But he seems to me like he cares about too much. And that underneath it all, he might be horribly sad.
“Yeah,” he says thickly. “Too bad.”
“I think,” I start, leaning forward to abandon my coffee and bagel on the table so my elbows can find my thighs, turning us into two reflections staring back at one another. “That part could be believed in the daylight.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I wrinkle my nose. “What’s a little list of six things between friends?Adultfriends? We can work through it in no time.”
His hands wrap around the beak of his hat at the back of his head, pressing down on the curve. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s not about ... what my publicist said. I’m not trying to, uh, use you to get a trade or to distract everyone. I just ... I don’t know. You made me feel like, maybe ... I, uh, sorry. You say you’re not this messy, I’m usually not this ... bad with, or nervous around—”
I lift a brow. “Pretty girls?”
He grins, lopsided and sheepish. “Just one, I think.”
Heat climbs up my spine, and I wave a hand through the air, trying to brush it off. “Let people think whatever they want. It can’t be worse than what you’ve been dealing with from thepress. And if it helps you get out of here, who cares what the great minds in paleontology think?”
His brows knit. “What about ... Scott? Your boss?”
“Uhm.” I poke my tongue into my cheek, considering. “I don’t think it really matters, actually.” And I’m not sure it does. None of it would be real, so what about me could possibly leave Miller wanting? “I don’t really have anything to reach for at the museum anymore. What do they care if their collections manager gets photographed a time or two with a professional athlete, educational partnership or not? We aren’t working together. At least, not in that sort of capacity.”
“But you’ll work with me ... on my list?” he asks, hope tipping his words up.
“Yes, I meant what I said. Champagne aside.”
“What about your list?”
A knot twists in my stomach. “I don’t really have a list.”
He cocks his head. “You have the start of one, at least. Ren’s Remains. What else did you call it? Ren’s Reasons—”
“Not to Be Ren.” I remember that, too.
“You want to change my list from things I don’t do anymore to things I try again ... why can’t we change yours too?” He shrugs. “Make it Ren’s Reasons to Be Ren instead.”
“I don’t, uhm—” My head gives an involuntary, jerky shake. Blinking too much, I offer a strained smile. I can’t think of anything worse than writing down all the ways I wasn’t enough for someone, spelling out all the stolen pieces of me I loved once upon a time but grew to hate. “Sorry. I’ll help you, of course. I’m happy to, but I don’t ... I don’t think so.”
Miller exhales, words low. “Too bad.”
“Sorry,” I mutter again.
He shakes his head, each slow turn disappointed, but I don’t think it’s at me. “Please stop apologizing to me when you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Old habit.” I sniff.
“Bad habit.” His wide hands splay across his thighs, and he pushes to stand. “I have to get to the stadium. But uh—” He points towards my iced coffee, melting and abandoned on my coffee table. “My number’s on the sleeve. Text me ... whenever you’re free, and we can ... get started.”
I peer down at the coffee, noticing an untidy scrawl underneath the name of the café. A laugh escapes before I can stop it from turning into a snort. I do my best not to slap a hand over my mouth, looking up at him instead. “Smooth.”
“What’s that saying? Old dog, new tricks?” he says through a lazy grin, starting towards the front door.
I stand, arms crossed protectively over my stomach when I trail after him. “I don’t think that saying really applies here.”
“Ah, well. I might have been ... asleep before we met, but uh, Miller Colson-Burke sees a pretty girl and he can’t help himself, I guess.” His grin turns tired when he adjusts his hat again, his tattooed hand finding the door handle. “Or something.”
“Or something,” I repeat, head tipped as I consider the wordasleep.
“Text me. I, uh, I’d really appreciate your help.” His thumb feathers against the brass handle before he pushes it open and steps back out onto my porch. “And ... I don’t know ... think about whether you want mine, too.”
