“Why you want to date me?” The question tumbles out of my mouth, clumsy but honest. I see the faint frown crease his forehead and hurry on, trying to explain before I can retreat. “I’m not trying to be obtuse. I swear. I just don’t get it. Yes, we are attracted to one another. I think we’ve proved that beyond question. But you have better options. Women with shiny hair and cars that actually work. Women with decent credit scores. Women who will smile sweetly when you’re being an ass rather than argue back. Women who can stay up past ten p.m. on a school night and offer you undivided attention, which you will never get from me because my son willalways come first. Why would you want me when you could have anyone?”
By the time I stop talking my throat is raw and my eyes sting. I blink back tears before they can fall.
Arthur watches me for a long moment. So long that I am certain my words have made him decide to leave. He doesn’t.
“You’re right, Elliot,” he says at last. “I probably could have anyone, for two reasons. I’m rich and I’m famous. There are women who would jump at the chance for the money alone. God knows I’ve turned down enough of them in the last decade.” He steps closer, and I watch his hands flex before he slides them into his pockets. “I dated casually before I got hurt. But after my injury I had no interest in it. For ten years I didn’t want anyone. But I want you. You’re smart. And funny. And too damn beautiful for your own good. And I can’t stop thinking about you. Haven’t been able to for months. “
My brain stutters. Breath comes in ragged pulls. Words feel like distant lights I can’t quite reach.
“If you think you might want me too—” he starts.
“I do,” I blurt. I’m not sure whether I am more surprised by my own voice or by the look that washes over his face. He searches my eyes, then nods once.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I say the word back, and it tastes absurdly sweet and terrifying at once.
Before either of us can define the terms, voices drift down the hallway.
“And then after they announced her as the winner, the runner-up congratulated her and then he proposed to her! Right there on camera! Can you believe that?” Will enters the training room even more upbeat and excited than usual. He’s accompanied by Ben who appears to be less enthusiastic about whatever they’re discussing. “It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen! Seriously. All the gingerbread fans have beenshipping them for months. Holly looked like she was gonna cry!”
“Who?” Ben asks.
“Holly Vixen.”
“Sounds like a stripper name.”
“Seriously?” Will scoffs, throwing his arms wide like Ben has committed some great offense. “She’s the host ofProject Gingerbread, man. I talk about her all the time! Right, Elliot?”
“It’s true,” I admit, trying my best to sound normal. I’ve never watched the reality TV show that Will is obsessed with but I’ve been meaning to look it up. I mean, it’s essentially a cookie competition. Sounds right up my alley.
“Thank you.” Will grins. “Oh, hey, Coach!” His whole face lights up when he spots Arthur.
Ben does a double take, eyes widening, while Arthur’s expression remains perfectly composed.
“Oliver,” Arthur says with a curt nod.
“Coach.” Ben returns the nod, though his gaze quickly shifts and lands on me. “Elliot.”
“Michaels,” Arthur acknowledges smoothly.
“Ben,” I echo, giving my own little nod because apparently nodding is the established ritual and I don’t want to be the odd one out.
Will bounces in place, then flashes me another grin. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, Elliot. It’s got more volume than usual.”
There isn’t even a trace of teasing in his tone, but my face still goes hot. Because I know the reason my hair has more volume is that Arthur had his fingers tangled in it less than five minutes ago. Arthur knows it too. His unreadable gaze flicks briefly to me. And judging from the way Ben bites down on his lower lip, he has a pretty good idea too.
“New mousse,” I lie breezily, praying my voice doesn’t crack. “Ready to get started?”
“Do your worst.” Will plants himself on the treatment table, grinning far too happily for someone about to be put through his rehab paces.
Arthur gives one last nod, as if he’s completely immune to the chaos he just walked into. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in my office whenever you’re free, Ms. Baker.”
“Sounds good,” I reply quickly, my voice too chipper.
Looking forward to it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
