“Only eight,” David repeated with a low, disbelieving laugh. “Three floors and only eight rooms, pardon me.”
“Sorry.” I took a breath. “I wasn’t trying to…”
His expression softened. “I was teasing, Daredevil.”
David’s hand was still on my jaw, thumb massaging circles on what were now tense muscles.
“I know where you come from,” he said. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it.”
I scoffed in disagreement. “That’s quite a change of tune.”
“I only ever wanted you to admit things were nice on this side of town.” With his thumb on my chin now, tilting my head higher so I’ll hold his gaze. “That you were royalty in this town.”
“Royalty’s a stretch.”
“Your mom’s the mayor and your dad’s a lawyer who owns like half of the restaurants.”
“She was voted in, and kings don’t exactly own chain cafes and law firms, last I checked.”
“You’re practically a princess.” David wouldn’t budge in his stance. He stepped back, though, giving me enough space to duck into the car and grab my bag. I straightened up in time to see his gaze on my ass.
“Were you checking me out?” I laughed, cheeks burning at being noticed by him. In all our years, David’s gaze never strayed in curiosity or admiration… at least, not that I’ve seen.
“Felt appropriate.” He shut the door behind me. “We’re still in our honeymoon stage. As a new couple, it makes sense for us not to keep our eyes off each other.” David’s all matter-of-fact and even-toned.
“All couples are different.” Heat sparked through my stomach when he tucked a twist behind my other ear. His fingers didn’t linger this time.
“Fair.” David nodded. There was a little red in his cheeks,but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the conversation or the chill in the air. “If you’d prefer I didn’t, I won’t.”
“I don’t mind,” I said a little too quickly. “I was just surprised. It’s strange. We’re not exactly each other’s type and?—”
“Since when?” David frowned.
I raised a brow. “Since the dawn of time.”
“You have a bad habit of making sweeping statements.” He looked genuinely pissed. “You should get in the habit of speaking for yourself. We’ve already proven you don’t know enough about me to know my type.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“So? What’s your rebuttal? I know you have one.”
There would be no argument from me. He was right; I didn’t know enough about him to make a decent claim of knowing his type.
“Maybe if you opened up a little and gave me a fighting chance, I’d have one. Maybe I’d know your type.” I tilted my head to the side, studying him and considering the best way to get him to take on the challenge. “I dare you. Open up.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “How would you like me to do that exactly? Which part of me do you want to see?”
I shrugged, too embarrassed to let David know I was interested in every dark corner and closed door.
“You don’t have any parameters?” he asked, unconvinced.
“Only one is to be honest,” I said. “Tell me what you’ve told your friends on the team. Tell me enough about you to make me understand why they’d speak so highly after only knowing you for four years.”
“Four years is a long enough time to be close to someone.”
“Nine’s longer,” I countered with a bit of fire in my tone. “Are you forfeiting or not?”
“Not,” he assured. “Never.”
