Page 93 of The Backup Plan

It makes me not want to walk away despite all the reasons I need to.

“You know,” he says, “we’ve both seen each other at our worst now.”

I snort. “You have not seen me drunk.”

He sobers just a fraction. “No,” he says quietly. “But I saw someone try to hurt you.”

Those words hit harder than anything else tonight. They’re a giant reminder of the type of man he is.

“I was so worried that night. I worried about taking a drugged girl to a hotel and how that could turn out for me. Big no-no. But all night—every sound, every time you moved—I didn’t know you, but I couldn’t sleep.” He looks at me with clear eyes despite the alcohol. “Could you imagine how that feels now that I do know you?”

I don’t trust myself to answer his question. Emotion swells in my throat, and my determination not to like him was just obliterated.

“Oh, I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He chuckles. “Your apartment is kind of spinning.”

“I’m sure it is.” I step toward him and hold out a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you to your bed. No doubt you’re going to have a wicked hangover in the morning.”

“Party pooper,” he says but takes my hand and then walks crookedly across the hall into his own apartment.

His place is a mirror image of mine with much less color. It’s lived in, but in the way of a man who doesn’t collect things or maybe is worried that he’s not staying. When I guide him toward his bed and try to pull away, his arms come around me, warm and solid.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs.

I still and tell myself this is the last place I need to be. The last situation I need to put myself in . . . “I’m just getting you settled.”

When I look up at him, he smiles sleepily. “You’re very bossy when you care.”

“I do not—”

“You do care,” he says and sits down on the edge of the bed, my hand now in his. “Simon says pretending doesn’t make it go away.”

I blink. “Simon says what?” Are we playing the game now? I’m so confused.

“My new friend.”

“Not the game?”

That giggle again. He emits it and I can’t help but smile. “No silly. My new friend. He’s very small. I think eight or ten. He’s very wise and asks lots of questions.”

“Okay.” I draw the word out, confused but not wanting to ask.

“So, you’re going to be my date for the gala, right?”

That came out of the blue . . . and is nice but impossible. “I can’t. We can’t. You know that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to watch you in some slinky dress all night and not want you?”

“Wanting has nothing to do with a slinky dress,” I say. Or how sexy he’ll look in a tuxedo.

“Maybe if I make you jealous then you’ll want me back, huh?”

Jealousy not needed. Pretty sure I already do, and if the kiss didn’t cement it, tonight—him like this—sure did.

“Jealousy is a wasted emotion,” I murmur.

“Sounds like something Simon would say,” he mumbles. “C’mon, Doc. Don’t leave me.” He shifts to lie down and with one tug has me falling into bed beside him.

Just for a second.