The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,23
weren’t.”
“It’s okay. You probably don’t even own a vehicle.”
“I don’t.”
“It’s not your world.”
“Not really.” I scoop some bubbles into my palm. “So you like cars? And motorcycles?”
“Since I was a kid. Got it from my grandpa. You ever been on a bike?”
“No.” I can have fun without risking my life and my hairstyle. “It’s not for me.”
“Is it a hair thing?”
I start to laugh but stop so I don’t give myself away. Am I that easy to read? “No,” I lie with enthusiasm. “I just don’t see the appeal.”
“So you have no issue getting your hair messy?”
“Of course not. It’s just hair.”
“Good,” he says, ruffling the top of my head, sending bubbles down my nose.
Instinctively, I reach up and bat his wet hands away. “Hey!”
“That’s better. It didn’t even look like we just fucked,” he says. “Not good for my ego.”
“Your ego?” I ask, smoothing my long bob into obedience. “I’m beginning to wonder if girls with unkempt hair and beer guts do it for you.”
He laughs, bouncing my body, then hugs me closer. “You always been this uptight?”
I mock-gasp. He’s teasing me, but he speaks the truth, so I can’t really be mad. “Pretty much,” I admit. “I like things a certain way. I’m not sorry about it. I wouldn’t be where I am otherwise.”
“And where’s that?”
“A successful entrepreneur by the age of—” I pause. “Of the age I am.”
“Which would be?”
“It’s not polite to ask a woman her age, Andrew.” For women, age can be an enemy, especially in New York City. There’s always someone younger looking to take over. At thirty-two, I don’t need to worry—yet—but I won’t always be thirty-two. I prefer not to expose my weaknesses, past, present, or future.
“All right,” he says hesitantly. “You are from a different world.”
“Why? I assure you, the girls you normally sleep with care about their ages too, even if they’re young.”
“How many girls do you think I’m with?”
I lift a shoulder. “One plus one equals two. You’re sexy and single. You must have women falling all over you.”
“A few . . .” he says. I appreciate his honesty, even if it’s a little disappointing. No woman wants to hear about who else is screwing the man she’s sleeping with, no matter how detached she is. Or wants be. It’s only when he admits it that I realize I wish I were the only one. “There’s one regular,” he continues, “and once in a while when I get a night out, I might meet a woman. It’s mostly the one, though. Denise.”
I close my eyes at the name. Fuck. There’s a girl, of course there’s a girl, and she has a name—why? Why couldn’t he have left the name out? If I’m at all jealous, it’s eradicated by a deeper fear that immediately picks up on his subtext. “A regular one . . .? Jesus, Andrew. Please don’t tell me she’s your—”
“Girlfriend? No. I told you, I don’t date.”
Dread knots in my chest. I want to believe him, which is rare. Looking back, Reggie had tells—an inability to look me in the eye when he was being vague, or the way he made me feel foolish for acting suspicious, even though I had a right to be. I don’t see those signs with Andrew, and my gut tells me he’s genuine, but I’ve been wrong before. I could press him for details, try to catch him in a lie, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. I’ve known enough men to lie about it that I’d never completely believe him, no matter how sincere he sounded.
He seems like a good man, but even good men have weaknesses.
Even good men cheat.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew says, “but I thought we were on the same page. I was pretty clear earlier.”
I frown. “About what?”
“The fact that I don’t date. I didn’t mean it to come out so harsh. I mean, I’m having a good time, and I like you, I just—”
“Ohh,” I say when I understand what he means. “No, it’s not that.”
“You sighed, then got quiet. I believe in woman-speak, that means you didn’t like my answer.”
“I was thinking about something else entirely.”
“What?”
I’m reluctant to go down this path with Andrew, but I’ve backed myself into a corner. I try to think of a polite way to put it. “It’s just that I don’t know if I believe you. About Denise. I would never, ever want to hurt another woman the way I was . . .”