Quick Study - By Gretchen Galway Page 0,28
down into her sweet, upturned face, he hated himself. Because he was fighting the urge to run away and bury himself in his work and get shit-faced with the guys and call her in a few weeks when the intensity had died down.
His body reacted instinctively to her touch and his arm came up to stroke her firm, rounded arm. What was his problem? One thing for sure, he couldn’t think when she was near him, her softness under his hands, her scent scrambling his brains. He just couldn’t think. He’d thought that would be fun, to give himself up to love, sex, and romance, like some character in a movie, but instead he felt nauseous. Afraid. Like he had just stepped off the cliff and was staring down at the ground, waiting for gravity to notice him, pull him down to earth, shatter his bones.
He pretended everything was normal and told her about himself, about his software company and the guys on his team, about his sister and her annoying husband who kept her barefoot and pregnant, about buying the big house in Lafayette but not having much use for it.
“Why did you buy it then?” she asked.
He smiled and reached over to wipe a dab of tomato sauce off her chin. “My sister has four kids.”
“Yes?”
“And another on the way.”
She frowned. He admired the crease that formed slightly off-center, above her right eyebrow. “So?”
“So she needs the room.”
The look on her face made him laugh.
“You bought the house for your sister?” she asked.
“If she'll take it. I'm working on that. Her husband is a bit of a dork.”
Bonnie's incredulous face melted into admiration and she threw her arms around him. “You are such a great guy.”
Shit. He nearly pulled away, settling for patting her back instead.
She drew back. “What's the matter?”
“I'm not so great. Really. I was just lucky to graduate in CS at the right time, the right place. It was obscene, really, the money back then. She deserves it more than I do.”
Her arms tightened around his waist and she rested her cheek on his chest. “You're like me, aren't you? When I gave away my father's money, people thought I was nuts. But you—you can understand.”
He closed his eyes, frozen in her embrace. “Yes, I guess I do.”
Oblivious to his mood, she broke free and took his hand. “Look,” she said, pointing at the marquee of a small neighborhood movie theater. Something French lit up in old-fashioned black capital letters. “I'm dying for subtitles, aren't you? Let's see when it starts. You up for a movie?”
Grateful he could stop putting on a show of his own, he nodded and took her arm.
What was the matter with him?
The best sex in his life was three days ago and he still hadn't called her back.
Was it the power thing? Being tied up?
That was hard to believe. Just a little light S&M, and he'd had no trouble breaking free when she went to get the condom. He hadn't really been under her control; he'd wanted her to do what she did.
Hell, he'd begged for it.
Was that it? His own needs? His own desperation?
Maybe it had nothing to do with Bonnie at all. He had never thought of himself as a family man, or a couple man, for that matter—but he'd never thought of himself as being a commitment-phobe. He'd assumed that some day, in a distant future, he'd settle down and maybe have dependent life forms. First, a fish. Then, after a few years, work his way up to a cat—he'd really like a dog, but dogs didn't deserve a human who liked to fly around the world and backpack in Belize and take six-week road trips around the country in his little Prius.
Did Bonnie?
He was angry with himself for freaking out now, just when he'd finally won her over. What kind of asshole chased after a girl and dumped her as soon as she let him catch her?
The answer made him want to puke. Paul shoved himself away from his desk and stalked through the house to the room at the back where they'd had the best sex of his life.
His favorite room in the house, where he used to spend most of his time but hadn't even stepped inside since the night with Bonnie.
His father was just that kind of asshole. Three marriages, three mistresses—if you could call them that, this day and age—and he was working on another, one of each. Paul always though his