“Not often, but it is a skill I have.”
Her shoulders shake with laughter. A pink tint creeps across her cheeks and her lips lift into a slow smile. “Seems like you have a lot of those, but none that benefit me.”
I stare at her for a moment, the last three words hanging in the air around us. She doesn’t seem to notice, probably because she’s still sobering up. She takes another sip of her coffee and then her water.
She has no idea how we could benefit from one another again. I don’t know the first thing about her job or what she does, but I know how to tell a story.
Which could also be the perfect distraction for me.
“Let me help you with your book.”
She sits back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “What?”
“You need inspiration for your story. Let me help you.”
She’s silent for a moment, her arms falling away from her chest as she reaches for her mug. Her eyes don’t leave mine as she assesses me. Her gaze is piercing, intrusive, and fuck me, I like the way she’s looking at me right now.
Like she doesn’t know if she should leave my ass sitting in this booth alone or if she should indulge in the crazy idea I presented.
“What do you know about love, Matteo Ford?”
“You can call me Matty,” I offer, shrugging. “Everyone else does.”
Her eyes burn brighter. “I’m not everyone else.”
Holy fuck.
“No,” I rasp. “You’re not, are you?”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Lifting a hand, I rake my fingers through my hair. “It’s not really my thing.”
“And you think that qualifies you to help me write a romance story? About the one thing you don’t believe in?”
“I didn’t say that,” I correct her, bringing my own mug to my lips to take a sip now that it’s cooled down some. “I don’t date for love or romance. It’s just something to occupy my time. Something to keep me busy. It’s not that I don’t believe in love, I just know it’s not for me.”
She nods her head, the movement slow and exaggerated. “Let me change your mind.”
My body freezes. “What?”
She chuckles, leaning forward as she folds her arms on the table. I don’t miss the swell of her breasts, the way they lift as they press against her forearms. I tear my gaze from them.
“Oh god,” she breathes, her eyebrows lifting. “No, not me, not like that. I have no interest in athletes.” I can’t read the emotion on her face. “I don’t actually know what I meant by that. I’m drunk.”
I lift a questioning brow. She’s not as drunk as she was.
“What I meant was, I don’t believe that. I think there’s love out there for someone, if you open yourself up to the idea.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not,” I say, forcing out a laugh and shaking my head. “I’m not big on commitments.”
“Yet you want to help me come up with a story line.”
Jesus, she’s relentless. I let out a frustrated breath and the moment is severed as our server reappears with our food. She sets a plate in front of me and one in front of Jade. Each one has two huge waffles with Nutella seeping from them. They’re piled high with strawberries, bananas, and whipped cream.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Jade shakes her head, looking to me for confirmation then back to the woman. “We’re great. Thank you.”
