She would probably remember this afternoon later in terms of its silences, each of them with their own character: tense, fraught, horrifying, painfully sexy, awkward.
“Um. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“You... can’t?” he repeated. As if she’d just taught him a new word in Turkish.
“I can’t,” she said firmly.
“But thank you,” she added weakly a moment later, into the dead silence.
“Mmm,” was all he said. A moment later.
He turned abruptly then wandered into the second bedroom. Where he was just going to find more of that green carpet.
She remained rooted to the spot.
And this time the silence was horrible because she had no idea whether she’d offended him or hurt his feelings. But the room was practically spinning.
He’d asked herout.
He’d askedherout.
He’dasked her out.
Then again, she supposed he needed to dosomethingto fill his downtime.
Or someone.
“So... is itallguys, Britt?” he called casually from the other room. “Asking for a friend.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He emerged from the room. “Or maybe it’s guys with tattoos? Or actors. It’s actors, isn’t it?”
“I’m lost. Why are we suddenly playing Password?”
“Just trying to get a bead on your current objection to me. You know, so I can refine my future approach.”
Her jaw dropped. She gave a short, astounded laugh. Thenerveof him.
“Is there another guy?” he pressed.
“J. T.—”
“Another girl?”
“Um—”
“Another guyandanother girl? This is California, after all. People get adventurous here.”
“J. T.!” And now she was laughing.
“You’re into vampires, blindfolds, My Little Pony? I’m pretty open-minded.”
“I’m just—wait. My Little Pony?”
“You live in Los Angeles long enough, you heareverything.”
She had the strangest urge to tell him about the mermaid and the fisherman.
