She shakes her head and turns her face away from me, but she doesn’t give me a real answer. And it’s all my fault. Even though we didn’t actually sleep together, not telling her about my beliefs and allowing her to go on thinking I only needed one night from her must have been enough to validate her insecurities.
I take a step forward. “I may not have known you for long, Claire, but I know that’s not true. And I’m sorry for anything I’ve said or done to make you think I’m not interested in your company outside of the bedroom.”
“Oh, you’ve made it crystal clear that our friendship only carries benefits of the emergency-contact and bail-posting variety,” she says, though I can tell she’s forcing the joke.
“Because you’re knowledgeable and capable, and still charming enough to help me talk my way out of getting arrested. You also make me laugh when I need it the most.”
Her smile softens into something more genuine. “I’m sorry,” she says after a while. “I hate sounding so needy, and I’ve never been the type to fish for compliments. But maybe my divorce has left me a little more sensitive than I’m used to,” she admits begrudgingly.
“I can’t imagine it wouldn’t. And I still wish you’d give yourself more grace.”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“I’m here if you ever need to talk about it, you know. You’ve got my number now,” I remind her, making my voice as gentle as possible.
She nods again, but doesn’t say more, and I get the sudden urge to tell her the whole truth, to earn her trust the right way.
“Claire, there’s actually?—”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m actually sick of talking about my feelings. I’ve already overshared enough for one lifetime,” sheinterrupts me to explain, and I have no choice but to honor her request since my confession is likely to garner an emotional response from both of us.
“There’s no such thing as oversharing between soulmates,” I hear myself saying, and she snorts.
“Okay, but you have to quit that mushy crap before I let you into my house again.”
“Oh, so … you don’t like it when I flirt with you?” I ask hesitantly.
She purses her lips as she considers it. “I’m not saying we can’t joke around, but stop making it so sappy. Flirt with me all you want, tell me I have a nice ass, just don’t call me your soulmate.”
I roll my eyes. “Only if you agree to quit cutting yourself down.”
“Might as well prohibit any physical contact, too, for your sake,” she mumbles as she sticks out a hand, and I reluctantly take it in mine, unsure whether I’m more relieved or disappointed by her suggestion.
“What if there’s another medical emergency? Besides, it doesn’t count if you were literally touching me while you said it,” I reply smoothly, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb.
Disappointed, then—I’m definitely more disappointed.
“Fine,” she concedes, yanking her hand back. “No kissing or touching of a sexual nature.”
“What if one of us needs CPR?” I pose, narrowing my eyes at her.
“Good thing your brother-in-law is a doctor,” she declares, and my groan elicits a smirk from her.
“And if I need someone to rub me down with hydrocortisone cream? You’re not going to make me call Landry for that, will you?”
“I’ll try not to enjoy it,” she says on an exaggerated sigh.
I can’t help but smile back at her now. “I should probably confirm that your house is peanut-free before I agree to all this.”
She shrugs. “Can you really afford to say no?”
“I wouldn’t want to, even if I could,” I reply quietly, staring her down and watching her eyelashes flutter.
She clears her throat and collects herself after a moment, lifting her chin before she declares, “I’m going home. You can follow methere if you think you can manage to keep your pants on for the rest of the night.”
Then she marches out the front door, and I scramble to lock up and chase her out.
CHAPTER TWENTY
