‘That’s because we are. Friends, I mean.’
‘I didn’t like it. Didn’t like him.’ His tone is gruff, like he’s reluctant to say the words.
‘And yet you left.’
‘That was before. If you tell me you feel the same, I’m pulling out all the stops.’
My fork clatters against the plate. I can feel myself blinking. Heavily.
‘You’re doing that blinking thing again, titch.’ His voice is so low and rough.
‘Can’t help it,’ I whisper. ‘This is all so much.’ So soon. Too much.
‘Tell me about it.’ With an almost rueful tilt of his head, he stabs the sausage patty with his fork. ‘One minute I’m screwing some hot piece of ass.’ I think my jaw just hit the table as he asks, ‘Like the vernacular? Thought you might appreciate it.’ He slices off a chunk. ‘I was meaning you, by the way. And the next minute I’m falling in love. You again.’
‘No. You can’t be.’ He can’t be in love, especially using that tone.
‘I know,’ he agrees, waving the fork. His throat moves as he swallows; how is that even hot? ‘That’s what I keep telling myself, but it looks like you’re stuck with me. You’ll just have to play catch up in the meantime.’
‘Rory, you don’t even know me.’
‘True,’ he concedes. ‘But that seems to have little to do wi’ how I feel. One minute, exactly like you said, I’m trying to avoid you like the plague and the next, I feel like you’ve tattooed your name across my fucking heart.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I half wail, sort of plaintively. I’m a little stunned. Yes, there’s his admission—which is huge—but this is also the first time Rory has cursed in my company.Well, cursed in conversation, rather than during sex. Or the lead up to sex. Dirty words are part of his foreplay.
Oh, my. He’s a gentleman. Who’d have thought?
‘And truth be told,’ he continues, ‘you don’t know an awful lot about me. And the bits you do know aren’t entirely accurate.’
I imagine it’s not very gallant to lie.
‘What?’
‘I may have told you a couple of wee fibs, but I figure that’s okay.’
‘Why would you think that?’ I ask carefully.
‘‘Cos I figure you haven’t been entirely honest, either. Are you gonna eat that?’ I shake my head and Rory leans over, spearing the sausage on my plate. ‘Lorne sausage is ambrosia from the Gods. Pity they’re all heathens down south.’
