door to offer you sex. I couldn’t live that way.”
His persuasive eyes fence with mine. “That’s not the way I want to live either. You know that. My retirement is recent, so I still draw attention. And the incident with O’Malley put me back in the spotlight again. But the public and the media are fickle, Dee. In time, my celebrity status will fade out.”
“Who knows how long that will take?” I protest. “Meanwhile, reporters will hound us and women will hound you.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and our relationship from the media. As for women, don’t let my one stupid indiscretion keep you from trusting me. I’m not going to have sex with anyone else, Dee. No matter what woman throws herself at me. Not when I have you.”
“You’re not hearing me, Mick,” I insist. “I can’t be what you need.”
“You’re everything I need.”
“Do you like cottage cheese?” I ask.
“What?” He looks at me baffled.
“Do you, Mick?”
“I’ve never tried it. Why?”
“Take it from me, you wouldn’t like it.”
“O-kaay,” he responds.
“It’s not okay. It’s far from okay. But it’s all I’ve got. And it’s not at all what you’re used to or what you’re going to want day in and day out. It’s unappealing…it’s…” My voice trails off when his eyes dart over to the wineglass on the coffee table beside the empty bottle of Merlot.
“How much did you have to drink?”
“I’m not drunk.”
His eyes slide back to mine. “You’re not making any sense either.”
I’d laugh at the absurdity of our conversation if it weren’t so pathetic. I’m an intelligent, enlightened woman who knows the inferiority trip the diet industry has laid on us…who knows that no real woman can live up to the plastic image the media tout as the female ideal. And yet I can’t magically stop finding fault with myself or make my lingering insecurities go away.
“What exactly are we talking about here, Dee?” he asks. “I gather that ‘cottage cheese’ is a euphemism for something else.”
“My body,” I say and feel my face heat.
“You’re comparing your body to cottage cheese?”
“Not my whole body. Some parts aren’t terrible. My thighs and butt are the worst.” Suddenly very self-conscious of where my lumpy behind is situated, I attempt to slide off his lap, but he holds my waist firmly.
“I’ve seen younaked, Dee.”
“When I was eighteen.”
“I got an up-close-and-personal look at you last night, and you’re sexy as hell.”
“You saw me in the dark, where I’m—passable. In the light, you would see that I have lumps and worse, stretch marks on my stomach, big ugly marks,” I blurt out.
“Stop this!” His voice hardens. “I’m not going to listen to you shred your self-esteem.” He catches my chin and forces my eyes to his. “Do I act as though I’m not turned on by every gorgeous inch of you? I can’t stop thinking about you in my bed, all soft and warm beneath me. The way it felt to be deep inside you.”
“Don’t.” I lower my gaze. “Emotions were running high. That doesn’t count.”
