“You did. But it seems that’s your thing.”
“Meaning?”
I stepped aside to make room for other waiting customers. He followed me, moving closer so our conversation was more private.
“Meaning you’ve always disliked my friendship with your brother.”
“Not true.”
“Yes, it is. You once said that you don’t know why we’re friends.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed his chin, which had the barest scrape of stubble and was strangely appealing.
Stubble on a man is always appealing. It was a very objective opinion, even when applied to Jason Isner.
“I said that?”
“I overheard you speaking to Sean years ago.” Plus, there were all the times he had been directly hateful to me. “It’s obviously something that bothered you and has colored your view of me for years. But that’s fine. We all hold preconceived notions or carry deep-seated opinions from our pasts.”
He didn’t appear all that surprised at my forthrightness.
“Guess you’re onto something there. I don’t recall saying that, though I’ve thought it. But then Sean’s kind of a bookish guy, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised that a brainiac like yourself would be friendly with him.” He leaned in. “But this goes both ways. On the subject of preconceived notions and deep-seated opinions, you certainly hold a lot about athletes. Kind of fond of the blanket statement there.”
“It might seem that way, but I suspect your taking offense is really down to your own insecurity about your intelligence.”
“Ah, blame the victim.”
I reared back. “Are you a victim?”
“No, I’m not. But it sounds like you’re saying my problem with your opinions is my fault because I feel insecure instead of yours for espousing them in the first place.”
Espousing. Where did he learn a word like that?
My shock must have been evident because the oddest thing happened.
The man smiled at me. A genuine and genuinely gorgeous smile that made my pulse jump and my core heat. I was suddenly and unaccountably aroused.
Rhymes with espoused.
He inclined his head. “Didn’t think I had it in me, did ya?”
I panicked. “Don’t know what you mean.”
My denial merely emphasized my reaction and let him know that it had affected me. That he had affected me.
“Hmm,” he murmured. “I think you do.” Said so low and, God help me, sexy, I took a step back.
I had to. He was just so present. My entire body flushed with heat, my sexual awareness of another person never higher. Not even when I was actually having sex with someone.
Worst of all, he knew. And all because he used a word typically not spoken by someone below a twelfth grade reading level. He probably planned it so he could throw it out there as some sort of jibe at my jibe about his intelligence.
Applying logic should have been enough to cool me down, but oddly, no.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Perfectly fine.”
“You look a little off, like you need to sit down.”
