Repeat - Kylie Scott Page 0,15
expression seems embedded on his face. Gaze slightly pained and/or uncomfortable, forehead a little lined. Still handsome as fuck. Being around him would be easier if my heart didn’t beat faster at the sight of him. Perhaps my body really does still remember the feel of his hands, what it was like to have his mouth on me.
Being someone’s ex is strange, all of the history such a title involves. It’s hard to be the villain of the story when I don’t even remember why I left him and apparently broke both our hearts. If he did mess around on me, his behavior now makes no sense. At least, not to me.
“Not sure green and yellow really suit you, though,” he says, inspecting my face.
“Me neither. I’ll be glad when the bruising fades and the weird looks stop. Pretty sure the Uber driver wanted to stage an intervention, bless her.”
“Here you go.” He hands me the leash, nodding in a northwesterly direction. “Park is a couple of blocks that way. Do you know where you’re going?”
“No. Guess I’ll figure it out.”
“Are you even supposed to be wandering around on your own?”
I frown. “Now you sound like Frances.”
“That’s just harsh.” He almost smiles. It’s a close thing. “Mind some company?”
“It’s fine, but don’t feel that you have to. I’m not a child.”
“Aware of that.” He slips sunglasses over his eyes and starts walking. “Still worried about being indebted to me?”
“Mostly I think I’m waiting for you to decide I’m too much trouble and you’re better off dropping back out of my life.”
He lifts his chin, saying nothing for a moment. “This about me not responding when you gave me shit for going on a date?”
“It’s about everything, really.” So he was on a date after all. Not sure how I feel about that. Nothing good, I don’t think. On the other hand, the man might have been on a date, but he’d been thinking about me. How interesting. “And I wasn’t giving you shit. I was just . . .”
“You were just, what?”
I sigh. “Honestly, it’s hard to think of an answer that won’t piss you off.”
His lips roll in, pressed together as if he’s holding in laughter. With the sunglasses on, I can’t see his eyes to confirm this, however.
“Why were you texting me when you were out with someone else anyway?” I ask. “Shouldn’t I be the last person you’d be thinking about under the circumstances?”
The man just grunts. Any mirth is now long gone.
“Not that I was surprised you were out with someone. I mean, you’re very attractive. Like, jaw-droppingly so. I’ve never even remotely seen anyone as . . .” I just shrug. There are no sufficient words to describe his innate hotness. His raw masculine appeal. Where is a thesaurus when you need one?
“Clem,” he grits out.
“Yes?”
Apparently complimenting him is a bad idea, since he’s turned his face away. His body once again radiates pissed off. The seemingly go-to setting when I’m around.
Shit. “Oh, okay. I’m going to stop talking now.”
“Good idea,” he says.
All right, so maybe I shouldn’t have pressed the question. Or mentioned anyone’s attractiveness. In a rare display of wisdom, I keep my mouth shut and give Gordon some pats. At least he’s still happy I’m here.
We move aside for a couple pushing a stroller, the baby fast asleep. The two women don’t look much older than me. I can’t imagine having a child yet. One with Ed’s smile and my eyes, maybe. God, what am I doing? The situation is complicated enough without imaginary infants intruding.
“Did you ever get around to choosing a favorite color?” he asks eventually.
“Undecided. I mean, I like blue in general. But royal blue is a hard no.”
He snorts. “Yeah. You were the same about purple. Violet was fine, but the hate was strong for burgundy and maroon.”
Gordon doesn’t tug on the leash. Instead, he trots alongside me, sniffing trees and fences, pausing occasionally to mark his territory. The sun hangs low, the world lit a brilliant gold. I watch the ground, keeping my eyes diverted from the glare. My sunglasses must have been taken in the robbery. Next shopping trip, I’ll have to replace them.
“Still,” he says. “You have it narrowed down to blue. Good work.”
“Are you patronizing me?”
“Never.”
I’m not sure about that. “Why is it whenever you talk about me, I always sound so high maintenance?”
“Because you are, Clem. Trust me, I’ve dated enough women to know the difference.” His brows draw in all thoughtful like.